Page 71 of The Seduction of an English Scoundrel

Heath glanced up, grinning boyishly. “It’s Mrs. Cleary, if you must know. Ever since your housekeeper caught me posing as a Roman soldier for Miss Summers to paint last month, I have not been able to look her in the face.”

Grayson unbuttoned his waistcoat. In spite of Heath’s joking, something was wrong. He sensed it and hoped it would not hurt Jane. “I thought we were meeting tomorrow at the club.”

Heath settled in one of two armchairs by the window, his face toward the door. “I’ve other business in town. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” Grayson sat down opposite him, a little baffled by this change in plans. What revelation could possibly require this degree of secrecy? “I don’t mind. Do you want a drink?”

Heath rarely drank; it was simply a courtesy to ask, and Grayson’s premonition of trouble was confirmed when his brother’s grin slowly gave way to a concerned frown.

“You might need one after I’m finished, Grayson.”

Grayson stroked his chin. “Then you have found him. How was he?”

“Under a sheet when I left him.”

Heath’s blue eyes glinted. In the darkness the two men looked more alike than by daylight, when Grayson’s golden male beauty contrasted with his younger brother’s dark aura of dangerous composure.

It took Grayson a few seconds to react. “Under a—oh, my God, Heath—don’t tell me you’ve gone and killed the moron. Not that I don’t understand your motives. But I had hoped to at least make Nigel apologize publicly to Jane before I throttled the life out of him.”

“He’s alive. Very much so.”

Grayson was surprised at the relief he felt. Nigel probably did deserve to die, but he was family. “You did actually see him then?”

“In the flesh.” Heath blew out a sigh. “Quite literally, I’m afraid to admit. I have now seen much more of Nigel than one would ever wish.”

Grayson leaned forward, fascinated. “You caught him in the act—under a bedsheet—dear God. Don’t tell me it was with another man.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Then not—not with an animal, or anything so perverse I cannot explain it to Jane?”

Heath removed a cigar from his vest pocket. “Do you remember Miss Chasteberry?”

“How odd you should mention her. I was explaining that piece of our boyhood history only yesterday to Jane. The Governess of the Iron Glove, who turned her students to jelly. And let us not forget her infernal rod. Why—”

“Apparently, she is still raising rods.”

Grayson sat back in amusement. What an unexpected development. “Nigel was thumping the family governess?”

“To be more accurate, he was thumping his wife. Or rather, she was thumping him. I did not make the distinction.”

Grayson laughed uneasily. “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me. I did see the wedding register in Hampshire.”

“He married Chasteberry?”

Heath smiled slowly, staring at his unlit cigar. “She of our youthful fears and fantasies. Perhaps Nigel is one of those men who harbors a penchant for dominant women. There are men who pay for such dubious pleasure.”

There was a long pause. Then Grayson shook his head. “I have no idea how I will break this to Jane.”

“That bit of drama will be unnecessary.”

“The devil,” Grayson said in vexation. “You told her before you told me?”

“Grayson, are you completely besotted? Do I have to explain every detail? My God, you do not make this easy. Jane did not need to be told. She knew all along. She and Nigel sabotaged their own wedding. Most young women will go to any lengths to leg-shackle a man. Your Jane did the opposite. You and your noble intentions interrupted an artful plot.”

“A plot?”