Page 11 of Crying Wolfe
It was why Eli trailed him down a staircase into a masculine study rife with the scent of books, boot leather, wood varnish, and the banked coals in the fireplace.
Abandoning his rifle behind the desk, Morley strode straight to a decanter and poured each of them healthy draughts of scotch. With a rueful lift of their glasses, they both downed the burning liquid in one enormous gulp. It was only when a second round settled that they sat in the highbacked chairs to sip.
Eli dug rough fingers against his forehead, trying to wipe away a headache sprouting there. “What a nightmare,” he said on a heavy breath.
“You havenoidea,” Morley agreed around a sip.
When Eli grunted with amusement, Morley leaned forward, setting his elbows on his knees. “No, Eli…you truly have no idea. You’re not from here. I don’t think you fully grasp the depth of the mire you find yourself in.”
The next swallow tasted like ashes in his mouth, but Eli kept his movements measured as he sat back and allowed his knees to splay. “Enlighten me, then.”
Morley squeezed at some tension in his own neck. “I don’t know how it is in Nevada, but this is even more serious a scandal than you’d face if this had happened in any New York or Boston bedroom. A scandal like this—a man caught in a Baron’s daughter’s room at night—it doesn’t just scar a woman’s reputation. It ruins her. Permanently.”
“You mean, no one will marry her?” In Nevada, women were commodities in precious short supply. Men often picked spouses they liked right out of the town brothel.
Morley shook his head. “Worse, I’m afraid. Her friends will have to turn their backs on her, or they’ll be beaten with the same social whip. She’ll take no part in society, receive no invitations to events, will be denied entry to her beloved astronomy societies and lectures. Businesses of repute will turn her away to avoid losing their respectable clientele.”
“That’s pure tripe,” Eli growled. “Your country’s priorities are fu—”
Morley put up a hand. “I’m aware. But I’ve not even reached the half of it. Her sisters, my wife among them, will likely receive the same treatment. My children will lose their playmates. My brother-in-law, who runs a successful surgical centre, will no doubt lose some of his funding. Emmett, the new Baron of Cresthaven, will have to break a hard-won engagement. And I…I will have certainly attained the zenith of my career, if I’m even able to maintain this position at all.”
Eli choked on his next sip, forcing it down in a gasping swallow. “You’re shitting me,” he rasped.
“I shit you not.” Morley’s eyes bored into his. “Though the weight of such actions are regrettably borne the most by the women,youwill not escape certain consequences. Not the least of which are the contracts for your mines, your properties, and the paperwork for the provenance of your archeological finds. They’ll all be buried in sudden and expensive bureaucracy the likes of which you cannot imagine. When those offices have drained you dry and wasted months if not years of your life, you’ll have to pay more than a fair price for what you want. That is, if the deals are not somehow already granted to someone with a more sterling reputation.”
Feeling a bit nauseated, Eli dropped his head in his hands. “All this because some old biddy saw me in a woman’s room?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Can’t we just…I don’t know, kill the old lady?”
“Really, Eli, now’s not the time for jesting.”
“Yeah, let’s say I was joking,” Eli muttered, frowning into the bottom of his glass. “So, you’re telling me if I marry that girl…all the danger goes away.”
“Like it never even existed.” Morley lifted the decanter in a wordless offer for more, like the goddamned gentleman he was.
“Hell, Morley, you and I both know I’m not the marrying kind.” He illustrated this by pressing his finger down on the decanter rim, forcing Morley to fill his glass to the brim. “I may be made of gold, but I’ve nothing but iron in my veins. And that girl. I mean, Christ, she’s so damned young.”
“She’s one and twenty.”
“Let’s say for the sake of argument that sheistwenty-one.” Eli gestured expansively, finally welcoming the numbing warmth provided by the scotch.
“Because she is,” Morley insisted. “She’s just small. And a bit…fragile.”
“And I’m a large, hard, and rough-worn thirty-six with a birthday in a month.” Eli took a few more gulps. “Come on, Morley, you don’t want me hitched to your little sister. You know me. I cuss too much, I drink too often. I’m prone to occasional violence. I care for nothing but my ambitions, and I’ve never felt a pressing need to be a father or a faithful spouse.”
“You’re also honest to a fault, honorable and, regardless of what you claim, you’re fair to those who wrong you and you’re compassionate to those who are less fortunate than you. You’re kind to those you employ—”
“Kind?” Eli lifted an eyebrow.
“Well, decent.”
“I’m starting to think you don’t know me at all.”
Morley’s features softened. “I have your measure, Eli, which is why I’m torn between celebrating the idea of this marriage and telling you that if you touch Rosaline, I’ll carve out your eyeballs and shove them up your own arse.”
A mirthless laugh burst from Eli’s chest as he tossed his head back against the chair. “What kind of fool girl breaks into a house to use a fucking telescope?” And why did he find that as endearing as he did infuriating? “I can’t have an intelligent wife, Morley. She’ll hate me immediately.”
