eviscerate him when she finds out.”
“I’ve little interest in understanding the workings of Julian Belfry’s mind,” James said shortly. “Though I’ve half a mind to call him out—the bastard visited my wife in her bedchamber. Christ.” He felt a surge of anger at the thought. A small, unwelcome part of him asked him what right he had to anger—after all, he’d spent the better part of four years doing his best to ignore Violet. Did that not mean he forfeited some of his right to husbandly outrage? “I’m more interested in learning what, precisely, my darling wife thinks she’s doing.” He speared Penvale with a glance. “And how it is that you’ve found yourself mixed up in it all.”
“The answer to that should be obvious.” Penvale’s tone was dark.
James hazarded a guess. “Your sister?”
“She wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to arrange a meeting between Belfry and your wife.”
“She’s your younger sister. I would have thought you could manage to outwit her now that you’ve achieved the age of eight-and-twenty.”
“That is mere proof that you don’t have a sister,” Penvale replied.
James began to pace. “So—and please correct me if I am wrong—you are telling me that you were bullied by a couple of young ladies.”
Penvale paused. James could practically see the wheels in his mind turning, weighing his options, the potential loss of dignity that would result from admitting to being bested by his sister and his best friend’s wife, and then—
“Yes,” Penvale said, more cheerfully now. “That’s about the shape of it.”
James resisted, with great effort, the urge to seize Penvale by the neckcloth and shake him. He had always thought that his distrust of others was a sign of his own strength; the relatively few people he allowed into his inner circle must somehow be inherently more worthy. But it had transpired that first Violet, and now Penvale, had lied by omission; he seemed to be a less astute judge of character than he had thought. And yet, the revelation of Penvale’s complicity in this wild scheme did not send him into the towering rage he might have expected; rather, the involvement of one of his best friends merely made him curious to learn more about what was afoot. For the first time, he wondered if a single lie was perhaps not the unforgivable betrayal he had once believed it to be.
“I would be most gratified,” he said, enunciating every word clearly, “if you would tell me, in clear and concise fashion, what the hell is going on.”
“Allow me to assist you, then,” came an amused voice from behind them, and James and Penvale turned. Belfry was leaning in the doorway at the entrance to the room. He was clothed in a simple shirt and breeches, a scarlet banyan completing the ensemble. His dark hair was tousled, and his eyes were bleary. He had the look of a man who had recently awoken from a rough night—and who had enjoyed every minute of it.
“Belfry,” James said shortly.
Belfry offered him a bow that went beyond the bounds of what politeness required and veered dangerously close to mockery. One of James’s palms curled into a fist at his side, but he was resolved, as always, to keep his temper, at least until he gained the information he sought.
After that? Well. He made no promises. Every gentleman had his limits.
“I’m touched by your eagerness to call upon me,” Belfry said, pushing off from the doorjamb and sauntering into the room. “But I must ask whether it was necessary to do so at such an hour.” He paused at the sideboard, considered the decanter sitting there, then seemed to think better of it and continued his progress into the room.
“I can assure you, Belfry, I’d rather be anywhere than here at the moment,” James said shortly. “But, you see, when a man discovers another man visiting his wife in her bedchamber, he suddenly finds himself with some questions that need answering.”
“Does he?” Belfry flung himself onto a chaise. “I should think that it would all be rather obvious.” He did not smile, but James suspected that Belfry was trying to bait him.
“Why did you call upon my wife?”
“Why does a man ever call upon a lady?”
“Give it up, Belfry. You gave me your damned card. A man caught out in an improper liaison doesn’t usually leave behind his calling card.”
“Did I?” Belfry widened his eyes, and tapped his chin. “Must have been a mistake on my part.”
Keeping one’s temper was all