Page 55 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

“That will be all, Rand,” Merritt said.

“Are you certain?” Rand asked.

“Out!” Merritt said.

Iris paced the length of the space on the other side of his desk. Once the door closed, Merritt motioned for her to take a seat. Anger flared in her eyes and stained her cheeks and neck a lovely pink. She truly was beautiful. “I suspect from your coloring that you’ve seen your brother. You look angry enough to strangle me.”

She took a steadying breath. “You struck him.”

“I did,” he said. “Iris, please sit.”

She eyed him for a moment, then complied. Her gloved hands pinched and gathered her reticle sitting upon her lap. “Why didn’t you tell me it was him? That it was Jasper who recognized me?”

“I only found out when I dropped off the money.” He’d planned to tell her, but he hadn’t yet figured out how to break the news. This was easier, he supposed—for him, at least.

She shook her head against the tears that glistened in her eyes.

Anger he could handle, but tears were another matter entirely. He waited for her to speak, not quite knowing how to proceed.

“I do not understand what I did so wrong with him that he could so callously do this to me.”

Merritt frowned, stood, and came over to the seat next to hers. He was surprised when he reached for one of her hands and she allowed him to take it. Her brother was a selfish arse. Merritt would be heartbroken if he ever made his sister cry. It was hard enough seeing Iris this way. She was the most conscientious person he’d ever known. “Iris, this isn’t a failing in you. Your brother made that choice. The fault is Jasper’s, not yours.”

She sniffed. “No, had I done a better job raising him, he wouldn’t be gambling away his allowance, drinking too much, and blackmailing his own sister.”

Her brother was a fool. Immature, selfish, and just plain spiteful. But he couldn’t tell her that. She wouldn’t agree, and it would only make her angry. Would that he could talk some sense into the boy, but he doubted anything he said would make much of a difference. Besides, his damned articles were partly to blame for this. The boy hadn’t grown up with a father around to show him the way, so he’d relied on so-called advice he’d found in a newspaper.

“He is his own man. He is going to make his own decisions regardless of what you say to him.”

She pulled her hand into her own lap.

Merritt leaned back in his chair. “I would commend you, though, on holding tightly to the family purse strings, else he would have likely bankrupted your entire estate.”

Surprise widened her eyes.

“He explained as much to me.”

“I see.” She was quiet a moment and then asked, “Did you give him money?”

“I won’t lie to you, Iris, I did. Enough to pay off his current debt. And then he and I made an agreement.”

“He is not your responsibility,” she said.

“He’s not yours, either. He is an adult. An earl. He should be taking care of you, not the other way around.”

“He is seven years my junior. I have always taken care of him. Ever since our parents died.”

He’d heard the story from his own sister, how Iris had been set to debut and then her father had died, followed by her mother the next year, preventing an official debut. It wasn’t right. Iris had been dealt a bad hand, and no one had ever given her the option to trade out some cards. If he could help in this one area, he’d do it, with or without her permission.

“I don’t require your assistance, you realize?” she asked.

“I do.” But damned if he didn’t want to help her anyway.

She stood. “It isn’t going to stop you from trying, is it?”

He smiled. “No, it is not.”

She reached into her reticule, pulled out something, and dropped it on his desk. “Then explain to me how you can do this. How you can boast about protecting me and helping me, and then do this.”

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