The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,99
could he think of the next step, though it was clear in his mind what he must do there, too. But there was one more change he must see to, one more important than any other. He could never be his own man so long as he hefted Darius’ obligations as well as his own.
Hiring a solicitor was how he spent his morning. Tracking down his erstwhile twin so he could unburden himself of the responsibility of keeping Darius out of gaol, permanently, was how he spent his afternoon. It was no easy task. He searched high and low, from the upscale tables at Crockford’s to the worn wooden benches of Covent Garden’s seedier taverns, all to no avail.
“Constantine!”
He’d just given up and stopped to refresh himself with a dish of coffee and a scone at Will’s when he heard his name called across the room. “Constantine! Don’t move.”
Con sat up straighter at the sight of Darius making his way over from a nook in the corner. His twin looked like he’d slinked from a rathole. His hair stood on end. His blue eyes were bloodshot and he’d dropped a quarter stone since Con had last seen him.
Darius cut through the crowded room easily, as few men bothered to turn their attention from their debates and those who did scooted in to offer him a wide berth.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” he said, dropping into a wooden chair. He ran his hand through his blond hair, further mussing the short locks, then wiped his hand down his face. He blinked and looked about the table. “Do you have any whisky?”
“Of course not.” Con reached for his coffee and brought it closer to his side of the table. His fingers, which had gone cold at Darius’ ominous approach, rested against the warm porcelain dish. He didn’t truly want to know what had his twin resembling Death, but he couldn’t ignore the distress on the face so precisely featured like his own.
He’d only just resolved not to be involved again, yet here he was, asking, “What’s gone wrong?”
Relief passed over Darius’ face. He should be handsome, but he was too distraught and half-starved, consumed by too many late nights and the scorch of cheap drink. “It’s the same as always,” he started, but Con cut him off.
“If it’s the same as always then for God’s sake, stop it now.”
Darius looked stunned. Then he recovered and grinned. As though Con had been ribbing him. “My losing does get old, doesn’t it? I’m so close this time, though. I just need another two hundred—”
Con slammed his hand on the tabletop loud enough to cause a startled silence in their corner of the room. “No! When are you going to learn? You’re never going to win. You have a problem. Just like our father did. And I can’t keep bleeding myself dry trying to keep you from hurting yourself.”
Darius stared at him in horror. Then his eyes narrowed. “You sound like them.”
Con hated the comparison. Not so long ago, that would have been enough of an insult to make him leave off. Not anymore. He leaned closer so Darius couldn’t miss his resentment. “Because they’re right. The more I bail you out, the deeper out to sea you drift and the easier it is for you to drown. I can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to me and it’s not helping you. Not another farthing. You have no idea what lengths I’ve gone to for you.” And the future that he risked.
Darius went white. “You’re serious.” He leaned forward on his elbows. Fear hollowed out his eyes and exacerbated his already-sunken cheeks. “Please, Constantine. Don’t give up on me yet. It’s worse than I made it sound. Do you remember the six thousand I owed a few months ago?”
How could he have forgotten? Those six thousand quid were what had made him desperate enough to accept Elizabeth’s bargain. Her sudden appearance had seemed a godsend at the time. And it had been. Just not the way he’d thought. “Go on.”
“Well, you gave me the blunt and I took it to Baines…” He paused and Con knew, without a doubt, he wasn’t going to want to hear what his brother said next. “I gave him enough to get him off my back. The rest went to…an investment.”
Con knew exactly what kind of investment. “You despicable, sniveling rotter. You lost it?” He didn’t care that his voice carried through the room. He stood, towering over his