Regency 09 - Redemption by Jaimey Grant Page A

head,
muttering, “No, of course it is. She would never…”
    “No, she
wouldn’t.”
    Seeming to find some sort
of relief in this firm statement, Dare nodded. “No, she wouldn’t. I
know she wouldn’t.”
    “Dare, I can’t break the
engagement,” Miles said, almost gently.
    Dare started. “Why the hell
not?” He almost came out of his chair in his agitation.
    Dare had not actually
thought about Miles breaking the engagement. But now that the
subject was out for an airing, he wanted to know why. Jenny was
his, after all, not Miles’s.
    Miles sighed as if the
weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “She was ruined
before, based solely on rumor, but if I jilt her now, she will be
ruined solely on fact. Not to mention Gwen will die an old maid.
Even now, her chances of marriage are not good.”
    Dare cursed himself. Miles
was in love with Gwen. It was in the way he said her name with a
bittersweet hopelessness. Dare had always suspected as much but his
brother’s inflection merely assured him that it was
fact.
    “Miles, break the
engagement. I’ll marry her. You can marry Gwen.”
    Miles
shot his brother a disgusted look. “Do you honestly believe Denbigh
would let me marry Gwen? She’s the one who didn’t disgrace herself. She may still
have a chance at a good alliance. Jenny, on the other hand, has no
chance and the duke will accept me as a son-in-law to satisfy
family honor.”
    “Honor ever was overrated,”
grumbled Dare.
    “The very fact that you
feel that way proves you have none. Of course, impregnating Jenny
proved that very well anyway.”
    Dare gave his brother a
steady look. “I’ve often wondered if you’ve actually wanted me to
beat you to a bloody pulp. Now more than ever.”
    “Beating me will not make
me break the engagement,” Miles sneered.
    “I would do it purely for
pleasure, I assure you.” Rising, Dare prowled around, looking for
anything with enough alcohol to numb at least some of his rioting
emotions. Predictably, Adam’s office was bare of liquid refreshment
since Miles was the only one who really used the room.
    “Dammit, why can’t you have
even one blasted bottle of something in here? I’d swear you were a
monk except even they would drink wine.”
    A scratching at the door
interrupted Miles’s retort. West entered with a tray, a bottle, and
one glass. He bowed before Dare, a slight smile tugging at his
lips.
    Dare quirked an eyebrow at
the old man. “Listening at doors again, West, my good man? No
matter. I’ll forgive you much for bringing me this.” His grin left
little doubt as to his sincerity.
    The butler actually smiled
fleetingly. “I wasn’t listening, Master Dare. I anticipated. As is
my obligation.” He snapped a short bow and left the two gentlemen
alone.
    “I notice he brought only
the one glass. Are you a monk, then?”
    Dare glanced at Miles and
was surprised at the sardonic smile twisting his brother’s lips. “I
assure you, brother, I am not. West knows I do not
drink.”
    Dare poured and quaffed two
fingers of some of the best Irish whisky he’d ever had. It crawled
into his belly, unfurling a pleasing warmth that soon spread to his
extremities. The comfort was immediate and nearly complete. For
complete comfort, he’d need to find a way out of the mess he’d
created. He poured another drink instead.
    “You do not drink,” Dare
mused, swirling the liquid in the glass. He stared reflectively
into the amber depths. “You do not smoke. You do not gamble. You do
not indulge your passions. You do not use foul language.” He
paused, eyes raised just above the glass but not actually fixed on
anything. Then, they swiveled just a bit to meet his twin’s. “No, I
am mistaken. You do use foul language. Very foul indeed.” His eyes
were silently laughing.
    “You’re a bloody bastard,
Dare.”
    At that, Dare laughed. “No,
brother,” he said, facetiously taking Mile’s statement literally,
“I am as legitimate as you are, I assure