Page 56 of The Defiant One
"Oh for God's sake, Luce, we're all adults," Gareth muttered, annoyed. "We don't need you to take care of us."
"A promise is a promise," Lucien said tightly, meaning it. "And I consider your individual happiness as part of the vow I made. Therefore I will see Andrew married."
Charles stared at him. "And you think that will make him happy?"
"Andrew doesn't want to get married," added Gareth.
Lucien poured himself another brandy. "Andrew needs to be married."
"Good God, man!" exclaimed Gareth. "And you accuse Charles of taking his parental duties outside his own home?"
"I am the head of this family, and as such, I have a responsibility toward it."
"What about respecting others' wishes?" Gareth flared. "What about allowing people to live their own lives without your interference, to make their own mistakes, to seek their own paths? Why must you always act as though you know best?"
"I do know best." Lucien smiled. "At least, in this case."
Charles, always more serious than Gareth, merely stood leaning against the doorjamb, his head turned toward the fire. He was quietly angry. He would not look at Lucien.
"This discussion is pointless," he said finally, straightening. "I'm going to bed."
"Charles —"
"We will leave for London before dawn," he said, giving Lucien a sharp look. "Whatever you broke, Lucien, I'm sure the rest of us can mend. Good night."
He bowed crisply and left. Gareth watched him go. Then he turned on Lucien, who still stood quietly before the fire.
"Well?" said Gareth.
"I think you'd best go to bed too," Lucien said affably. He pretended that Gareth's anger meant nothing to him. He pretended that Charles's words hadn't hurt. His brothers thought him a monster. He was used to it.
Gareth merely glared at him for a moment; then he, too, spun on his heel and left the room.
Unlike Charles, he didn't even bother to say goodnight.
~~~~
Celsie awoke to the gentle patter of rain outside.
It was not yet dawn. She lay there in the gloom, listening to the peaceful sound of water running down the windows, trickling down the eaves. As per habit she stretched her feet out, seeking Freckles, but the bottom of the bed was empty. Celsie came fully awake, feeling oddly lost, ill-at-ease. For as long as she could remember, she had slept with a dog or cat or both. But of course, there were no dogs or cats here. She was at de Montforte House. In a room that smelled, lingeringly, of roses.
Probably Lady Nerissa's.
She pulled the covers up over her shoulders, snuggling down beneath them and thinking that she really ought to get up now, and find her way to her own London townhouse before the duke's servants woke. She didn't need any more stains upon her reputation than she already had. But oh, it was so warm and delicious under the blankets . . . she'd sleep for another ten or fifteen minutes. No more. Then, she would leave.
But something besides the rain had woken her. She opened her eyes and gazed about the slowly lightening room. At the tall rectangles of the windows, aglow with grey light. At the furniture just taking shape from out of the darkness.
At the tall figure of a man leaning negligently against the door frame.
She stifled a scream.
"Sorry," said Andrew, straightening up. "It's only me."
"Damn it, you're enough to scare the courage out of a Great Dane!" she sputtered. "How long have you been standing there?"
"I don't know. Twenty minutes. Two hours. A long time."
She sat up in bed, pulling the covers with her. "What do you want?"
