“Well, she doesn’t have a choice.” Tension laced Michael’s voice. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of choices. I have to marry whoever Father chooses, and so does Lady Natalia. You can’t interfere. We need her dowry too badly.”
“What are you talking about?” Dylan had always assumed the earl’s fortune was limitless.
Michael sighed in frustration. “Must I give you a lesson in economics on top of everything else? Yes, we need her money. The country estates cost more than they bring in, and Father’s gambling is out of control. We’re in dire straits. If I don’t marry Lady Natalia, I’ll be forced to offer for that dreadful American heiress you dined with tonight.”
“So, you want me to step aside? Let you save the old bastard from financial ruin, even if it means sacrificing your own happiness?” Dylan shook his head, all too aware of his own dire situation. “Why should I care if the earl needs money? It isn’t as though I’ll ever see a penny of it. He’s cut me off for good, you know.”
Michael’s expression softened. “No. I didn’t know that.”
Dylan shrugged off the pity in his brother’s voice. “It doesn’t matter. Bound to happen sooner or later.”
“How much do you need?” Michael’s earlier tension vanished. “I have enough funds at the moment to offer some assistance.”
“I don’t want your money.” The last thing Dylan needed was his brother’s charity. He paced the room, trying to work things through in his mind, trying to orchestrate a scenario in which he might actually emerge from this little skirmish as the victor.
Finally, he sighed in angry frustration, conceding the futility. At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that Michael would fail, too. If the duke intended his daughter to wed a prince, the heir to an earldom would never do.
Petty of him, he knew. But he had no intention of letting Michael know he’d never win Natalia’s hand. Not yet. Michael needed to know how it felt to aim too high.
“Just allow me to dance with Natalia tonight,” Dylan muttered in resignation. “Then I’ll give you a clear field and never bother either of you again.”
“Why do you want to dance with her?” Michael eyed him with suspicion.
“Jonathan Taylor and I have a bet. If I can get Lady Natalia to dance with me twice in the same evening, I’ll win two hundred pounds.”
“A bet? You’re willing to ruin this girl’s reputation over a stupid bet?” Michael shook his head in disgust. “Christ, Dylan. Aren’t you ever going to grow up?”
“I grew up the first time I had to send a man into battle and watch him die, so don’t treat me like a child.” Dylan managed to hold his anger in check, despite the overwhelming temptation to give in to it. Couldn’t the bastard give him even this? “No matter what Father thinks, I’m not the devil. I won’t ruin Lady Natalia’s reputation with a few dances.”
Michael turned away. He moved to one of the windows, his shoulders stiff with obvious anger of his own. Silence stretched between them for a long moment, but at last, Michael said, “All right. Go ahead and try to win your infernal dances.”
Dylan breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he wouldn’t be evicted, after all. And he could find another wealthy bride, perhaps a prosperous merchant’s daughter.
Hell, maybe he should rethink his dinner companion, Miss Marks.
Unfortunately, at the moment, the thought gave him little pleasure. He still wanted Natalia. He couldn’t imagine settling for anyone else.
“If you succeed, you’ll have your 200 pounds,” Michael continued. “If you don’t, I’ll pay off your debt to Jonathan. But either way, I want your word that you’ll leave town tomorrow and stay gone until Lady Natalia and I are wed.”
“Where the hell do you expect me to go?” Dylan asked in exasperation. Unlike his brother, he didn’t receive a dozen house party invitations each week.
Michael turned around and gave Dylan a searching look. “I’ve never understood why you insisted on pissing your life away in the army, when you hated military life so much. Not when you could have lived at Aldabaran.”
Aldabaran. Dylan closed his eyes and fought a wave of despair at the mere thought of his mother’s family’s Scottish estate.
Fiona Cameron Blake had taken her life when Michael was ten and Dylan a mere lad of seven. But until then, she and Dylan had journeyed to Aldabaran for three glorious months every summer. At Aldabaran, they’d ridden their horses through the heather, played games, and laughed with abandon, free of the earl’s anger and Michael’s shadow.
It was the only place on earth where Dylan had ever been happy.
“Don’t make such an offer if you’re not serious,” Dylan told Michael, his voice unsteady. “You know how much I love Aldabaran. It’s the only thing you own I covet.”
It would kill him to live there and know it could never be his, but he’d gladly do so if Michael would let him.
Michael frowned. “What are you talking about? You know Aldabaran isn’t mine. It’s yours. And even if it were mine, I’d never keep you from going there.”
“This isn’t funny.” Dylan’s voice rose with hurt and anger. How could Michael jest about such a thing? “I have nothing of my own, Michael. Nothing. If Aldabaran truly belonged to me…” He shook his head and turned away, overwhelmed by the very thought. “Bloody hell. It would be a dream come true.”
Michael squeezed Dylan’s shoulder. “Christ. Didn’t the old man ever tell you that grandfather left it to you?”
