Page 60 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

His brother smiled at him and shook his head. “Stupid bastard. If I’ve not disowned you before now, I’m hardly going to start at this late stage.”

Damian laughed again, and if there was an odd break in the sound, neither of them remarked it.

“Give me that bottle,” Gideon said, snatching it from Damian’s hand. “I believe we came here to get drunk.”

“So we did, Deon,” Damian said, grinning with relief. “So we did.”

Chapter 14

More Than Friends

Hatherley Hall, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 2nd August 1816

“Hetty, wake up!”

“W-what?” Hetty mumbled, struggling up from a deep sleep to blink in the near darkness of her room. Cilly was a blurry white shape limned by moonlight. “What’s wrong? Is the house on fire?”

“No. But… listen.”

For a moment Hetty wondered if her sister had been dreaming, for why on earth had she woken her up to ask her to listen to absolutely—oh. Oh!

“Good heavens. Who is it?” Hetty whispered, flinging back the bedcovers and reaching for her dressing gown.

“I believe it is your Romeo, come to woo you, Juliet,” Cilly replied wryly.

Hetty snorted. “Come to deliver the poison himself, more like. Hurry, whatever he wants, we’d best get him to shut up before he wakes the house.”

The two of them scurried through the great house like little white mice, their cotton nightgowns bright in the moonlight as they padded through the darkened halls.

“We can’t go out the front door!” Cilly squeaked in alarm.

“We’re not,” Hetty said, opening the door to the servant’s staircase. “Hurry.”

They ran down the stairs, feeling their way, as Hetty led them through to the kitchens. It took a while to unlock the back door, but finally they were outside.

“We’ll get into so much trouble if we’re caught,” Cilly exclaimed, though she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to turn around.

“Then hush! You’re making more racket than they are,” Hetty shot back, as they avoided the crunchy gravel path and ran noiselessly over the grass.

The singing, if that was what it was supposed to be, stopped abruptly, and Hetty heard masculine laughter. What the devil was going on? Surely that wasn’t Gideon, and yet… it sounded like Gideon.

Sort of.

“Here,” Cilly called softly, gesturing to Hetty as she peered around the trunk of an ancient oak tree.

Hetty joined her, smothering a bark of laughter as she saw Gideon lying on his back outside the gates of the Hall. The gates were locked, thankfully, so they’d not been able to reach the house, or he really would have woken everyone. No, they would have woken everyone, she amended, realising he was not alone.

“Get up, Deon. You’re making a spect—a sprec—you look like a right twit,” Viscount Rivington said unsteadily.

Gideon only laughed. “S-funny. Twit.”

Hetty turned and looked at Cilly, who was biting her lip. “They’re foxed,” Cilly sniggered with undisguised glee.

“Foxed? They’re as drunk as an emperor, and that’s ten times drunker than a lord,” Hetty said sagely, having heard that from her brother.

“Get up, you pillock. Can’t win a fair maiden lying in the dirt.”

The viscount gave his brother a small, encouraging kick. Gideon only laughed. Then with sudden solemnity, he sat bolt upright and sang— “Drink to me only with thine eyes and I will pledge with mine. Or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine.”