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Authors: Vicky Dreiling
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to marry Angeline?”
Colin shuddered. “My mother made a list of potential names for the shrew’s spawn.”
“Well, it would be your spawn as well,” Bell said.
Colin pulled a face. “I just lost my appetite.”
“Angeline can’t be that bad,” Bell said.
“She’s all yours,” Colin said.
“No, thank you,” Bell said, laughing.
Harry scoffed. “Mark my words, Bell. You’ll be the first of us to wed. I wager fifty pounds on it.”
“You’ll lose.”
Colin frowned as he traced the rim of his snifter. “You’re serious about staying single.”
“Yes.” There was nothing else to say. His friends would draw their own conclusions. They knew a bit about his history, but no one knew all of the particulars. He never spoke about the past. There was no point in dredging up bad memories.
“What about your property?” Harry said.
Bell shrugged. “There’s no one to inherit.”
Harry’s eyes widened momentarily, and then he shuttered his expression. Colin said nothing and became engrossed with the condensation on the table. They’d come to the obvious conclusion. The property would revert to the Crown when he died.
An awkward silence ensued. Bell hated when the past intruded. All he wanted was to forget, but reminders cropped up from time to time, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. The only way to deal with it was to shove it all back into the farthest recesses of his brain, but sometimes even that didn’t work. The bloody nightmares were proof.
“Ah, here come the waiters,” Colin said.
The tension in Bell’s shoulders slowly dissipated, and the aroma of the sizzling beefsteaks made Bell’s stomach growl. He was hungrier than he’d realized. All three tucked into their meal. Colin entertained them with stories of his weird twin sisters, who sometimes spoke in a language they’d made up years ago.
Bell laughed. “You’re jesting.”
“No, I’m not,” Colin said. “Bianca and Bernadette have an alphabet, too, but it looks like tiny pictures of trees, skirts, hair, milk jugs, and other nonsense.”
“That’s odd.” Bell privately wondered if the parents had dropped the twins on their heads early on in life. “Harry, what about your girl cousins? Do they have strange habits?”
“No, but they begged for an introduction to you. I said no.”
“Why? Surely you don’t think I would seduce your cousins?” Bell said.
“No, I took pity on you. They like to match-make.”
Bell shuddered. “You have my eternal thanks.”
The waiter appeared. “Would you care for dessert? Chef made a cheesecake.”
Bell looked inquiringly at his friends, who quickly assented.
“Bring cheesecake and coffee for all of us,” Bell said to the waiter.
Not long afterward, the coffee and cheesecake arrived. Harry finished with a groan. “I think I died and went to heaven.”
Colin pulled a face. “Harry, get that stupid look off your face.”
“Can’t help it,” Harry said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a woman. Food is my only comfort.”
“Maybe we should take him to Mrs. Hawkins’s establishment after all,” Colin said. “He’s been irritable.”
Bell leaned forward. “Harry, do you have a French letter?”
Harry scowled. “No.”
“Forget it,” Bell said.
“What? Do you know how long it’s been?” Harry said. “I can’t even recall.”
Bell shook his head. “You’ll end up with the French pox.”
Harry’s forlorn expression brightened when Bell took out a gold case and offered him a cheroot. Colin lit one as well from the candle on the table.
They sat smoking in silence for a while. All around them masculine voices rumbled.
Harry blew a smoke ring. “Bell, if the widow is off-limits, you must still be in the market for a mistress.”
“Finding the right mistress is a pain in the arse.” Last night, he’d fantasized about Laura while pleasuring himself. He’d gotten the distinct impression that her sexual experiences were limited.
Colin shuddered. “My mother made a list of potential names for the shrew’s spawn.”
“Well, it would be your spawn as well,” Bell said.
Colin pulled a face. “I just lost my appetite.”
“Angeline can’t be that bad,” Bell said.
“She’s all yours,” Colin said.
“No, thank you,” Bell said, laughing.
Harry scoffed. “Mark my words, Bell. You’ll be the first of us to wed. I wager fifty pounds on it.”
“You’ll lose.”
Colin frowned as he traced the rim of his snifter. “You’re serious about staying single.”
“Yes.” There was nothing else to say. His friends would draw their own conclusions. They knew a bit about his history, but no one knew all of the particulars. He never spoke about the past. There was no point in dredging up bad memories.
“What about your property?” Harry said.
Bell shrugged. “There’s no one to inherit.”
Harry’s eyes widened momentarily, and then he shuttered his expression. Colin said nothing and became engrossed with the condensation on the table. They’d come to the obvious conclusion. The property would revert to the Crown when he died.
An awkward silence ensued. Bell hated when the past intruded. All he wanted was to forget, but reminders cropped up from time to time, leaving a hollow feeling in his chest. The only way to deal with it was to shove it all back into the farthest recesses of his brain, but sometimes even that didn’t work. The bloody nightmares were proof.
“Ah, here come the waiters,” Colin said.
The tension in Bell’s shoulders slowly dissipated, and the aroma of the sizzling beefsteaks made Bell’s stomach growl. He was hungrier than he’d realized. All three tucked into their meal. Colin entertained them with stories of his weird twin sisters, who sometimes spoke in a language they’d made up years ago.
Bell laughed. “You’re jesting.”
“No, I’m not,” Colin said. “Bianca and Bernadette have an alphabet, too, but it looks like tiny pictures of trees, skirts, hair, milk jugs, and other nonsense.”
“That’s odd.” Bell privately wondered if the parents had dropped the twins on their heads early on in life. “Harry, what about your girl cousins? Do they have strange habits?”
“No, but they begged for an introduction to you. I said no.”
“Why? Surely you don’t think I would seduce your cousins?” Bell said.
“No, I took pity on you. They like to match-make.”
Bell shuddered. “You have my eternal thanks.”
The waiter appeared. “Would you care for dessert? Chef made a cheesecake.”
Bell looked inquiringly at his friends, who quickly assented.
“Bring cheesecake and coffee for all of us,” Bell said to the waiter.
Not long afterward, the coffee and cheesecake arrived. Harry finished with a groan. “I think I died and went to heaven.”
Colin pulled a face. “Harry, get that stupid look off your face.”
“Can’t help it,” Harry said. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a woman. Food is my only comfort.”
“Maybe we should take him to Mrs. Hawkins’s establishment after all,” Colin said. “He’s been irritable.”
Bell leaned forward. “Harry, do you have a French letter?”
Harry scowled. “No.”
“Forget it,” Bell said.
“What? Do you know how long it’s been?” Harry said. “I can’t even recall.”
Bell shook his head. “You’ll end up with the French pox.”
Harry’s forlorn expression brightened when Bell took out a gold case and offered him a cheroot. Colin lit one as well from the candle on the table.
They sat smoking in silence for a while. All around them masculine voices rumbled.
Harry blew a smoke ring. “Bell, if the widow is off-limits, you must still be in the market for a mistress.”
“Finding the right mistress is a pain in the arse.” Last night, he’d fantasized about Laura while pleasuring himself. He’d gotten the distinct impression that her sexual experiences were limited.
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