“It is not what you think.”
“It does not matter.” Allan looked quite sick. “I might consider the idea of a duel, but I could not raise a gun to Stephen. I could not do it. Let us not talk about this yet. I do not have the words.”
They fell into silence once more. Dorothy thought of mentioning Lord Chilmond, of how Stephen had come to help her, stopping Lord Chilmond’s blackmail, but she kept silent, fearing that Allan wouldn’t believe her.
When the carriage came to a halt, Allan jumped down quickly, leaving the door open behind him. Dorothy followed, pulling at her pelisse to ward off the cold air. She followed her brother up to the front door.
They had arrived so late at night, with no prior warning, that no butler or any member of the staff was there to greet them. Allan unlocked the door and strode inside into pitch-blackness. He reached for a tinder box and repeatedly tried to strike it, muttering in the darkness how he couldn’t see what he was doing.
Sniffing, Dorothy tucked her handkerchief into the sleeve of her pelisse and took the tinderbox from him. She lit a candle and handed it to him. He nodded his thanks and took the candle, striding down the corridor. Dorothy followed quickly behind him, aware that in the entrance hall, the footmen were bringing in their trunks and portmanteaus, leaving them by the door.
Allan didn’t say anything but continued toward his study. Inside, he dropped the candle onto the desk, pulled out a glass, then filled it to the brim with brandy. Lifting the glass high in the air, he tipped it back and downed its contents in one go.
“Oh, yes, because brandy makes everything better, does it not?”
Dorothy’s wryness earned her a glare from him. He pointedly refilled his glass.
“I’m going to bed.”
“Yes, because that will make everything better, will it not?” His sneer made her halt in the doorway. “A good night’s sleep.”
“It’s better than brandy.”
“I cannot believe you.” Allan slammed his glass down on the desk with such vigor that the other items rattled on the surface. An inkpot dropped onto its side and rolled away, though he made no effort to retrieve it. “I know you do not concern yourself with doing what the ton expects of you, but this? Kissing a man?”
She looked away, unable to bear his censure.
“Even for you, this is a new low. Something I did not expect you were capable of.”
Dorothy couldn’t deny it. She had been ready to kiss Stephen again, caught up in the moment. She was just glad that, for now, Allan didn’t know about the time she and Stephen had actually kissed.
“Maybe life isn’t as neat as you wish it to be sometimes,” Dorothy murmured, fiddling with the edges of her pelisse. “Things did not exactly go according to my plan, Brother.”
“Clearly not,” Allan huffed.
“I did nothing wrong.”
“Nothing?” he spluttered, rounding on her and nearly knocking over his glass. “You honestly think that?”
“My only guilt is believing in a man when I should not have done.”
She was angry at herself for nearly kissing Stephen again. He no doubt would have said the same thing he’d said before—that she was not his Duchess. He would have blamed hisweaknessfor getting the better of him.
“That is certainly something I did wrong, but a kiss does not feel half so scandalous.”
“It’s that attitude which has left you where you are now,” Allan said with scorn and threw himself down into his desk chair, reaching for the brandy carafe another time.
“Why not just drink from the carafe directly?” Dorothy taunted.
As if to challenge her, Allan did just that.
“Allan!”
“What of it?” He shrugged. “Our family’s reputation hardly matters anymore after what you have done.”
“The scandal sheets will not get a hold of this.” She shook her head firmly. “Charlotte and Frederica would not be so cruel as to talk about it, and neither would you.”
“Perhaps not, but as for the staff?” he said, retorted an eyebrow. “There was a maid in the corridor, Dorothy.”
