That status was a thing of the past, as was his military career. James no longer wore a hussar’s colorful uniform. His riding-dress was somber-hued, the breeches dun-colored and the coat a dark brown. The clothes were elegant and expensive, as befitted an earl, but not dashing. Even so, he looked finer than any gentleman Kate had ever seen.
James’s appearance wasn’t the only reason débutantes and their mamas sought him out, but Harry didn’t mention the earldom or the fortune. “What’s wrong with débutantes?” he asked again.
“I could have my pick of a dozen of them,” James said, frowning at his brandy.
“Only a dozen?”
James looked up. His mouth curved into a reluctant smile. “All right, I could have almost any débutante I wanted.” The smile faded. “But I don’t want one.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want a chit straight out of the schoolroom.”
“Why not?”
James shrugged. “They giggle too much.”
“Nonsense!” Harry said. “A young and pretty miss would be just the thing.”
“I can get young and pretty from an opera dancer,” James said, exasperation in his voice. “We’re talking about a wife.”
“So?”
“So, I want a wife whose company I can tolerate. Damn it, Harry, I’ll be spending the rest of my life with the woman. I want her to be someone I like!”
“And you can’t like a débutante? Come on, James, that’s a bit steep.”
“Remember Maria Brougham?” James asked, swirling the brandy in his glass.
Kate had heard the name before, but she couldn’t recall the context. Harry clearly did. He nodded. “Those eyes,” he said. “That mouth. And her breasts!”
“Yes,” James said. “Exactly. And look at her now. She’s become a regular Devil’s daughter. Poor Edgeton lives in terror of her tongue.”
“She’s still beautiful,” Harry protested, while Kate realized who Maria Brougham was: the Duke of Edgeton’s wife. A woman with the figure of a Venus and face of an angel—and the sharp tongue and uncertain temper of a shrew.
“Certainly,” James agreed. “But would you want to be married to her?”
“No,” Harry said. He tapped his fingers on his knee. “I offered for her, you know.”
Kate’s eyes widened. Her brother had offered for the waspish Duchess of Edgeton?
James grunted as he looked at his brandy. “So did I.”
Kate blinked, astonished. She wasn’t sure what surprised her most; that James had proposed, or that Maria Brougham had refused him. How could anyone refuse an offer of marriage from James?
“She held out for a duke,” Harry said, his tone faintly resentful.
James glanced up. A hint of a smile touched his mouth. “For which we should both be thankful.”
Harry made a brief sound of agreement.
James eyed him, and Kate watched as his smile widened. “I remember you fought a duel over her.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Mmm.”
“Some slur on her appearance. What was it? Her lips?”
“Her eyelashes,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in his armchair. Kate stared at the back of his head. Her brother had fought a duel over the Duchess of Edgeton’s eyelashes?
James grinned, and Kate’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t seen him look like that in a long time. “Her eyelashes.”
“You fought a duel over a pair of boots.”
James’s grin faded to a reminiscent smile. “So I did. I’d forgotten. Lord, what a young fool I was.”
“And you broke Camden’s jaw over that opera dancer.”
The amusement left James’s face. His features became stern once more. “Bella,” he said. “Yes, I did.” He looked at his brandy and swirled it gently in the glass. “He hit her, you know.”
Harry nodded.
“I liked Bella,” James said. “She was . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Expensive.”
James shrugged a shoulder. “Worth it.”
“If you say so.”
James looked up. His brown eyes seemed very dark and his mouth was almost smirking. “I do,” he said, and something in his voice made Kate’s cheeks flush hot.
The library was silent for a moment, apart from logs shifting in the fire. Harry cleared his throat again. “So, not a débutante?”
James’s face became blank. “No,” he said. “A woman whose character is formed. I want to know what I’m getting. I have no wish for a wife whose company will grow irksome.”
“And you want my help. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
James looked at Harry. It seemed to Kate that he didn’t wish to speak. “No,” he said finally. “It’s not.”
“Not?” Harry sat up straighter, his tone baffled. “What then?”
James frowned past Harry at the wall. It was as if he stared directly at Kate. She shrank back in the priest’s hole.
“I’m here because I want to marry your sister,” James said.
Harry choked on his brandy.
Kate jerked back, knocking over the candlestick. She reached for it desperately, blindly, and missed. The muted clang went unheard beneath Harry’s coughing.
She knelt in the dark, unable to breathe, while the candlestick rolled across the floor of the priest’s hole. James wanted to marry her?
“You want to marry Kate?” Harry said, when he’d regained his breath. “Why?”
Yes, why? Kate leaned closer to the peephole again and looked at James’s face. There was a crease between his eyebrows. His lips were pressed tightly together.
“Because I think we should deal tolerably well together.”
She closed her eyes. No.
“That’s no reason to marry,” Harry said.
“I have to marry.” James’s tone was flat. “And I like Kate better than any other lady of my acquaintance. I know her. She’s not going to turn into a shrew on me.”
“But you don’t love her.”
For a brief, foolish second there was hope. James’s words extinguished it: “Of course I don’t.”
“James . . .” Harry sounded worried. “You’re my best friend and I’d be pleased to have you for a brother, but—”
“You think it’s a bad idea.”
“I want you to be happy. Both of you. And I don’t know whether this . . .” Kate opened her eyes to see Harry shaking his head.
“It’s the only
