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He had Emily to escort, or to provide with company, or to aid with lessons.
But that was all in the past. Now he was free to stay out all hours, to indulge as much as and whenever he chose and he was eager to take full advantage.
Ken shifted as Upton looked across the twenty yards that separated them from Ace’s family. “That sister of theirs sure is something,” he muttered in his usual fashion of saying something that actually gave very little away.
Kenneth stiffened as he followed Upton’s gaze. Mirabelle.
His sister’s best friend was a constant source of irritation for him, though he couldn’t quite explain why. She was beyond pretty, a delicate sort of beauty with dark brown hair and large hazel eyes that always seemed to shine. Her nose was pert, with just the tiniest upturn, her lips full and wide, often with a smile playing at their corners.
She was slender and small, in stark contrast to her hulking brothers, not that she didn’t have her share of curves. But somehow, she was small enough to almost be fragile.
And whenever their eyes met, she unsettled him.
He was a man approaching his thirties. He understood lust. The raw heat of it, the want, the need.
But when he looked at Mirabelle, a different feeling coursed through him. Less raw and more complicated.
So he mostly ignored her.
The idea of Upton laying favor on her made something rip in his chest. He turned to his friend, a dark emotion curling his lip. “Ace is now a part of my family. And our business partner. Stay away from his sisters.”
Upton’s eyes widened with surprise. Which in and of itself shocked him. Upton never looked unprepared. Derisive, often. Bored, even more so.
“Calm yourself, Boxby,” Upton rumbled, narrowing his gaze. “She’s far too young and too fair for my liking. It’s just odd because she’s the only blonde in the entire family. Makes me wonder if she is their full sibling.”
Belatedly, Ken realized that Upton hadn’t been talking about Mirabelle at all. He’d been discussing Anna. He gave himself a small shake. What was wrong with him?
“Both of Ace’s sisters are beauties,” Somersworth murmured, as much to himself as them. “And considering Ace stole Emily right out from under me, I wonder if I ought—”
But as the simmering tension swelled inside Ken again, Upton cut their friend off. “You just heard Boxby. He says they are off limits.”
Ken’s jaw tightened. The truth was so much more complicated. Not even he understood the emotions that simmered inside him, so he said nothing as they climbed into one of the carriages.
The three of them settled into the seats, Upton seemingly determined to steer the subject to safer waters. “So…the club…”
The club. Hell’s Corner. And his first act of real male independence. He’d bought a share in a gaming hell along with Upton and Somersworth and all the other Smith brothers. The irritable lot of them.
“The club,” Somersworth repeated, raking a hand through his hair. “It’s opening the end of this week. Yes?”
“Yes,” Ken answered, shifting in his seat. They’d shut the doors two months prior to redecorate the inside, restock, and hire new staff. The club was being transformed to look far more like the Den of Sins, their brother club which was also under repair after a fire had charred the inside two months prior.
“And when will we return to London?” Upton asked, shifting forward.
Upton’s question didn’t surprise Ken. The duke always became restless in the country. It was too quiet, too serene. “In a few days,” he answered. “In time for the club to open. Though you don’t have to wait for me to leave. I’ll travel back with the Smiths and see Emily settled in to her new home.”
“Always the dutiful brother,” Somersworth replied with a grimace as the carriage stopped outside the chapel.
They emerged from the vehicle just as the Smiths were unloading from two more carriages, and he caught sight of Mirabelle as her brother Rush handed her out.
Without thought, he crossed the short distance to the Smiths, stopping just a few feet from Mirabelle as Rush also handed out Anna.
“Good morning,” Mirabelle said, giving him that sweet smile. The one that made him both hot and cold. “What a beautiful day for a wedding.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Mira,” Rush called over his shoulder. “Men don’t care about the weather for weddings.”
Tris joined them, coming from the other carriage as he swept a hand through his overlong hair, large muscles effortlessly rippling. “I’d go even further and say that men would prefer pouring rain. Suits the mood of the event.”
Mirabelle clucked her tongue, giving Tris a disapproving glare. “Don’t be absurd. Weddings are happy events.”
