Page 157 of Her Beast

Well, time had touched them all, hadn’t it?

Brian glanced around Malcolm’s study; his lips parted in wonder. “You’ve got quite a house, Mal—and filled with so many treasures.”

“I’ve had fifteen years and not much else to do but acquire them.”

Brian’s wondrous expression dissipated, replaced by one that screamed guilt—the same expression he’d worn that morning fifteen years ago, when he’d come to saygoodbyeto Malcolm in his sickbed.

Why had it taken Malcolm so long to recognize the expression for what it was? Not just revulsion—although there was plenty of that, too—but raw guilt.

“Can I get you a drink?” Malcolm asked as his erstwhile lover chewed his lower lip—yet another mannerism he shared with Julia.

So, Brian was nervous. As well he should be.

“Er, whatever you’re having.”

Malcolm poured two glasses of brandy, a drink he knew Brian hated, and approached the other man’s chair, not stopping until his knee touched the arm, forcing Brian to tilt his head at an uncomfortable angle. He smiled down at him and handed him the glass.

“A toast,” he said, raising his glass, “to long delayed reunions.”

Brian gave him a tentative smile and then raised the glass to his mouth, taking a sip so small it barely wet his lips.

Malcolm swallowed the contents of his glass, hissing in a breath at the burn. It had been years since he threw back a drink like that—fifteen years, not since that night.

He went to his desk and purposely turned up the gas lighting so Brian would be forced to look at him.

“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “My secretary says you were quite vocal about seeing me today.”

Brian set down his glass, the crystal chattering against the wood as his hand shook. He swallowed several times. “I’m sorry about that, Mal. But I—I, well, I can’t bear to drag this out any longer. The situation at Tommy’s house is—”

“Dire?” Malcolm suggested with a laugh.

“Yes, that sums it up nicely.”

“Tommy and his wife are at each other’s throats, are they?”

Brian’s gaze slid away. “Er, Nadine isn’t there. She left.”

“Oh? To where?”

“I don’t know—neither does Tommy.”

All the lying he’d done and yet Brian was still terrible at it.

“Do you think your brother will forgive her?” Malcolm asked.

Brian snorted. “Forgive her for foisting off bastards on him? And herbrother’sbastards, at that? Not bloody likely.”

“Perhaps they really are Tommy’s? Twins run in your family, after all.”

“No, she admitted it—after Tommy forced her to.”

Malcolm clucked his tongue. “Tommy beating his wife? An ironic turn of events for that pair, isn’t it?”

Brian blinked at him, his brain clearly scrabbling for a suitable answer. When he couldn’t come up with one, he shrugged. “No court in the land would blame him for beating her.”

“No,” Malcolm agreed. “But her lover might blame him. Or has Tommy already taken care of Sheehan?”

“Sheehan wasn’t at the address you gave Tommy.”

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