The Importance of Being Wanton - Christi Caldwell Page 0,36

Landon supplied. Reaching for the barely touched bottle of brandy, he proceeded to refill his glass.

“Let me get this straight: you two, leading rogues of Polite Society, are interviewing lords to see if they are . . . respectable enough.” St. John paused, then promptly burst out laughing.

Landon grunted. “Quite judgmental of you, old chum. One should think you’d approve of us being careful in our process.”

“Yes. No. I . . .” The befuddled gentleman dragged a hand through his hair, then began again. “Of course, I am pleased that you are placing such emphasis on the character of the members.”

“Did you expect otherwise?” Charles asked, already knowing. Already knowing the opinion society . . . even his best friends and family . . . had of him. He was entirely deserving of it. But it chafed still.

“Of course not,” St. John said unconvincingly.

“I’m allowing gentlemen to enter my family’s household, the place where my sister and Seamus live . . . and where your sister and other men’s sisters and wives will meet,” Charles said. “Do you truly think I’ll allow just any rogue to attend?”

Folding his arms at his chest, Landon stared pointedly at the viscount. “Hmm?”

Properly chastised, St. John bowed his head. “You . . . my apologies,” he said quietly. “You are correct. I’m just . . . pleased to see the measures you’ve put into place.”

Surprised Charles would do the right thing? It didn’t need to be said. The meaning of those unspoken words was clear.

Coughing into his fist, St. John nodded for them to continue. “As you were.”

Landon motioned for their next potential member to join.

Beaufort trotted over and hovered until Charles gestured to the last open seat. “Join us, Beaufort.”

The young fellow promptly sank into the seat. “A-all three of you intend to interview me?”

“Is that a problem?” Charles, Landon, and St. John asked at the same time.

The boy’s enormous Adam’s apple leapt. “No,” he croaked, his voice climbing several octaves. “Not at all. It is an honor.” He swept his arms wide and dropped a deep, seated bow that managed to connect the lad’s forehead with the corner of the table.

All three men collectively winced at that solid thump.

Blushing, Beaufort straightened.

“Now . . .” Charles’s question faded as he caught sight of the latest addition to White’s. His brother wound his way through the crowded floor, beating a purposeful path forward until he came to a stop at Charles’s private table.

Derek doffed his hat, slapping it against his palm and sending a cloud of dust wafting.

“Hey, pup,” Charles greeted. He stretched out a leg, using the tip of his boot to snatch one of the empty chairs from a nearby table and shove it over to Derek. “Joining the big lads, are you?”

Derek ignored that offering, his expression dark, his eyes troubled.

All Charles’s fraternal senses went on brotherly alert. “Out of here, Beaufort,” he said, cutting off the young man still in the midst of conversing with St. John.

The other man stopped abruptly and frowned up at Charles’s brother. “I beg your pardon. I’ve scheduled my appointment, Hayden. You’re stealing my time.”

Derek blinked in confusion. “What . . . is happening?” he asked with the same confusion St. John had arrived with earlier.

“Nothing anymore. You heard the Haydens. Time to shove off, Beaufort,” Landon said, pushing the smaller man’s chair back with his right foot to edge it away from the table.

“Gentlemen, if you’ll allow me a moment?” Charles said the moment Derek had seated himself.

As if at last sensing the tense shift, his friends looked between one another.

“Of course,” St. John murmured, climbing to his feet.

As both men took their leave, Derek didn’t offer so much as a parting goodbye, and the sense of dread only spiraled. “What is it?” Charles asked the moment they’d gone.

“I . . .” Derek averted his stare, the club’s bounty of candles casting a bright glow over the room, highlighting his flushed cheeks.

“What is it, Derek?” Charles urged a second time, gently but firmly.

“I attended a club that caters to men and women.” A wicked establishment Charles had frequented time enough in his youth, at first in the name of duty, and then because it had become easier to be numbed by the solace found in a stranger’s arms than to confront directly how he’d failed his sister. Such clubs were dens of sin, and he despised that his brother had found his way into that world. “There was . . . a young woman