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“Enjoying his honeymoon?”
“It appears so.”
“Do not tell mother. She shall only use his happiness as evidence as to why you should find yourself a wife this Season.” Noel plucked a slice of toast from the center of the table and proceeded to chew on it.
Luke rolled his eyes. The only reason Noel would eat dry toast is because he had indulged too much at the ball yesterday. Though hardly an innocent himself, he feared his brother might follow the path he once had, drinking and gambling himself into oblivion. He supposed the only difference was, Noel had Luke to help him out of a bind. If it had not been for Anton fishing him out of his self-imposed stupor of drink and debauchery, the family name might well have gone to wrack and ruin.
“It’s not like you to rise so early.” Noel smothered a yawn with the back of his hand.
“Someone, dear Brother, must attend to the family business.”
He shoved the letter from Anton farther away, the careful hand of his friend plucking at his insides. He did not need a reminder that many of the thoughts of last night should never have entered his head. He did, however, need to find out what Little Cassie Fallon was up to.
“It’s all well and good for you. You sleep like a bloody baby. I’ve never known anyone like it.”
Luke gave his brother a smug smile. “It’s an easy answer, Noel. Avoid the drink.”
His brother made a dismissive noise. “That sounds utterly miserable and you sound like a puritan. Besides which, I saw you with a glass of merlot in your hand yesterday.”
“I did not say I do not drink. I just do not drink in vast quantities.”
And the merlot had been needed after his encounter with Cassie—a little something in a bid to forget her. Or more to the point, forget his attraction to her. Being Anton’s little sister was only part of the problem. His lowly title of viscount added another strong reason why he could never pursue her. A duke’s daughter would expect much more in life and if Anton was correct, that much more would be happening upon his return from his honeymoon.
“You’re becoming a damned bore in your old age, Luke.”
Luke lifted a shoulder. Perhaps. Since inheriting the title two years ago, he could not deny duty had been predominantly on his mind. The marriage bit he would worry about later. For now, he wanted to concentrate on ensuring the smooth running of the estates and keeping life as simple as it could possibly be. The addition of a wife would not aid things in that matter. While Anton might have married happily, Luke had seen few such marriages within theton. He was content with being in the arms of the occasional beautiful widow for now.
The door flung open abruptly and Lily swept into the room to set herself down next to Noel. “I heard you curse.”
“You heard no such thing,” Noel replied through a mouthful of toast to their sister.
“You said it so loud I heard it from the hallway.”
“Good morning, Lily,” Luke said wryly.
“He’s not wrong, though. You are becoming a bore.” His sister offered a wide grin. At seventeen, she was beginning to flourish into an elegant young woman—her hair just as dark as the rest of them but her features petite. He imagined many a man found her attractive—something of which he did not wish to dwell upon.
“Well, forgive me for wishing to ensure you all have a roof over your heads.”
“We have several houses,” Noel pointed out.
“Yes, and only because of my careful management of the budget.”
Luke winced inwardly. Perhaps they were right. He was becoming a bore.
His sister’s grin widened. “You are sounding frightfully old, Luke. I would be careful if I were you. No woman shall want a dry old stick.”
“Don’t you start,” Noel cautioned. “Mother is already determined to find him a bride this Season and we scarcely have two months left.”
“As she well should. It is time you married, Luke.” Lily cocked her head. “You are not going to get any more handsome and you are losing your charm.”
“I am so grateful for my loving family,” Luke muttered.
“I only say this to be helpful,” Lily protested.
“Yes, how helpful. Now I know I am old, ugly, and lacking in charm.”
Lily leaned across the table and patted his arm. “We do still love you really, and I would not worry. Society still thinks you a consummate rake.”
