Page 82 of Marriage Most Scandalous
SEBASTIAN REACHED FOR THE BOTTLEof brandy as he took his seat again at the kitchen table. He ignored the glass now, drinking straight from the bottle. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to know. He was so close to losing all semblance of humanity that the slightest thing could tip the scale.
John was staring curiously at the body Sebastian had carted in over his shoulder and dumped on the floor. “Should I wake him?” John asked.
“If you want to see me commit murder, go ahead.”
John glanced at Sebastian in surprise. “Good Lord, what did the fellow do?”
“Turn him over.”
John did and then stepped back with a gasp. “Oh, I say, he looks just like, well, that is, the likeness is uncanny, isn’t it? Didn’t know Lord Wemyss senior had another son tucked away. A bastard?”
“No.”
“But the resemblance is remarkable!”
“Because it’s not a resemblance.”
“But—” John didn’t finish because he came to the only conclusion left. He shook his head firmly. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Neither do I.”
“But you killed him!”
“Yes, and I’m going to kill him again as soon as he wakes up.”
“I’ll help you,” John said with some ire of his own. “When I think of all the repercussions due to his death, and for him not to be dead, well, it quite boggles my mind. By the by, what’d you do to him?”
“He was always a great shot, but he never could take a punch,” Sebastian said in disgust. “A bloody feather could knock him over.”
“That isn’t quite true,” Giles said as he sat up and fingered his jaw. “I can withstand punches well enough, just not from you. And you’re going to let me explain before you kill me, right?”
“Probably not. An explanation eleven years ago would have been welcome. Now there is nothing that can justify—”
“They were going to kill him!” Giles cut in. “When he showed up in Paris, he was already running for his life.”
“Who?”
“My father. God, Seb, I had no idea of what he’d done to us with his damn gambling. He paupered us! There was nothing left.”
“Bloody hell,” Sebastian snarled. “Start from the beginning!”
Giles nodded and rose clumsily to his feet. The years hadn’t treated him well. His brown hair was dulled, riddled with gray. His face was nearly like leather parchment, lined and deeply tanned. There was little semblance of the aristocrat left in him.
“May I sit down?” Giles asked, indicating the extra chairs at the table.
“You’d be pushing it to get that close to me.”
“Quite right,” Giles agreed and began to pace. “So where shall I start?”
“That’s been established.”
“Very well. We were in Paris, Denton and I, rounding up the last week of our tour. He hadn’t enjoyed the trip, spent most of it foxed. Having reached his majority, the fact that he was a second son was making him miserable.”
“If you’re going to tell me that my brother was behind this—”
“No,” Giles said quickly.
“Then stick to the facts, which is all I’m willing to hear.”
