Page 24 of A Perfect Gentleman

“I haven’t—”

“Or mope about like Hamlet on the castle wall.”

“Grandmother . . .”

“However, I do expect you to escort me to the theater tomorrow night.”

With an effort, Graeme refrained from grinding his teeth. “Of course. I shall be happy to.”

“Well, that’s a lie, and we both know it,” she said with a flash of a smile that surprised them both. She reached out and patted his arm awkwardly. “But I shall hold you to it. Good night, dear, and don’t stay up too long, brooding.”

“I won’t.” He sank down into his chair. He would jolly well brood if he wanted to.

Lord, now he was beginning to sound like a seven-year-old.

Graeme surged back up to his feet and began to pace. His grandmother was right—as she so often and irritatingly proved to be. He should get out of the house, clear his head. Why not talk to James? He would doubtless snicker at Graeme’s dilemma, but after thirty-three years, Graeme was accustomed to that. James was the least emotional person Graeme knew; if anyone could cut through the tangle inside Graeme, it would be he. Besides, Graeme was thoroughly sick of his own company. He might as well inflict it on James.

James was home, and though his dog lifted his great head from the rug and glowered at the interruption of his sleep, James was unruffled by the late visit. “Cousin! Come in. Out brawling with Americans again?”

Graeme grimaced. “None other than my wife. She hit me with a cosh the other night.” He flopped down in one of the chairs before the fireplace.

James’s eyebrows vaulted up. “Probably best not to ask why.”

“She thought I was someone else.”

“Now you really have roused my curiosity. Who, pray tell, did she think you were?”

“I don’t know. A footpad, I suppose; she was wandering about in an abysmal area. Or perhaps someone she went to meet. I followed her.”

“Cousin . . . whatever is going on? Your life has become something of a melodrama lately.”

“It’s a thorough mess. Abigail is up to something, and she won’t tell me what. Well, she did tell me, but I don’t see how that would explain why she’s hiding messages and sneaking out to meet people in dark streets.”

“I think this tale calls for a drink. Brandy?”

“I started out with whiskey tonight; best stick to that.”

James went to the sideboard and poured two drinks. Handing one to Graeme, he settled down in his chair. The mastiff hauled himself to his feet and leaned against James’s knee. Absently James scratched Dem’s head as he sipped his drink. “There. I am armed. Tell away.”

“She wants a baby.” It gave Graeme some satisfaction to see his usually unflappable cousin gape at him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She’s decided she wants to have a child.”

“And she’s chosen you as the, um . . . provider of this service?”

“Well, I am her husband—and if you say, ‘Not so anyone can tell,’ I swear I will thrash you.”

James raised a hand pacifically. “Go on.”

Graeme shrugged. “That’s it, I suppose.”

James looked at him for a long moment. “So, to sum up, the woman offered to sleep with you, correct?” The corner of his mouth twitched. “How dastardly of her.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It seems rather simple to me.”