Page 72 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

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“Do you plan to live here indefinitely?”

Tony looked up from the desk in his rooms at Elysium—he’d been reviewing some of the accounts—to see his brother enter.

“Do you ever knock?”

“If you are moving in, you should have a bed brought up. You’ve room for it now since the piano is gone and it must be bloody uncomfortable to sleep on the chaise every night.”

“The chaise is fine.”

Leo took hold of one of the chairs by the fire and dragged it over to Tony’s desk. “I can’t imagine what is keeping you at Elysium. Do you not trust me to handle the accounts? Or are you hesitant to return to your bride after behaving like an ass?”

“We may have had an argument.”

Leo shook his head. “I assumed as much.”

After his wedding night during which he and Maggie had snarled at each other, Tony had retreated to his rooms at Elysium. He needed time to think, something he couldn’t do with Maggie in such close proximity.

“Averell sent me a congratulatory note. Did I tell you, Leo?”

“I thought he might.”

The note, written in his father’s shaky hand, had set a match to Tony’s already combustible emotions. He’d exploded, sending bits of verbal shrapnel all over the one person who least deserved it. Rage at his father and guilt over betraying his mother led him to accuse Maggie of conspiring to trap him in marriage. She’d stood fearlessly in the face of his hostility and with a smile on her face told him shepreferredCarstairs.

Brave little thing.A bolt of longing for her shook him.

“I wondered what had set you off.” Leo shot him a look of empathy. “So he sent you a letter. What of it? You went to great lengths to marry her, but now you don’t wish to be under the same roof as she? Seems a waste.”

“We can have a politely distanced marriage. Many do.”

“True. But why marry her at all if you weren’t going to have her?” Leo shook his head. “You realize, Tony, that every impoverished, anguished artist with mediocre talent is sniffing about her ankles under the auspices of wanting her patronage.”

Tony knew his wife was carrying on splendidly without him, hosting small gatherings to discuss art and music, garnering a host of admirers. He received regular reports from Fenwick. Maggie had finally blossomed without him, earning a reputation as a charming and witty hostess in the weeks they’d been parted. Her true self had finally been revealed, and she was touted for it.

I always saw who she was. Always.

“Yes, she’s busy turning my home into a refuge for parasitic musicians,” he snapped at Leo. “What of it?”

“Especially oneimpoverishedparasite by the name of Henri Bouvard.” Leo watched him closely. “I’m told he plays Chopin with much passion.”

Jealousy sparked and flared inside him. “She’s free to do as she wishes,” Tony heard himself say, knowing his brother was deliberately goading him. “As am I.” He’d tried to return to his former state of rakishness after their marriage, but Tony was having little luck doing so. Not one woman who propositioned him could play the piano, and only two possessed more intelligence than a potted fern.

“The duke is dying, Tony. Your wife is very much alive.” His brother shook his head. “For the love of God, go home. Christ, you’re miserable.” Leo stood and walked toward the door. “But if you are so stubborn as to stay, take my advice, and at least bring yourself a proper bed.”

Tony waved his brother out. “I’ve work to do. Your concern for me is duly noted.” He didn’t need or want his brother’s advice. What did Leo know anyway? Tony would be perfectly content living at Elysium, bed or not. He could avoid his wife forever. Pushing the conversation with Leo aside, Tony bent again to his task.

Another sharp pain of longing struck him.

He stared at the ledger before him for a good thirty minutes after Leo left him, not seeing the lines of numbers or lists of transactions.

All he saw was Maggie.

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