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Rebellion
Through a searing fog of pain, Marlow felt someone prod his shoulder. “Fuck off,” he muttered, finding it difficult to move his lips.
The prodding continued. He’d fight him, whoever it was, when his arms would cooperate. His hands made fists even though the rest of his body wouldn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. His head ached like hellfire.
“There, cousin. Wake up. Open those eyes. That’s a good chap.”
He blinked and squinted. His eyeballs felt like hot, scratchy coals. “Curse that light. Make it go away.”
Lord Augustine crossed the room and drew the curtains half shut. “Do you know what time it is, Marlow?”
“Fuck right off,” he said, though his mouth was too dry to put much force behind the words.
“Drink this.” August handed him a glass of water. “You’re in worse shape than I remembered.”
He tried to sit up in bed, but only managed to rise to one elbow. “Why’re you here?”
“Just stopping by to check on you. I peeled you off the corner of Harley Street last night and carried you home. This morning, rather, very early. It’s midday now.” He frowned. “You look a sight, old man.”
Marlow finally managed to sit upright and swallow a painful sip of water. It didn’t touch the dryness in his mouth. “I’m hungover. Visited some taverns.”
“And got in a fight or two.”
Yes, he vaguely remembered that. He reached gingerly to touch his sore jaw, his swollen right eye.
“Your valet cleaned up the blood before we tumbled you into bed. You weren’t a pretty sight, Georgie. Lucky that one of our mutual friends alerted me to your drunken escapades before someone sank a knife in you.”
“Was I that bad?”
“A bit worse than usual, yes. Drink your water like a good boy.”
Marlow forced the liquid down, having suffered enough hangovers to know his best cure. “Rosalind wants to marry me,” he told August when he’d finished half the glass.
“We all know that.”
“I asked to marry her.” His words sounded thick. He wondered if his lips were bruised. “But her parents said no.”
August’s brows rose. “You asked them?”
“She told me to. I knew they’d say no. Stupid.”
“What is it about these Lockridge girls?” his friend said after a moment, then chuckled ruefully. “They married off Felicity before I even had a chance to ask for her.”
“They hate me. Despise me. I’m not good enough.”
“They love you, Marlow. Just not enough to let you marry Rosalind. You’re a hellraiser and she’s an angel. You wouldn’t suit.”
“Curse you. What do you know about it?” He rubbed the persistent ache in his forehead. “It doesn’t matter now. We can be miserable together,” he said as August refilled his glass.
“I’ll tell you from experience, being miserable gets you nowhere. You’d be better off avoiding drink for a while and getting on with your life.”
“How? Can’t go to Pearl’s,” he groused. “She threw me out. Told me not to come back.”
August’s dark brows rose a second time, even higher. “God’s blood, Marl, what did you do?”
“Spanked the bloody hell out of a girl who looked like Rosalind. She didn’t enjoy it.”
“Ah. Did you enjoy it?”
