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“I did.” Nina nodded gravely. She paused, then nodded again. “Twice.” Her lips trembled. She was going to laugh.
Geoffrey turned his glare on Alan. “You hired this woman?”
Alan raised a brow. “Most recently I asked her to marry me.”
Geoffrey blinked. “That’s a jest.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
“Married to a maid.” Geoffrey’s smirk was disbelieving.
“She hasn’t said yes,” Alan confided. “And in point of fact, she’s not a maid.”
“But I’ll happily bring that tray to the kitchen.” Nina bounced to her feet. “And leave you to talk among yourselves. You need something stronger than tea, I think.”
She bent over the table.
Geoffrey leapt up. “Don’t you dare.”
“It’s no bother. I was going to the kitchen anyway.” She lifted the tray. “It’s the most wonderful kitchen I’ve ever seen. If it were mine, I’d appreciate it. And I’d appreciate the people cooking my meals and cleaning my messes.” Her brow furrowed as she studied him. “You have so very much to appreciate.”
“Ha.” Geoffrey’s laugh sounded thin and unconvincing. “I’ll appreciate it if you refrain from dropping that tray.”
Nina kept staring, with mixed dislike and goodwill.
“That’s a start.” She sighed. “Appreciation takes practice. Keep trying, and you’ll improve. Even in the absence of natural talent.” She curtseyed and the tray rattled.
Geoffrey opened his mouth and closed it.
“Your grace,” she said, and rattled from the room.
Chapter Thirty-one
They went up to the study. As Geoffrey poured the whiskey, Alan removed the bundled letters from his coat and dropped them on the desk. All things considered, Geoffrey took it well. After a few fits and starts of questions and curses, he drained his glass and poured another. Alan put down his own glass and reached for the bottle.
“Do you remember?” he asked, and lifted the bottle high.
That long-ago night, when they’d passed a bottle between them, and then another.
Of course Geoffrey remembered. They’d said things they’d never forget and probably both regretted. Truths that they’d each flung back in the other’s face.
“I remember the headache the next day.” Geoffrey rubbed his temple.
Alan laughed and tipped the bottle back again. Their father’s funeral had passed in a pounding blur, the alcohol only partially to blame.
“I wish I’d never told you about Patricia.” Geoffrey flung himself into an armchair. “You judged me then for the choice I made, the only choice I could have made. And now I discover you planned to blackmail me because I didn’t surrender the woman I loved.”
“Your affair with Patricia gave me an opportunity.” Alan held Geoffrey’s eyes. “I planned to blackmail you because you closed my account. Because you tried to control what I write, how I live. Who I am.”
Geoffrey looked away. “Why return the letters, then?”
Alan pictured Nina, and his chest went warmer than the whiskey warranted. “Maybe I got my soul back.”
“Blackmail.” Geoffrey emptied his glass and peered into it. “Did you think to keep Claud in London?”
Alan didn’t answer.
Geoffrey set the glass on the floor and looked at him. “I wouldn’t have capitulated to any demand detrimental to his health, even under pain of death.”
