Page 30 of What Happens in Hedone

“Did you know me all along?” he demanded.

“Do you think me a fool? I am very careful who I admit to my club, Lord Triton.”

Jay stared first at Effie, then Farren, with the look of a man facing the hangman’s noose. “Effie,” he croaked, “I should⁠—”

“No.” She read his face, the despair, the noble resolution. He wanted it all out in the open. She held up her hand. “No.” Jay mustn’t tell. He mustn’t say anything.

Farren narrowed his eyes at his friend. “You let him in.”

“Because he gave me your name. And because—” Heddy sent Jay an apologetic glance— “I also know who he is.”

Effie straightened, feeling her dratted corset squeeze her ribs. “You do? You might have told me. About either of them.”

“I would have told you what I felt you should know.”

Farren glared, ignoring the soup his footman placed before him. “You promise discretion!”

“And there is a great deal I haven’t told her, my lord. I mean what I say about my premises. Absolute discretion,” Heddy said in a silken tone. “My word, this soup is delicious. My compliments to your chef.”

“Thank you,” Farren said automatically. “Would you have told me Effie was there if I asked?”

Heddy blew on her soup. “Not likely.”

Farren glared at Jay. “Did you mean to tell me,” he asked Heddy, “that someone was pursuing my bride?”

Effie found her voice. “We are not married yet.”

And she had pursued Jay. She had come at him with every small lure she had, and he had gathered her in, showing her the peaks of pleasure even when he felt he was trespassing on another man’s territory. And now to learn the man was his friend, his school chum— She could see the knowledge eating at him like a barnacle on a crab.

Heddy leapt in to help. “Mr. Burnham met Effie all on his own, on the beach. I think it entirely accidental that they met again at my club. Or perhaps it was fated,” she mused, leaning back as the footman came forward with the remove of cold prawns. Effie had barely touched her soup.

“Fated? I told him to go.” Farren threw down his spoon. “Lord Hephaestus.”

Jay tugged at his stock as if it were buckled too tightly. His mouth moved, searching for words.

“Hephaestus was the smith of the gods,” Effie retorted. “Their artisan and craftsman, a gifted builder.”

“Lamed when Zeus threw him from Olympus.” Farren sneered.

“He wed Aphrodite, the most beautiful of all the goddesses,” Effie returned.

“Who cheated on him with Ares, god of war.” Farren watched his friend with narrowed eyes. “You were going to propose marriage to Effie? Didn’t she tell you she was promised to me?”

Jay took the wine in his glass and threw it back in one gulp. “I only learned today there was another. And I didn’t know it was you.”

“I told you last night.” Effie frowned.

Farren’s eyes flared. “What happened last night? Hold a moment, Burnham. You were going to the club to see my cousin, my future wife⁠—”

“Oh, very well.” Jay curled his hand into a fist, knotting the linen tablecloth. “If you must know⁠—”

“Jay!” Effie sprang to her feet as if she might throw herself at him and stop his words.

“I debauched the woman you’re going to marry.” Jay slammed his fist on the table, rattling the china dishes. “Who was only toying with me before she went along and married you!”

Farren rose from his seat, his face drawing into a snarl of fury. “You sneaking, thieving, baseborn cur⁠—”

“I’m not going to marry you, Kent!” Effie shrieked.