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“In a few months or even days?—”

“Never.”

“You’ll tire of me, of this, of the inconvenience of having a lover in London while you’re here.”

“No. I’ll have a house. We’ll have a house.”

“Please.” She was hanging her head now, and he could not see her expression, could only see her hands, stiff and picking at her skirts. “I do not want to lose you?—”

He took a step forward, heart surging. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

“—as a lover.”

There. As good as a no, that. He rocked away from her, planted his feet on hard, solid ground where a bastard should always remember to stay planted. “Yes. Of course.”

“You’re not angry?” She didn’t even peek up at him. Who was this Beatrice, hesitant and shy? Not his Beatrice at all.

“No. But… I’ve things to do. To prepare Daniel for departure. And they require secrecy. You understand.”

She stepped backward, opening the growing gulf between them. “Yes, of course. It’s a matter of some delicacy. Tomorrow… shall we meet here again?”

“I’ll let you know.” Each word sounded like a feral snap. “I will likely be busy.”

After a curt nod, she walked slowly away from him. He seemed to watch her back for years, the gentle sway of her hips. It took decades for her to shrink into the distance, to disappear around the side of the house. And it would take centuries for him to understand why he didn’t run after her and give her everything she asked for. Lovers and nothing else for as long as it lasted. He should be begging her for it.

He wanted her.

But… he wanted to be wanted, too.

“Bollocks,” he hissed, stomping out of the woods.

“You mucked that up right nice, didn’t you?” Daniel’s voice accompanied the loud crunch of grass and twigs beneath a boot.

Richard jumped. “Damn you, Daniel! Where did you come from?”

Daniel blinked, pointed to the house. “There. Where else? But where are you lettinghergo to? Or ratherwhom? Because some man will be waiting to offer her solace, and you’ll lose your bedmate. You and I do not see eye to eye on much, but you’re still my brother. I’d rather you get beneath her skirts than some other man. If that’s what you want.”

“Go away, Daniel.”

“Always being exiled.” Daniel sighed. “It’s not sporting.”

“You’re exhausting.” Richard sat on the garden wall.

Daniel sat beside him, rubbing his palms over his face. “I’mexhausted.” And he looked it, upon closer inspection—pale and gaunt and hollow-eyed. “Should I put more of that plant down Peterson’s jacket?”

“Pardon me?” His brother had always been full up with nonsense, but what was this?

“You know, that plant we accidentally rolled in. On the south side of the lake. When we were kids? All purple and shaped like a cock?—”

“It is not. Looks nothing like.”

“And it makes you itch like the devil. Peterson was sitting near the window, and I sprinkled some down his jacket and cravat. Got in his ears and everything. The wind helped quite a bit in the process of dispersal. Couldn’t have asked for a better day for it.”

Oh God. Richard did remember Peterson sitting at the window in the library, scratching his neck like he wanted to rip off the skin entirely. “Do not do that again.”

“Wouldn’t you like to thank me? Him being the competition and all.”

“No.”