The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,71

the double doors for his client and his client’s father’s executor. He didn’t glance back at her. Hadn’t greeted her or stared at her.

But this was business.

One thing you could always count on with Samuel T., no matter how wild and crazy he could be after hours, was that as soon as he put his lawyer hat on, he was unshakable.

She literally didn’t exist. Any more than anyone else who did not affect his client’s interests did.

And ordinarily, this arguably appropriate compartmentalization irked her and made her want to get in his face and demand notice. Knowing that Amelia was somewhere in the mansion cured her of any such immaturity, however.

With them in such close vicinity, it was impossible to ignore the implications of her lack of disclosure. She was a criminal, stealing them of years that were their due, robbing them of knowledge that was their right. And for the first time, she felt a guilt that was so finely edged, she was sure she was bleeding internally.

But the idea of coming out with it all? That was a mountain insurmountable from where she stood now, the distance, the height, the rocky territory that all those missing days and nights, and events small and large, added up to, too far to travel.

Yes, she thought. This was why she caused the drama, this was the root of her escapades. If one created cymbals crashing directly in front of one’s face … one could hear nothing of anything else. Especially one’s conscience.

Her conscience.

“How are you?”

Jerking to attention, she looked up at her brother Edward, and had to blink through tears to properly see him.

“No, no, none of that,” he said stiffly.

Just as well he thought he was the cause. “But of course.” She wiped her eyes. “Edward … you are …”

Not looking well, she thought as she let go of her own problems.

And God, to see him hunched and thin, so different from the head of the family that she had forever pictured him as, was a recalibration she did not wish to make. It was so strange. In the ways that mattered, it was easier to lose her father than the incarnation of her brother that had always been.

“I’m well,” he filled in when she failed to complete the sentence. “And you?”

Falling apart, she thought to herself. I am our family’s fortunes, crumbling first in private … and then for all to see.

“I am well.” She batted her hand about. “Listen to us. We sound like our parents.”

She rose out of the chair and embraced him, and couldn’t hold her wince in as she felt bones and not much else. He gave her an awkward pat before he stepped back.

“I understand there are congratulations in order.” He bowed stiffly. “I will try to make the wedding. When is it?”

“Ah … Friday. No, Saturday. I … don’t know. We’re getting married at the courthouse on Friday, though. I’m not sure about a reception.”

Abruptly, it was the last thing that held any interest for her.

“Friday.” He nodded. “Well, best wishes to you and your fiancé.”

With that, he hobbled out, and she nearly jumped ahead of him and demanded that he tell her what he really thought: Her true brother Edward would never have been so phlegmatic about Richard. Edward had had to do business with Pford Distributors for years and had never been impressed with the man.

And if the old Edward had known what happened behind closed doors?

He would have been murderous.

But he had evolved into a different place, even as she seemed determined to remain on her path. Neither was an improvement, was it.

Left in the room alone, Gin sat back down and stayed where she was, a strange paralysis overtaking her body. Meanwhile, the various voices and footfalls drifted off. And then outside on the lawn in the sunshine, not far from where that gruesome discovery had been made in the ivy bed, the two lawyers and her brother fell into a clutch of conversation.

She stared at Samuel T. through the bubbly glass of the old-fashioned window. His face never seemed to change. It was as chiseled and perfectly formed as ever, his hair just a little on the long side and brushed straight back. His body, long and lean, carried that handmade suit like a hanger, the folds of fabric, the sleeves, the cuffs on the pant legs, falling exactly as the tailor meant them to.

She thought of him in the wine cellar in the basement, fucking that girl