Page 67 of The Rogue’s Offer

Beatrice had sailed for New York with her new husband, and his brother’s enjoyment in life took a reckless turn. Charles had constantly put himself at risk until a near fatal horseback accident had made his brother change course. Mathias glanced toward the end of the table and met his brother’s gaze. The emotion flashing across Charles’s face was undefinable, and Mathias frowned with irritation. He’d never met a more stubborn person in his life. A voice protested in the back of his head, but he ignored the sound.

For the remainder of the meal, Beatrice manage to avoid any more personal conversations with him. Whenever they spoke, she was quick to change the subject by replying to his questions with a question of her own. Throughout the meal, he continued to study Charles down the length of the table. His brother acted as if he were enjoying himself immensely, and it made him wonder if he’d read more into Charles’s reaction to Beatrice than he should have.

After the meal’s last course, the women left the dining room while the men remained behind to enjoy a glass of cognac. Mathias leaned back in his chair to study the amber liquid in his glass. He moved his hand in a gentle motion and watched as the brandy swirled around in the crystal glass. Across the room, he saw Percy speaking with Chelmsford. The foul mood he’d been in earlier returned. He was tired of polite conversation.

As soon as it was respectable to do so, he’d leave. There was a decanter of whisky waiting for him at home. In the past month, alcohol had been the only way to drown out his pain. It deadened the ache in his body and suppressed the thoughts of Ophelia that haunted his every waking moment. He took a swig of his brandy before setting it on the table.

That night at the club had been the last time he’d drank to excess in public. He’d confined his drunken stupors to his bedroom. If he were to have imbibed too freely at the club, the gossips would have ensured Ophelia heard of his excessive drinking. He wasn’t about to give the woman any satisfaction as to how her betrayal had affected him.

“Might I have a word with you, Gilchrist?”

Startled out of his thoughts, Mathias stiffened in his chair as Chelmsford sat down in the chair next to him. His resolve not to drink too heavily in public vanished as he reached for his brandy. He took a deep drink of the cognac not bothering to savor the flavor of dried fruit mixed with citrus zest. Mathias focused his gaze on his glass afraid he would thrash the man if he looked at him.

“What do you want, Chelmsford?”

“Actually I think it’s more a question of what you want.” At the earl’s odd reply, Mathias jerked his head toward the man.

“Cryptic conversations hold no appeal for me, my lord. Say what you want to say then get the hell away from me.”

“As you wish.” The earl shrugged slightly. “I’d like to know what happened between you and Ophelia the night of the Meacham affair.”

“Nothing,” Mathias lied as he eyed his empty brandy snifter instead of looking Chelmsford in the eye.

A great deal had happened that night. There had been his anguish when he’d discovered Ophelia had accepted Chelmsford’s proposal. The moment he’d been unable to let her leave the study. The memory of her passionate response to him flooded through him followed by an image of her humiliation when he’d brutally insulted her.

The final blow that night had been the agony he’d suffered when he’d returned to Meacham’s study intent on begging her forgiveness only to find her in Chelmsford’s arms. Mathias’s chest constricted as if a band of metal had suddenly been wrapped tightly around him and it was difficult to breathe.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you believe, Chelmsford,” Mathias said quietly, yet forcefully, as he turned his head and eyed the earl with antipathy. “As I said, say what you came over here to say then get the hell away from me.”

“Do you love Lady Havenstock?”

The earl’s question stunned Mathias, and he stared at the man in open-mouthed astonishment. His amazement vanished a second later as he narrowed his gaze at Chelmsford and intense dislike surged through him. He’d like nothing better than to challenge the man to a boxing match, but he knew he’d be at a disadvantage. The earl was well-known for his exemplary pugilistic skills.

“Whatever game you’re playing, sir, I suggest you play it with someone else,” Mathias growled.

“It’s simple question, Gilchrist. Are you in love with Ophelia?” This time the question didn’t surprise him. Leaning back in his chair, Mathias eyed the man coldly for a moment before he shook his head.

“I seem to recall you asking me a short time ago if Lady Havenstock and I had an understanding,” Mathias said as he eyed the other man coldly. “I told you at that time we did not and that the lady was free to indulge in whatever liaison she wished.”

“Rockwood said you were stubborn.”

“Percy is hardly an authority on the subject.” Mathias looked at his empty glass and wished he hadn’t swallowed the cognac so quickly. “But since you’ve mentioned Lady Havenstock, I understand congratulations are in order.”

“Congratulations?” A bewildered frown creased Chelmsford’s forehead.

“I understand Lady Havenstock has agreed to your offer of marriage.”

This time it was the earl’s turn to look astonished. Mathias almost released a bitter laugh at the man’s expression, but he was far from being in a laughing mood. With a sharp movement, he shoved himself out of his chair.

“If you’ll excuse me, Chelmsford, this conversation has become boring.” He’d taken no more than two steps when he heard the earl’s snort of mocking laughter.

“You aren’t just stubborn. You’re a blind fool as well.”

Mathias remained still for a moment as he struggled to control the rage surging through him. He’d never wanted to pummel anyone as much as he did this man. It took several seconds to curb his anger before he slowly turned around.

“I’m well aware of your skill in the ring, Chelmsford, but at the moment, your insults are making it difficult for me not challenge you.”