Phelan and Valerian both had rooms on the second floor of the house, overlooking the spit of land that jutted out into the ocean, and Valerian had flung his shuttered windows wide open to enjoy the midsummer dusk.
“Where’s your pet spaniel?” he demanded when Phelan let himself into his room without bothering to knock. “According to Hannigan, she’s been trotting at your heels since this morning. Do you think that quite wise?”
“You’ve been wearing skirts too long, Valerian,” Phelan observed easily, heading toward the casement window that looked out over the headland. The afternoon had darkened considerably, and the wind had picked up, tossing the waves below. “You sound like a jealous mistress.”
“Not likely,” Valerian said with a hoot of laughter. “Though you’ve got it part right. I
have
been wearing skirts too long.” He kicked at his long flowing gown in disgust.
“Hard time with the bluestocking, brat?” Phelan keptthe sympathy from his voice. Valerian was in no mood to tolerate it.
“You could say so. If only she weren’t so blasted affectionate. She cuddles up to me like a damned cat, and it’s all I can do not to shove her down on the nearest piece of furniture.”
“Women are like that with each other. They tend to reserve their physical affection for those who would tolerate it,” Phelan said.
“You’re telling me about the ways of women?” Valerian countered with good-natured outrage. “You, the woman-hater of all time?”
“I’m not in the slightest bit a woman-hater. I just don’t happen to be a dedicated lecher like our late father. I reserve my attentions for those who know what’s expected. And for those who understand what they’ll never get from me in a thousand years.”
“Tell me, Phelan, what will no woman get from you in a thousand years?”
Phelan turned from the window to survey his scapegrace of a brother. Valerian had flung himself on the bed, his long legs spread out in front of him, his sturdy calves looking ridiculous beneath the froth of skirts. “Any number of things,” he said. “Among them, love, trust, children, or a title.”
“You never intend to marry, then?”
“Never,” he said flatly. “I have my reasons. One of them being that I’ve yet to see anything to recommend it.” He leaned against the wall. “Have you?”
“You’re such a cynic, Phelan. Granted, your parents never set much of an example of family warmth or marital bliss, but my mother’s happy enough with her farmer,”Valerian replied with a diffident air. “I imagine one could do as well.”
“If you’re willing to marry a farmer. Sophie’s not for you, Val. I wish I could tell you otherwise …”
“I know it.” Val’s smile was wry, accepting.
“If she weren’t equipped with a fortune …”
“And if she weren’t so wellborn,” Val supplied. “And if I weren’t a bastard, and if I weren’t under suspicion of murder, and if I weren’t wearing skirts … That’s a prodigious amount of ‘ifs,’ brother mine. Too many for me to overcome.”
“So you’re going to do the wise thing? Keep away from temptation?” Phelan asked, knowing the answer full well. “Come with me to the Continent, where you’ll be safe until I can figure a way out of this mess.”
“I’m going to do exactly what you would under the circumstances,” Val replied. “I’m going riding with her tomorrow morning.”
“Val, Val,” his brother said with mock despair. “Will you never learn?”
“I doubt it.” Valerian surged off the bed and strode around the room. “What have you learned about the new member of our household? Any idea why she’s dressed as a boy?”
“I asked her point-blank who she was running from. Her response was innocent shock. I doubt I’ll get a truthful answer from her until I demand it. And I’m not ready to demand it.”
“And why not? At least one of us ought to be having a good time.”
“We’re not here for a good
“Where’s your pet spaniel?” he demanded when Phelan let himself into his room without bothering to knock. “According to Hannigan, she’s been trotting at your heels since this morning. Do you think that quite wise?”
“You’ve been wearing skirts too long, Valerian,” Phelan observed easily, heading toward the casement window that looked out over the headland. The afternoon had darkened considerably, and the wind had picked up, tossing the waves below. “You sound like a jealous mistress.”
“Not likely,” Valerian said with a hoot of laughter. “Though you’ve got it part right. I
have
been wearing skirts too long.” He kicked at his long flowing gown in disgust.
“Hard time with the bluestocking, brat?” Phelan keptthe sympathy from his voice. Valerian was in no mood to tolerate it.
“You could say so. If only she weren’t so blasted affectionate. She cuddles up to me like a damned cat, and it’s all I can do not to shove her down on the nearest piece of furniture.”
“Women are like that with each other. They tend to reserve their physical affection for those who would tolerate it,” Phelan said.
“You’re telling me about the ways of women?” Valerian countered with good-natured outrage. “You, the woman-hater of all time?”
“I’m not in the slightest bit a woman-hater. I just don’t happen to be a dedicated lecher like our late father. I reserve my attentions for those who know what’s expected. And for those who understand what they’ll never get from me in a thousand years.”
“Tell me, Phelan, what will no woman get from you in a thousand years?”
Phelan turned from the window to survey his scapegrace of a brother. Valerian had flung himself on the bed, his long legs spread out in front of him, his sturdy calves looking ridiculous beneath the froth of skirts. “Any number of things,” he said. “Among them, love, trust, children, or a title.”
“You never intend to marry, then?”
“Never,” he said flatly. “I have my reasons. One of them being that I’ve yet to see anything to recommend it.” He leaned against the wall. “Have you?”
“You’re such a cynic, Phelan. Granted, your parents never set much of an example of family warmth or marital bliss, but my mother’s happy enough with her farmer,”Valerian replied with a diffident air. “I imagine one could do as well.”
“If you’re willing to marry a farmer. Sophie’s not for you, Val. I wish I could tell you otherwise …”
“I know it.” Val’s smile was wry, accepting.
“If she weren’t equipped with a fortune …”
“And if she weren’t so wellborn,” Val supplied. “And if I weren’t a bastard, and if I weren’t under suspicion of murder, and if I weren’t wearing skirts … That’s a prodigious amount of ‘ifs,’ brother mine. Too many for me to overcome.”
“So you’re going to do the wise thing? Keep away from temptation?” Phelan asked, knowing the answer full well. “Come with me to the Continent, where you’ll be safe until I can figure a way out of this mess.”
“I’m going to do exactly what you would under the circumstances,” Val replied. “I’m going riding with her tomorrow morning.”
“Val, Val,” his brother said with mock despair. “Will you never learn?”
“I doubt it.” Valerian surged off the bed and strode around the room. “What have you learned about the new member of our household? Any idea why she’s dressed as a boy?”
“I asked her point-blank who she was running from. Her response was innocent shock. I doubt I’ll get a truthful answer from her until I demand it. And I’m not ready to demand it.”
“And why not? At least one of us ought to be having a good time.”
“We’re not here for a good
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