our old friendship.”
Brock almost stalked off. It was tempting, but he was not a coward. Moreover, he had a word or two for a brother who would permit his sister to drive off with a nameless Italian fop!
Claeg’s aloof housekeeper led him upstairs into the drawing room. The room was designed more for pleasing the bon ton ’s discriminating taste than for comfort. Brock assumed Claeg used the room for entertaining his highwater patrons.
“Welcome, Bedegrayne. I seem to be offering everyone tea this afternoon. I assume you prefer yours cold.” Claeg held up a crystal decanter of brandy. At Brock’s nod, he removed the stopper and poured two glasses. Offering one of the glasses to him, Claeg said, “What shall we toast?”
“The jade.”
“Ah, right to the heart of things.” He lifted his glass and imbibed. “I gather you are speaking of my sister.”
For an elder brother, his host was not particularly outraged by the insult. Instead of feeling relieved that he
was not apologizing his way out of a duel with Amara’s only surviving brother, Brock shifted his ire onto the Claeg within his grasp.
“I would have never trusted her in your care if I had known you were so apathetic about her welfare. Has there been a moment or two in your life when you have placed someone else’s concerns above your own?”
“Have a care, Bedegrayne,” Mallory said, temper making his gaze flat and deadly. “I might take offense.”
Brock’s grip tightened on the glass in his hand. The sharp edges of the crystal pattern scored into his palm. It was astounding the glass had not shattered under the pressure. Fighting Claeg would not benefit him. After what he had witnessed this afternoon, forcing Amara to choose between him and her brother would only confirm that he was the worst villain.
Perhaps seeing more than Brock would have liked, Claeg settled into an odd-looking X-frame chair made out of serpentlike birds. He idly tapped his glass on a beak that comprised part of the arm. His expression was contemplative instead of confrontational.
“You may be correct, Bedegrayne. My family prefers bestowing love best at a distance. Even so, your interference will not be appreciated, no matter how honorable.”
Since Claeg was willing to give him the information Brock craved, he could be reasonable. He chose the opposing chair. The brandy was easing the ache in his ribs. “Who was the gentleman?”
“When his servant knocked, he was introduced as Matteo Taldo, Conte Prola.” He lifted a finger, silencing him. “Amara was not expecting him. If you must blame someone, blame my father. He tires of having a spinster for a daughter.”
Brock took a sip of his drink, recalling the shock in Amara’s turbulent blue eyes when she had noticed him. Her hand had rested on the Italian’s sleeve. The guilt paling her features had him reeling with understanding. Whoever this man was, he was the reason she had been rebuffing Brock for the last two days. He had not been thinking clearly when he had advanced on the couple.
“Mr. Bedegrayne, no!” She stepped in front of her escort. “I beg of you. Please.”
The Italian sniffed and drew himself up to his full height. “Miss Claeg, you are acquainted with this … selvaggio, no? Have no fear, you are under my protection.”
Brock seized her roughly by the arm and hauled her closer. She did not fight him, but the gentleman took a courageous step toward him. Not caring about the consequences, he shoved the man back with his free hand, compelling him to take several quick steps back to keep his balance.
Despite his anger, he gentled his touch as he caressed Amara’s cheek. “Sweet lady of perfidy. What honeyed lies will drip from your tongue?”
“No lies, Mr. Bedegrayne. Nor will I attempt convincing you with the truth.” Her lips trembled, and he realized belatedly that his brutality had been a grave misstep.
“I must insist you release Miss Claeg, at once!” the incensed man
Brock almost stalked off. It was tempting, but he was not a coward. Moreover, he had a word or two for a brother who would permit his sister to drive off with a nameless Italian fop!
Claeg’s aloof housekeeper led him upstairs into the drawing room. The room was designed more for pleasing the bon ton ’s discriminating taste than for comfort. Brock assumed Claeg used the room for entertaining his highwater patrons.
“Welcome, Bedegrayne. I seem to be offering everyone tea this afternoon. I assume you prefer yours cold.” Claeg held up a crystal decanter of brandy. At Brock’s nod, he removed the stopper and poured two glasses. Offering one of the glasses to him, Claeg said, “What shall we toast?”
“The jade.”
“Ah, right to the heart of things.” He lifted his glass and imbibed. “I gather you are speaking of my sister.”
For an elder brother, his host was not particularly outraged by the insult. Instead of feeling relieved that he
was not apologizing his way out of a duel with Amara’s only surviving brother, Brock shifted his ire onto the Claeg within his grasp.
“I would have never trusted her in your care if I had known you were so apathetic about her welfare. Has there been a moment or two in your life when you have placed someone else’s concerns above your own?”
“Have a care, Bedegrayne,” Mallory said, temper making his gaze flat and deadly. “I might take offense.”
Brock’s grip tightened on the glass in his hand. The sharp edges of the crystal pattern scored into his palm. It was astounding the glass had not shattered under the pressure. Fighting Claeg would not benefit him. After what he had witnessed this afternoon, forcing Amara to choose between him and her brother would only confirm that he was the worst villain.
Perhaps seeing more than Brock would have liked, Claeg settled into an odd-looking X-frame chair made out of serpentlike birds. He idly tapped his glass on a beak that comprised part of the arm. His expression was contemplative instead of confrontational.
“You may be correct, Bedegrayne. My family prefers bestowing love best at a distance. Even so, your interference will not be appreciated, no matter how honorable.”
Since Claeg was willing to give him the information Brock craved, he could be reasonable. He chose the opposing chair. The brandy was easing the ache in his ribs. “Who was the gentleman?”
“When his servant knocked, he was introduced as Matteo Taldo, Conte Prola.” He lifted a finger, silencing him. “Amara was not expecting him. If you must blame someone, blame my father. He tires of having a spinster for a daughter.”
Brock took a sip of his drink, recalling the shock in Amara’s turbulent blue eyes when she had noticed him. Her hand had rested on the Italian’s sleeve. The guilt paling her features had him reeling with understanding. Whoever this man was, he was the reason she had been rebuffing Brock for the last two days. He had not been thinking clearly when he had advanced on the couple.
“Mr. Bedegrayne, no!” She stepped in front of her escort. “I beg of you. Please.”
The Italian sniffed and drew himself up to his full height. “Miss Claeg, you are acquainted with this … selvaggio, no? Have no fear, you are under my protection.”
Brock seized her roughly by the arm and hauled her closer. She did not fight him, but the gentleman took a courageous step toward him. Not caring about the consequences, he shoved the man back with his free hand, compelling him to take several quick steps back to keep his balance.
Despite his anger, he gentled his touch as he caressed Amara’s cheek. “Sweet lady of perfidy. What honeyed lies will drip from your tongue?”
“No lies, Mr. Bedegrayne. Nor will I attempt convincing you with the truth.” Her lips trembled, and he realized belatedly that his brutality had been a grave misstep.
“I must insist you release Miss Claeg, at once!” the incensed man
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