Page 40 of The Mad Marchams

Such was the way for all rakes, reality or syphilis usually got you in the end—or else you went out in some spectacular fashion fit for a family legend…

He eased a finger into the tight knot of his tie as he mounted the stairs. There was a soft glow of light under the bedroom door, and he smiled as he lifted the latch and went in. Mabel was still up, her glasses on the end of her nose, her laptop on her knees, and her earbuds in her ears. She looked absolutely and perfectly at home in his bed.

“Hey!” She removed her earbuds. “How did it go?”

“Good, I think.” That wasn’t exactly true, but he was determined to put a cheerful face on it. “They said they’ll have a decision for me by the end of the week.”

“Well, that’s promising.” She patted the side of the bed, and he went to sit beside her. “How was London? Did you get to see the queen?”

“The king you mean?” He mock-frowned. “Her late majesty used to turn up at my school on a regular basis and ruin all our rugby and cricket matches.” He took his tie off over his head and undid the top button of his shirt. “One hideous year we even got dragged over to Sandringham for some ghastly Christmas party with the royal brats while our parents danced the night away at the winter ball.”

“You poor, poor boy.” Mabel patted his hand. “How terrible for you.”

“It was. There was only one old movie allowed so we missed all the Christmas day specials. For the rest of the time, we had to sit nicely, drink hot chocolate, and play some stupid horse game where we had to let the Royals win. I’m glad we’ve got a new king, to be honest. He was the best of the bunch.” He smoothed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Did you have a nice day without me?”

“It was great.” Her smile warmed his heart. “Your sister’s a hoot.”

“Felicity?”

She punched him gently on the arm. “Yes. She’s really starting to open up to me.”

“She was always close to Eric. When he died, she seemed to curl up inside herself and stop living.”

Mabel frowned. “I didn’t get that impression. She told me a little bit about him, and it sounded like she was scared of him.”

“He could be a bit… much.” Colin stood up and started undressing, his back toward her.

“You don’t like talking about him, do you?”

He focused on removing his cufflinks and carefully set them on the dressing table before turning back to her. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Felicity seemed to think your stepmother blamed you for Eric’s death in some way.”

“Which stepmother?” Colin asked as flippantly as he could. “I don’t think either of them were very fond of me. I suspect I was hard work to mother.”

“She didn’t specify.” Mabel was watching him very carefully.

He shrugged. “Then I don’t know what she’s on about. I think when someone dies unexpectedly, we all blame ourselves in some way, don’t we?”

“I wouldn’t know. It hasn’t happened to me yet.”

“Let’s hope it never does. Excuse me a minute.”

He headed for the bathroom, aware that he was running away but unable to stop himself. The trouble with falling in love with someone was that you got the urge to share all kinds of stuff, and then you risked getting kicked in the teeth and given the grand heave-ho.

Colin stared at his reflection in the huge, gilded mirror. Yes, he was in love with Mabel, but revealing certain things about his life still scared the shit out of him.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she was typing away on her laptop, a frown lodged between her brows.

“Trouble?” Colin asked as he set his glass of water on his side of the bed.

“You could say that.” She grimaced. “My partners have a new project on the horizon, and they want me to come back.”

“Do you need to go?” Colin paused before getting into bed. “I mean I have monopolized your time for ages, and I’d perfectly understand if you have to⁠—”

“I don’t want to go. I love it here.”

“Then tell them that.”