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moments of entering the brightly lit room that practically reverberated with the sounds of roulette wheels, chatter, laughter, and the occasional cry of defeat, he found the person he sought.
    Archer was talking to a young widow who had something of a reputation for appreciating both male and female companionship. Trystan had imbibed just enough liquid courage and was irritated just enough that he had no compunction about striding right up to his brother.
    “Let’s go,” he said.
    Archer turned to him with an expression that was as much disbelieving as it was annoyed. “Beg pardon?”
    Trystan bowed to the lady. “Apologies for my rudeness, but would you mind if I spoke to my brother privately?”
    “Of course not,” she replied easily. “Lord Archer and I can continue our conversation at his earliest convenience.” There was no mistaking the promise of pleasure in her voice, but then both of his brothers had inherited a charm with the fairer sex that seemed to elude him.
    “What the devil is wrong with you?” Archer demanded in a low voice as soon as the pretty blonde left them. “Have you been drinking?”
    The scowl on his sibling’s face brought a grin to Trystan’s own. He was still enough of a brat that he enjoyed discombobulating his brothers. “I have. I’m on my way to Chez Cherie’s. Care to join?”
    Archer’s jaw sagged as his pale eyes widened ever so slightly—it was quite the coup to illicit such a reaction from a man as schooled at hiding his true feelings as Archer was. “Chez Cherie’s?”
    “Am I not enunciating clearly?” He was being deliberately glib. “Yes, that is exactly what I said and where I am bound. Will you join me or not?”
    “Not,” his brother replied. “I promised Grey I’d meet him for a game of snooker in ten minutes, and I hope to catch up with Lady Mitchell afterward—if you didn’t succeed in scaring her into another man’s arms.”
    “Or woman’s,” Trystan offered brightly.
    Archer raised a sharp brow. “I am a gentleman and more than willing to share with a lady, but my generosity does not apply to a bloke. Why don’t you stay here? I’m sure you can find someone more than willing to have you for free, even though you are the ugliest of our lot.”
    Trystan wasn’t offended, though it was true. Their oldest brother, Grey, Duke of Ryeton, had rugged features while Archer’s were sharp; neither had any trouble attracting lovers. But Trystan’s features were more a combination of the two of them, making his nose perhaps a little too big and his mouth a little too wide. Still, his mother always claimed he had the prettiest eyes. And he had learned not to underestimate the power of such a gaze where women were concerned.
    “Tonight I think I would prefer to pay,” he confided. “One knows exactly where one stands with a professional. Little room for disappointment or humiliation.”
    Archer frowned, his countenance all concern. “Perhaps I should take you home.”
    He clapped his elder sibling on the shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m the most reliable, steady, and least reckless male in our family.”
    “Yes,” Archer agreed, looking not the least bit comforted by the reminder. “That is what concerns me. Let me tell Grey we’re leaving and I’ll take you back to the Barrington.”
    Trystan’s fingers gripped his brother’s shoulder and squeezed forcefully—not hard enough to hurt but with enough pressure to get his attention. “I’m not going home and I don’t need you acting like my frigging governess. Come with me or don’t, but I’m going.”
    Archer stared at him, long and hard. It was deuce impossible to decipher what the look meant, or guess at what he saw, but eventually he nodded. “As you wish. Breakfast tomorrow, then?”
    Trystan smiled. “On me.” He lifted his hand from his brother’s shoulder. “Have fun with Lady Mitchum.”
    “Mitchell.”
    “Of course.” But Trystan was already walking away and