A Duke in Time (The Widow Rules #1) - Janna MacGregor Page 0,82
turned around.
The Marquess of Grayson held out his hand first. Christian clasped it tightly, and both men clapped the other on the shoulder.
“Thank you for coming with him,” Christian said to Grayson. He turned his gaze to Sykeston and held out his hand. “Sykeston.”
The earl transferred his ebony walking stick to the other hand, then reached for Christian’s. Though they didn’t clap each other on the back, Sykeston nodded with a look of respect. It spoke volumes. They were still friends, though they hadn’t communicated with each other after they had come home.
“It’s good to see you healthy,” Christian offered.
“If you call this healthy,” Sykeston quipped as he glanced at his leg.
Christian hesitated a moment. The earl was prickly about his permanently injured leg. “But you’re here.”
Sykeston nodded. “And lucky to be alive.”
Grayson sighed slightly. “Indeed.”
The earl looked askance in Christian’s direction. “Tell me what’s so urgent that we needed to meet tonight.” His lips curled downward. “At a soiree?”
“I thought it safer to meet here than at my home.” Without waiting for an answer, Christian locked the door. He led the way to a small salon not far from the balcony. Framing the fireplace, two small sofas faced each other. The earl and the marquess sat beside each other on one, while Christian poured three glasses of whisky. He sat on the opposite sofa.
Sykeston appeared at ease, which would hopefully work in Christian’s favor when he made his unusual request. Christian raised his glass in the air, and the other men joined him. When they downed their spirits, Grayson leaned against the sofa.
Sykeston wasn’t as nonchalant. “Though I was invited here tonight, I wasn’t planning on attending. I normally wouldn’t set foot in any place where there was music and dancing occurring, but with your summons, I couldn’t refuse. What’s this about, Randford? You’re not recruiting me and Grayson for some spy mission, are you?”
Grayson leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees with an intense look on his face. “I’m here for moral support.”
“For whom?” Sykeston shot him an askance glare. “Randford or me?”
Christian shook his head. “The reason I called you here today is personal. I saved your life once, and now I need your help.”
Sykeston nodded once for him to proceed.
“It’s dire.” How to explain he needed the earl to save Constance and her soon-to-be born child from ruin because of his brother’s selfishness? “What I have to say cannot leave this room.”
Sykeston nodded again, then frowned slightly at Grayson’s audible exhale. “Do you know what this is about?”
Grayson nodded.
The earl returned his curt gaze to Christian. “Don’t leave me in suspense.”
“My late departed half brother did something unforgiveable.” Christian swallowed, hoping to rid himself of the vile taste in his mouth. It always happened when he was embarking on cleaning up one of his half brother’s messes. “He married three women. One is carrying his child. All three wives are vulnerable. No one knows, and I’m hoping you will marry one.”
Sykeston’s face remained expressionless.
After a long bout of silence, Grayson was the first to speak. “Go on. Tell him all of it.”
The earl’s intelligence was as sharp and accurate as his renowned marksman skills. How fortunate for Christian that he didn’t carry any weapons on him tonight because the expression on the earl’s face was—to put it kindly—murderous.
“I need your help, Jonathan. Through the tragedies and horrors we’ve been through together, I’ve come to know and consider you a friend. I know you’re a good man, and I don’t want this woman to suffer because of my half brother’s deeds.” He lowered his voice. “She’s a wonderful woman.”
Sykeston’s face visibly paled. “Constance Lysander married your brother. Who’s the one you want me to marry?”
“How did you know about Miss Lysander?” Christian’s shock reverberated around the room. If Sykeston knew, could there possibly be others in the outlying areas of England that were aware of his brother’s polygamy?
“She’s from Portsmouth.” Sykeston pursed his lips. “I’ve known her since she was a young girl. The Lysander family is wealthy and well-known in the area. Constance is … special. She would have been a good match for any man.”
“She’s his second wife, and Miss Beth Howell is his third,” Christian said.
Sykeston’s face visibly paled. “Who did he marry first?”
“The former Katherine Greer from York,” Christian confided.
Grayson leaned against the sofa then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Beth Howell is also a fine woman. Christ. I don’t even know what to say, and I’ve heard the story