The Accidental Countess (Accidental #2)(61)

He snatched the letter from her outstretched hand. “What is it?”

“It’s from Cass.”

Julian tossed the letter onto the couch where it slipped between the cushions. “Bah. I already spoke to her. I don’t need any more of her excuses or her apologies.”

“No. It’s something far, far different, Captain Swift. Cass wrote it months ago when she thought you were dying.”

He closed one eye, the two duchesses appearing more like one that way. “And she asked you to bring it to me now?”

“No. Quite the contrary. She’d have my head if she knew I’d brought it to you.”

“If she didn’t ask you to bring it, how did you get it?”

The duchess took a deep breath. “She had it with her at the house party. She brings all her letters from you with her. It was in the same box. I sneaked into her room. I know I shouldn’t have, but I truly think … Read the letter, Captain. Please.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “If you think Cassandra will be displeased that you brought it to me, then why have you?”

“Because I think it will make a difference. And I think it’s important. And”—she sighed—“the truth is that Cass already wants my head so I’m not risking much in coming here.” She smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

The duchess stood and smoothed her skirts. “I’ll leave you, Captain. I hope you’ll read the letter.”

Julian stood, too, and watched the duchess go in a blurry haze. “Read the letter,” he mumbled. “No more excuses.”

And then he fell face-first onto the sofa.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR


When Julian awoke the next morning, he was in his bed at Donald’s house and the devil was playing the drums in his skull. He sat up slowly and cautiously reached for the bellpull.

The butler arrived in a matter of moments.

“I beg you, Pengree, bring me something for my head,” Julian said.

“Right away, my lord,” Pengree replied, swiveling on his heel and leaving the room.

Julian braced his hands against his temples and squeezed. God, why had he drunk so much brandy? He’d been an untried youth the last time he’d got so out of control with drink. Bad. Bad. Form.

The barest hint of a memory formed in his brain. Last night. The study. The brandy. The duchess. By God, Derek’s little dark-haired duchess had stopped by to visit him and blast it if he couldn’t remember a word that she’d said. Surely, there’d been some reason she’d come. He barely recalled trying to make out her face in the blurry haze of two bright-eyed young women who sat wavering on his sofa.

Bloody hell. It hurt to try to remember. No doubt she’d come with more excuses and lies. Or to try to tell him that Cassandra was not to blame. Rubbish, all of it. By God, he— He groaned. He’d moved his head far too quickly.

He remembered a bit about what he’d done last night, mostly ruminated about Cassie and her penchant for lying. And hadn’t she played her bloody role to perfection? Even going so far as to pretend she didn’t know he had a brother or a sister. Asking if they were close. It was sickening. Cassie knew damn well that he and Donald had never been close.

Pengree came hurrying back into the room with a concoction that Julian’s friend Devon Morgan, the Marquis of Colton, had invented years ago when they were young men about town. It was green, it was hideous, and it worked like bloody magic. Donald had used it, too, upon occasion, and his butler obviously knew the recipe. Julian took the glass from the silver tray and stared at the vile liquid. Then he downed it in one awful gulp.

He breathed deeply, trying not to choke. “Pengree?” he finally said.

The butler stopped and turned around. “Yes, my lord.”

“The Duchess of Claringdon visited me last night?”

“Yes, my lord. She was in your study for nearly a quarter hour. She asked me to check on you when she left.”

Julian rubbed his temples. “And what did you find when you checked on me?”

Pengree cleared his throat. “You were, ahem, asleep on the sofa, my lord.”

“Asleep?”

“In a manner of speaking, my lord.”

Translation, passed out. “Did she say anything to you, Pengree? Did she leave anything?”

“No, my lord. Not to my knowledge.”

Julian shook his head and then groaned again. The green stuff didn’t work quite that quickly. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he was forgetting something, something the duchess had said perhaps.

“Very well, Pengree. Thank you.”

The butler left the room without another word.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


“Please, Julian, please take me to the theater. It’s been an age since I’ve had an escort.” Daphne was damned convincing when she wanted to be, and unfortunately, Julian always found it difficult to say no to his little sister.

He glanced over at her. Daphne was nearly nineteen now and a grown woman. She had already survived her first Season. The change in her had shocked him. Not quite as much as the change in Cassandra Monroe but— No. That sort of thinking was entirely unhelpful.

“I’m pleased to hear that the Monroes were not angry with you for breaking off your arrangement with Penelope,” his mother said from her perch on a rosewood chair a few feet away from him.