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long step toward him. “It was far more than spilled milk, Raphael.”
    Rafe raised his hands. “I wouldn’t know, you never told me. You just ran off, leaving Mama to worry and cry and age more than she has in a decade. You inspired Annabelle to run around in clubs trying to save you—apologies, Marcus, it did work out well.”
    Marcus smiled. “I agree she never should have been running around in clubs. But damn, I’m glad she did.”
    Rafe returned his attention to his brother. “And you left me to live with the fallout of my inheriting the dukedom and a bride and a life I didn’t want. Thank God I had Serafina or I would have been entirely alone.”
    Crispin flinched. When laid out before him like this, his actions did seem utterly selfish. Perhaps this lost wager, this bride, was his punishment.
    “Rafe—”
    “No, I’m not quite finished,” his brother said. “And when you say that I am allowing you to live with this consequence because of my situation with Serafina, that is absolutely correct. Because if you were lucky enough to marry a woman with half the spirit and character that my wife has, you would be vastly happy, indeed. Have a care what you say next, Crispin Flynn.”
    Crispin swallowed. He and Rafe had always gone wild together, caused trouble together, lived consequence free together. Yes, Rafe had saved him a few times, but mostly they were just two best friends doing whatever they wanted.
    Now when he looked at his brother, he saw that Rafe had changed. He wanted to hate him for that, hate Serafina for it. But he feared that his brother had actually become a better man.
    A better man who Crispin could never, ever live up to.
    “I did not mean to insult Serafina,” he said softly. “I like your wife, Rafe. I helped you with her, if you recall.”
    “You did,” his brother agreed. “And I love you all the more for it.” He reached out and touched Crispin’s shoulder. “I would do anything for you, Crispin. But when it comes to this marriage, I will not save you. Nor do I believe you should make any effort to find a way out of this situation for yourself.”
    Crispin shut his eyes. The escape he had thought to find here was swiftly vanishing. He only had one more card to play.
    “You say Gemma seems a good sort, and thus far I cannot deny it to be true.”
    He flashed to their breakfast that morning. He hadn’t just wanted her then. He had liked her. But something she’d said, something he vaguely recalled her father saying, stuck in his mind. To tell them was his final attempt at getting out of this with Rafe’s help.
    “She has secrets,” he said. “Both she and her father said something about her late husband. I have no idea when he died, honestly.” He winced at that admission. It was just more proof of how selfish he was. “But there are circumstances surrounding the death that are apparently untoward.”
    Rafe drew back in surprise. “I would not have expected that. Are you certain?”
    “I’m not certain of anything, because I don’t know anything except for a hint about a scandal.”
    “She said her husband’s title was Laurelcross?” Rafe asked.
    Crispin hesitated. Was it Laurelcross or Laurelvale? God, he really was a selfish bastard.
    “Yes, yes, Laurelcross,” he said. “An earl. She said he did not come into Society much, he was older than she was. When I asked if they had met you, she said no, so you likely wouldn’t know him.”
    “Serafina would,” Rafe said, glancing at the ceiling like heaven awaited him above stairs. “But I’m not about to go marching up there and disturb her rest to ask her about a dead earl and a rumor.”
    “Laurelcross.” Marcus began to pace beside the billiard table. “Laurelcross—I thought it sounded familiar when she said it, but is it possible?”
    Both brothers turned to their friend.
    “Do you know something?” Crispin asked. It was completely reasonable that Marcus would. His club was very popular and he