Page 45 of A Virgin to Trap the Earl of Thornhill
Cassian let out a hearty laugh, clinking his glass against William’s. “I knew it. She will not rest until she has seen you properly matched and settled.”
William let out a sigh, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. If only Cassian knew just how complicated that particular subject had become.
“So, Cassian,” William began, setting his glass down on the polished wooden table, “what brings you back to our London home? Surely not just to visit your favorite brother?”
Cassian smirked, his eyes shifting away from William. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “You might find this surprising, but I am in love, William.”
A burst of laughter filled the room as the brothers sat in the intimate coziness of the parlor, glasses of brandy in hand. “You, Cassian?” William asked, his brow raised in disbelief, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Doesn’t it make it the fifth time this year you have declared yourself in love?”
Cassian had a rueful grin on his face as he shrugged, his eyes twinkling with an odd mix of exasperation and endearment. “I suppose it does. But this one, William, she feels different.”
William’s heart pounded in his chest, a foreign sensation bubbling within him. A confession he had thought he would never make was now on the tip of his tongue. With a gulp of his brandy, he turned toward his younger brother. “Well, then it makes two of us. I believe I might be in love, too.”
The reaction from Cassian was far from what William expected. Instead of a jovial jibe or even a drop of surprise, his younger brother simply offered a knowing nod. “With Eris Saffron, right?” Cassian asked, leaving William momentarily taken aback. Catching the questioning look in his brother’s eyes, Cassian laughed, a hearty sound echoing through the room. “I must admit, William, I had thought you would forever remain a bachelor, but I see the irony now. We were both charmed by the same Miss Eris.”
Cassian’s admission brought a slight warmth to William’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a nagging curiosity. “And what of your new object of affection? Who is she?”
Cassian seemed to light up, his usually cheeky grin replaced with a tender smile. “She is everything, William. She is kind and sweet. She is just so incredibly wonderful. I shall not reveal her name until the ball.”
The room fell into a comfortable silence, filled only by the crackling fire and their shared laughter. With glasses raised in a toast, the Hudson brothers celebrated their newfound affection. “To love, brother,” Cassian cheered, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Let’s hope it treats us well.”
The following day found the brothers traversing the well-polished floors of Bond Street’s finest haberdashery. With Cassian’s bubbly banter accompanying them, they selected well-tailored waistcoats and cravats, crisp shirts, and polished footwear in anticipation of the upcoming ball. Their shopping escapade was concluded with an obligatory visit to the exclusive gentlemen’s club situated on St. James’s Street.
Known as Boodles, the club was a den of high society gentlemen, offering plush leather chairs, dark mahogany tables, the smell of rich tobacco, and the sound of low murmurs punctuated with bursts of hearty laughter. The walls were adorned with hunting trophies and paintings of distinguished club members. Waiters moved discreetly among the patrons, serving food and drinks.
Settling into the warm embrace of one of the leather armchairs, William and Cassian were soon approached by a rather rakish-looking gentleman. Sir Francis Devlin, known as the most incorrigible rake in London, bore a wicked grin as he swirled a glass of cognac.
“My word, if it isn’t the dashing Thornhill brothers,” Devlin declared, his gaze flitting between them. His conversation soon took a turn for the distasteful as he started reminiscing about his past conquests, the crude remarks veiled under a layer of phony charm.
A self-satisfied grin stretched across his face as he began, “I must say, just last week, I had the most delightful encounter with the captivating Miss Montague. A vision of loveliness, she was.”
Devlin continued with his unsavory tales, the names of unsuspecting women tumbling from his lips as if their honor were mere trinkets to be displayed. The crude remarks were elegantly cloaked in a layer of feigned charm, making the entire conversation even more distasteful.
His eyes glinted mischievously as he mentioned Lily Saffron. “Now there is a blooming flower I wished to pluck, but it seems someone beat me to it.”
The implication in his voice was clear and made William’s stomach churn uncomfortably.
The laughter that filled the room gradually faded into a tense silence as Cassian’s jovial demeanor shifted dramatically. His usually lively eyes hardened into two icy points, his good-natured smile curdling into a scowl. His hands, which seconds before held a drink in merriment, were now clenched tightly into fists.
Standing abruptly, Cassian stalked over to Devlin, his broad frame towering over the seated rake. “Watch your tongue, Devlin,” he warned, his voice a dangerous growl that echoed around the room, cutting through the uncomfortable silence. “Miss Saffron is a lady deserving of the utmost respect, not the object of your crude humor.”
Sensing the volatile situation spiraling out of control, William immediately shot to his feet. Moving swiftly, he placed a restraining hand on Cassian’s taut shoulder, a silent plea for him to rein in his anger, but his attention was on Devlin, who was watching the unfolding scene with a mix of surprise and amusement.
He gave Devlin a cold stare. “I think it is time you found other company, Devlin.”
With a dismissive shrug and a smug grin, Devlin sauntered off, leaving the Hudson brothers to simmer in their anger. “I apologize for losing my temper, William,” Cassian muttered after a moment, but William could only pat his brother’s shoulder, silently commending him for defending Lily’s honor.
Cassian’s heated response had been uncharacteristic, and William decided to address it. “Devlin’s insinuations are hardly worth your anger, Cassian,” he cautioned.
His brother’s eyes, however, remained indignant. “Lily Saffron is a gem, William. She is far too precious for Devlin to even utter her name.”
William raised an eyebrow. Cassian’s passion was surprising, considering he had never actually met Miss Saffron. “You defend her quite vehemently for a lady you have only exchanged letters with.”
Avoiding his gaze, Cassian quickly pointed toward another gentleman. “There is Edmund Whitmore! Haven’t seen him in ages.”
Edmund, a tall and lanky man with sandy hair and a perpetually worried expression, was flagged down. He joined their circle, readily engaging in conversation. “I heard the Thornhill brothers will be gracing the Duchess’ ball with their presence?”
“Indeed, we will,” William replied.
