Damnation.
Bessie had made him feel guilty. His guilt rested like oil on top of more deeply disturbing waters. It didn’t matter that he suffered intermittent and embarrassing attacks. It didn’t matter that Bessie had tricked him. It didn’t even matter that—for a moment just before the Blackbird had made him beg—he’d felt a yearning to simply hold the lady close.
To know her secrets.
To give up some of his own.
But his sister Emily—not his own petty frustrations, confusions, and needs—was what mattered. Emily’s debut drew closer every day.
He and Emily had been born to the same mother with—he rubbed his thigh—the loss of a babe in-between. But Emily, from the age of four, had been raised by her stepmama, Caroline, who’d earned theton’srespect not only by taking on hisinfamous father as a young woman, but by smoothing that man’s rough edges while he lived and by refusing to take a lover despite a swarm of lovesick swains since his death.
Caroline’s excellent reputation ensured that Adrian’s sister would not be watched with suspicion. But Emily was still a D’Acre. And the offspring of an infamous mother. Unless Adrian put more effort into securing a place of respect among theton, Emily’s future success was at risk.
He must find a way to prove he was, one, completely unlike his parents in character or in habit, and two, no longer the rebellious young man who bought a commission against his father’s wishes.
But how was he going to achieve redemption when it was all he could do to inure himself to banal pleasantries and never knew when an attack could quite literally make his skin crawl?
Adrian opened the parlor door and quickly stepped aside as a red-eyed Harbury stumbled backwards into the hall.
“Hey! What do you mean by moving the wall?” Harbury demanded. He blinked up from his bent-over position holding onto his knees. “You!Where the devil have you been?”
Adrian cocked a brow. “Bad night?”
“The worst! Beyond description.”
Adrian grunted in response. “I heard your name being bandied about around the betting book at the Lyon’s Den.” He folded his arms. “Got some poor young lady expelled from Almack’s, did you?”
“Yes.” Harbury ran a hand through his already considerably disheveled sandy-brown mop.
“I told you to stay away from that place,” Adrian said. “You never listen.”
“Had to go. Promised my sister to be there every week until the Harbury ball. Sarah wouldn’t host for me otherwise.”Harbury rested his head against the wainscoting. “Tonight was nothing short of disaster. You don’t know the half.”
Adrian glanced longingly up the stairs. Lord knew he needed a good scrub. The Blackbird’s scent had been driving him mad ever since they parted.
“I’m doomed,” Harbury muttered dramatically.
Adrian clapped Harbury on the shoulder. “Go back into the parlor. We’ll have a dram while your bed’s prepared for you.”
“What?” Harbury’s head whipped up, sending him swaying on his feet. Then he looked around the hall as if surprised to find himself in a different room than the one he’d just occupied. He took an unsteady step. “I don’t need to sleep here. I’m fine.”
“I think not.” Adrian softened his voice. “I’ll not send you back out there as you are. You convinced your father to take me in once, remember. Allow me to return the favor in a much smaller way.”
“Here. Home. Doesn’t much matter where I am, does it?” Harbury shrugged, pulling a long, miserable face. “No matter what I do, my death march is scheduled to begin at the fashionable hour tomorrow. Er, rather, today.” He counted on his fingers. “Rotten Row. Hyde Park. With half thetonto witness my humiliation.”
“Death march?”
He groaned again. “I’ve agreed to court the chit in good faith.”
“The chit?”
“The silly chit who hadn’t the sense to stomp my foot. Instead, she let me drag her onto a waltz—”
“Let you? Lord, Edgar William, you can be such an ass.”
Harbury scowled. “Told you not to call me that anymore. I am Harbury now.”
“Are you?” Adrian asked with feigned incredulity. “Well, an ass by any other name…”
