He glanced at Helgate, who was valiantly attempting to maintain his composure. A twitching eye. A stiff jaw. The faintest tremor in his fingers as he reached for his glass. A losing battle.
Then there was Miles. Silent, stoic, Miles. A man who faced down danger without so much as a blink. And here said, jaw working methodically, his chewing mechanical—but his eyes, dear Christ, his eyes werewatering.
Helgate gulped his sherry down in one go. He exhaled sharply, then forced a tight-lipped smile. “Delicious.”
“The sherry or my wife’s cake?”
“She’s not your wife yet,” Helgate muttered, placing his empty glass back on the table. He nodded toward Oliver’s plate. “And I don’t see you stuffing your mouth with what’s left on your plate.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “I am pacing myself.”
Miles coughed. Or perhaps choked. It was hard to say.
Helgate lifted a brow. “Pacing yourself or preserving yourself?”
“Same thing.”
Miles, still chewing, placed his plate before Helgate without a word.
Helgate recoiled. “Absolutely not.”
“You said you would do anything for me.”
“Yes, I’d die for you but not bloody this. It’s atrocious.” At Oliver’s look, he quickly amended, “Atrociously delicious.”
“It’s only a tiny bit over-salted,” Oliver remarked.
“Atinybit?”
Miles grunted and reached for his sherry as well. He, however, had the grace to take only a sip before he placed his glass down. “I look forward to your wedding.”
Helgate scowled at the man as if he’d just declared war. “Ever the diplomat.”
“Better than being ever the one who spews his thoughts left and right,” Oliver said dryly, leveling a look at his friend.
Helgate, who seemed to think his knack for being blunt had been called upon for more exercise, jabbed a finger at the cake on the table. “Old chap, this cake could double as a salt lick for cattle.”
“I heard you sent the Talbot ledger to Maxen Fury,” Miles interjected smoothly, steering the conversation away from the dangerous waters of dessert critique.
Oliver inclined his head. “Only the pages Helgate copied.”
Helgate folded his arms across his chest. “I still don’t know if that was the best move to make.”
Oliver shrugged. Honestly, he didn’t either. He did not that he didn’t want to make enemies of those seven Furys. Not when he just found his angel. She came first. He’d protect her at any cost. “Someone is going to absorb those routes, might as well be the devil we already know rather than any of the duchess’s henchmen or club members who remain at large.”
Helgate gave a slow nod. “Use one evil to eradicate the other.”
“Precisely.” It will give them more power, but the authorities wouldn’t have to tread lightly in bringingthemdown. At leastthat was Oliver’s way of thinking. “And didn’t you tell Maxen Fury you had your eye on them now? Go wild, old chap.”
Helgate’s lips twitched, but before he could respond, a knock sounded on the door. Oliver turned, expecting a footman. Instead, it was Louisa and Lady Theodosia.
“Louisa.” Oliver leaped to his feet, striding over to her, fingers grasping hers. She’d already tugged off her gloves, the touch of skin sending ripples to all the places that shouldn’t be awakened in public. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”
She grinned. A beautiful, breathless grin. “Is it a delightful surprise?”
“Always.”
Lady Theodosia cleared her throat.
