A Rake's Ruin (Devilish Lords #1)(43)
“Nicholas,” his brother called from down the hall. “A word, please.”
Bloody hell. He had no patience for his brother’s condescension right now. He paused by the stairs, contemplating ignoring Rhys’s summons and pretending he hadn’t heard. But he wavered for too long, and soon enough his brother was in the main hallway, well within sight.
“Back so soon?” Rhys smirked. “But then, I suppose you and Claire have the rest of your lives to make small talk.”
Nicholas held back a sigh at Rhys’s barely concealed smirk. Despite what he’d told his brother, Rhys still seemed to believe that he was shackled with Claire because of some sort of impropriety.
Which, in some sense, was true, he supposed. But no one seemed to understand that it had not been his impropriety and that there was nothing odious about this marriage.
Unless she called it off because she could never love him.
The mere thought made him feel ill. Lord Almighty, how did anyone ever survive love if this was the consequence? He’d always known love was transformative but he hadn’t realized that meant physically. Right now his entire body felt needy and hollow, and his only salvation could come from a petite blonde with a jaded view of men and marriage.
He supposed this was some sort of karmic retribution for his past behavior. Perhaps some deity was having a laugh at his expense—the notorious flirt and shameless rake stricken down by love.
“What is wrong with you?” Rhys asked. “Have you been imbibing already?”
He didn’t answer, turning instead to lead the way toward his brother’s office for whatever it was he meant to discuss with him. Whether he was in the mood or not, his brother rarely summoned him merely to tease. His brother was all business all the time, and right about now he could use that sort of distraction.
Falling into a seat, he stared over the desk at his brother who had naturally resumed his place of authority. “What did you wish to see me about, brother?”
Rhys’s brows drew together. “Are you quite all right, Nicholas? You do not seem yourself.”
That is because I left my heart at the Clevelands’ home.
“I am fine.”
His brother’s lips pursed. “I suppose it’s nerves over your wedding on the morrow, am I correct?” He did not wait for an answer. “That is to be expected. From any man, I assume, but especially for you. This will be quite the change of lifestyle for one such as yourself.” Rhys didn’t try to hide his scorn.
“Is it so very difficult to believe that I have changed?” Nicholas honestly didn’t know if he was asking out of outrage or sheer curiosity. After all, if his own brother couldn’t see the difference in him, how could he expect Claire to believe he was in earnest?
Rhys’s eyes were searching. “Have you?” Pompous amusement filled his gaze. “And here I have been waiting to hear news that the wedding has been canceled.” He leaned forward, not attempting to hide his mirth. “There is a wager on the matter in the books at White’s, you know.”
No, he hadn’t known. He’d been too caught up in his own disastrously confusing love affair to think about attending a gentlemen’s club or to give his peers and their gossip much thought. It should not have surprised him, though. There was nothing gentlemen of the ton loved more than to gamble on the fortunes—or rather, misfortunes—of others. Anger rose up in him as he realized what his brother meant. “I suppose you have money on the wedding being canceled.”
Rhys’s smirk was answer enough.
Nicholas gripped the arms of his chair and glared at his brother. His brother. His own flesh and blood who did not believe that he had the integrity nor the honor to marry one such as Claire.
Rhys arched his brows in the face of his obvious anger. “You cannot fault me for it, Nicholas. I enjoy a good wager as much as the next, and I bet to win.”
“And you were so certain that she could not possibly grow to love me,” he finished for his brother. “You were so confident that I was undeserving that you bet against your own blood.”
Rhys’s wide-eyed shock was genuine, as was the ensuing frown as he leaned forward over the desk. “I never meant to insult you, Nicholas. You are the one who boasts of his conquests and talks of living a life free of responsibilities…”
Rhys trailed off at his glare. He didn’t need to say more. Nicholas remembered the way he’d once talked of responsibility as well as anyone. “I was young and foolish,” he said. “No responsibility was ever asked of me as the younger brother and unlike you I had no titled inheritance to live up to.” He threw his hands up, trying to make his brother see how very differently they’d been raised. “I was promised freedom, money, entertainment. That was the life I was reared for as the spare.”
His brother winced at the term. “You know Mother and Father never thought of you like that.”
He nodded, some of his anger abating. His family loved him—his firm mother, his married sisters in their uninvolved way, his quiet and now sickly father, and even Rhys, the good son. “I know that. And I am not trying to garner sympathy. I’m just trying to explain that I have never needed to be responsible, no one ever relied on me to be the better man. No one had ever sparked the urge to be more and to be better.”
His brother was silent for a moment. “And now?”