Page 119 of The Boxing Baroness

“You knew Dominic,” he said. “What do you think?”

“You knew him, too.”

“Ah, but that was such a long time ago.”

“It’s so hard to imagine that you were ever friends.”

He smiled faintly but didn’t answer.

“What happened between you? Did you have a single disagreement? Or was it a gradual estrangement?”

“It was both, although . . . to be honest, I don’t think he ever liked me. Not even when we were lads at school.”

“Why do you say that?” Although Marianne could guess: Sin was the better man, in every way, and Dominic, beneath his confidence and charm, was riddled with jealousy and envy.

“His father kept him on a short leash with money and it chafed at him. He thought I had everything: a generous allowance, the approval of my father, and then, after Robert died, I had the title. It ate at him.” He snorted. “But none of that stopped him from borrowing money from me. Or stealing from me.”

She grimaced. “Oh, Sin.”

“I wasn’t the only one—he stole things from Guy’s grandfather’s house once, when Guy had brought him home for the summer holiday.”

“Was that when things ended?”

“No, not even then. At least not for me. Guy was finished with him after he had to tell his grandfather—the duke—what had happened. Although Guy’s family is ancient, they are not wealthy. A lot of their financial problems are due to Guy’s father, who was . . . well, rather profligate before his death. Guy and his sisters grew up with their grandparents, and the duke has always made him feel that it is up to Guy to make amends for his father’s gambling. It must have been agonizing for Guy to admit that he’d brought a thief into their home.”

He sighed heavily. “As for me, I could afford what he stole from me.” He pulled a face. “I felt so ashamed for him that it was far easier to pretend it never happened rather than confront him. In the long run I think that just made him hate me more. After all, it is human nature to hate him you’ve injured.”

“Who said that?”

“The philosopher Tacitus, I believe.” His mouth was compressed into a harsh line. “The incident that ended everything was when he sent me a message from a brothel, begging for help.” He looked at her. “It is not a pretty tale. Are you sure you wish to hear it?”

She nodded.

“He’d gone to a virgin house. Whether the girl he took was a virgin or not, I do not know. But she was exactly that: a girl. He had no money to pay his way out and thought I’d take care of his debt, as I’d done so many times before. I refused. He was furious at me—accused me of being a moralizing prude and a bore and—well, you can imagine. The last time I saw him, he was being held by two huge bruisers, who were determined to get the money from him. He gave me such a look of hatred it was . . . chilling.”

They lay together in silence, hands clasped, and stared at the ceiling, both of them remembering a man who could be so engaging and charming and loveable when he chose. And also so duplicitous and hateful.

Sin turned to her and squeezed her hand. “He did do one good thing.”

“Oh?”

“If not for Strickland, I never would have met you.”

* * *

Sin, Marianne, and Barnabas—who’d insisted on accompanying them—arrived when the tap room opened at the Iron Helm and occupied the corner table that faced the door.

There was so little business that the publican was satisfied if they bought pints every hour, even though they didn’t drink them.

On their second day of waiting, Sin brought a pack of cards and taught her the card game piquet.

That had been yesterday.

“How much is it you owe me now?” Marianne teased as Sin gathered up the cards to shuffle them.

“As if you don’t have the amount memorized.” His eyes narrowed at her. “I think you’re a Captain Sharp and have played this game since you were a child,” he accused, secretly enchanted by her shining eyes and delightful smile.

“I hope you aren’t allowing me to win, Sin.”