I found you. It had been tampered with. That was your sister’s carriage.”
“Why would he want to kill Melanie?”
“He’s miserable. She hasn’t provided him an heir. He’s a mean bastard.” He tossed his arms up. “I don’t know, but I know I’m right.”
“Sullivan, that’s madness. Your brother died in an accident.”
“In a shooting accident,” he said. “No one was better with guns than Roderick. That kind of accident would never have happened to him.”
“You cannot like Thomas, you don’t have to be friends with him. Heaven knows I’m not close with my own sister. But accusing him of murder and trying to murder again.” She shook her head.
“Still, you will defend him.”
“I will defend those who cannot defend themselves!” she snapped. “I’m going to bed.” She turned to go, then paused. “I am meeting my friends to go shopping tomorrow.”
“Tilly,” he said. His voice held an unsaid warning.
“Yes, I know, you forbid me from doing anything with the Ladies of Virtue.”
“I only want you to be safe.”
Safe. Miserable, but safe. “Goodnight, Sullivan.”
Outside the library, she paused, one hand pressing the book to her chest and the other braced against the wall, unsettled by everything that had happened. Not just Thomas’s behavior or even Sullivan’s accusation that Thomas was guilty of far worse things than propositioning another man’s wife.
No, what bothered her the most was her reaction to Sullivan. Even when they were fighting she wanted him to kiss her. Worse than that, she wanted him to talk to her, to confide in her.
There had been a moment when he’d asked if she still loved Thomas when she’d thought…what?
For a moment, standing in the hall, with only a wall between her and Sullivan, she squeezed her eyes closed and then forced out a breath. Forced herself to admit—if only in her mind—what she had thought he might ask her. What she had wanted him to ask her.
“If you don’t have feelings for Thomas, do you have feelings for me?”
That was what she had thought he would say next. Worse still, she did have feelings for him. And even worse than that, she wanted him to have feelings for her.
Foolish, foolish girl!
Imagining someone like Sullivan might have feelings for her. Other than lust, that was.
Sullivan might not be the slothful arrogant arse she had once imagined he was, but he was certainly still interested in little more than his own pleasure. Of course he was taking advantage of their marriage bed, but that didn’t mean he loved her. That didn’t mean he wanted more than their few months together so he could salve his guilt over her ruined reputation.
He cared far more about honor than she had ever imagined, but that didn’t mean he cared about her.
Still clutching the book to her chest, she pushed away from the wall, feeling as though there was far more than just that one wall between them.
…
Sullivan made his way into the club. It was not a place he frequented, but he knew the man he wanted to see was a regular. He couldn’t very well pay a visit to him at the man’s townhome, else his wife would potentially interfere. Considering he hadn’t been here in months, it was fortunate he found precisely who he was looking for the moment he entered the darkened, smoke-filled room.
There was no reason to pretend he was here for any other reason, so he navigated through the tables, nodding to men he knew before he reached Fletcher’s table. Fletcher Banks, the Marquess of Longley. Two other men sat around the mahogany table situated in the corner of the wood-paneled room. Oliver Weeks, the Marquess of Davenport and Malcolm Wheatley, the Duke of Lockwood. Sullivan had sought Fletcher out because he was married to Sullivan’s friend, Agnes, who happened to also be a member of the Ladies of Virtue.
“Look, Longley,” Oliver said. “It’s the newest member of the Lords of Vice. Come and drink with us, Glenbrook.”
Sullivan sat and a footman rushed over with a glass of brandy. “What the devil are you talking about, Lords of Vice?”
Fletcher flashed him a grin. “Before you and your bride were compromised, did she confront you about any behavior of yours that needed changing?”
The swallow of brandy nearly clogged his throat. “How did you know?”
“Greed,” Oliver said with a lift of his glass.
“Lust,” Fletcher added with a wink.
“Ashby, the first of us, I believe he was pride,” Oliver said.
Fletcher lifted his chin in Sullivan’s direction. “And you are?”
Sullivan found himself grinning. “Slothful.”
“Pay up,”