Anthony had been so deep in thought he’d not heard Sebastian enter. He glanced at him, noting the approval glowing in his brother’s eyes. “Yes. I’ve always thought this area the best place in Hampshire to acquire property.”
Sebastian strode into the breakfast room, arching a brow at the glass in Anthony’s hand; then went straight to the sideboard laden with scrambled eggs, bacons, sausages, kippers, muffins, toasted bread, sweet cakes, and several pots of tea.
“How did you convince Hutchinson to sell?” he asked around a mouthful of bacon after he’d seated himself at the table.
Anthony shrugged. “He had a price, and I found it.”
“It is impressive, the work that has been accomplished in a month. The only issue is your staff. Your butler is an ornery cuss,” Sebastian grumbled.
“I have no idea where Mother found him. I gave her full rein in hiring for the estate.”
Coolness chased his brother’s features at the mention of their mother. He did not deign to acknowledge Anthony’s mention of her.
“I gave Constance leave to decorate as she wished as well,” Anthony added.
“I noticed the dragon motifs embroidered into the drapes. I must confess I am pleasantly surprised by its beauty.”
Anthony laughed. “She insists that dragons are our coat of arms. I fear we regaled her with too much ancient dragon lore, growing up.”
Sebastian nodded with a grin. Anthony took in his windswept hair and the carefree way he appeared. It was a rare day when he looked so relaxed. Sebastian needed a steady woman, a mistress, given his views on marriage. A willing female body would go far to soothe the edginess the duke displayed more days than not. However, Anthony did not broach the topic, knowing how Sebastian felt about mistresses. The scar that flayed his left cheek was reminder enough of why he categorically refused to acquire another. It must be a dilemma—eschewing both temporary and permanent liaisons. Anthony did not know how he managed.
Cobalt-blue eyes met Anthony’s. “I’m returning to Norfolk. Care to join me?”
Norfolk was where the Calydon ducal estate and his brother’s home, Sherring Cross, lay.
“No, I have business to take care of in town.” He frowned at the reminder. “What do you know of Lord Orwell?”
Sebastian’s brows rose. “Not much. His father died while he was away at Eton, so he inherited the earldom quite young. But instead of squandering his inheritance like most young bucks, Orwell managed to grow it. He takes part in several ventures that we have also invested in. Why do you ask?”
Anthony hesitated for a moment; then confessed, “He is pursuing a young lady I am interested in.”
“It is not like you to squabble over a mistress. Let the lady choose,” Sebastian said mildly.
Anthony snorted, swallowing his drink in a gulp. He rolled the glass between his fingers. “I am referring to a young lady.” He glanced at Sebastian, now frozen with a mouthful of eggs, and chuckled at his stunned expression. “I fail to see why you are so shocked, Your Grace.”
“I have never seen you show a marked interest in any young society miss before. You have been blathering about marrying lately, but I did not realize someone had caught your attention.”
Anthony hadn’t spoken to him of Lady Jocelyn. A good thing. His brother would scold him for his behavior, which bordered on unchivalrous. He must absolutely remember to send her a note tonight, before he left for London. He couldn’t make himself call on her in person. He would feel too guilty over the disappointment in her eyes. He consoled himself that her distress would be strictly over losing his fortune, not Anthony himself.
He came back to the present, and Miss Peppiwell. “She is an American heiress, new to our shores these six months past.”
“And Lord Orwell courts her. But you are interested in making her an offer?”
Anthony contemplated his brother’s words, his eyes gazing unseeing out to where the gardeners were working furiously to clear brambles and thistles from the eastern side of the property. He studied the expanse of his estate with emotional detachment, and tried to do the same with Phillipa. He poured himself another drink and sipped his brandy before answering, carefully composing his thoughts.
“Under the circumstances, I do not plan to offer for anyone until I have given my tenuous social position more thorough consideration.”
Sebastian scowled and started to comment, but Anthony cut him off.
“And no, Orwell doesn’t court her. He hounds and presses himself upon her at every opportunity. I have seen her at more than one ball, and he is always there watching her. If he is not watching, then he is touching her aggressively.” Anthony’s voice grew terse. “You should have seen his face when she fled into the gardens, escaping his lecherous advances. His rage was almost tangible.”
“So, he is not a jilted suitor?”
“I have asked the lady, but she is closemouthed. Yet, I am concerned.”
Sebastian put down his fork to study him. “What are you going to do?”
“Your man of affairs, Hawke. I’d like him to put a tail on her.”
“Are you afflicted?” Sebastian snapped, his mouth parting in shock.
“I am worried about her. And it would be from a discreet distance.” Anthony swirled the liquid in his glass before swallowing its entire contents. He grimaced at the burn going down.
“Very well. I’ll see what I can do.” Sebastian rose from his chair and strode to stand beside Anthony at the windows. They stood in comfortable silence overlooking the mysterious beauty of his land. “How long will it take for full restoration of the estate to be completed?”
Anthony glanced sideways at his brother. He knew
it was not what Sebastian wished to probe, and he was grateful for his restraint. “Three months, give or take. Thankfully, I will escape the sawing and banging for the most part. I return tonight to London.”
“Why not retire with me to Sherring Cross?”
Anthony made a face. “I do not want to look upon the countenance of the old man any more than I must.”
“I will gladly remove the paintings.”
“I find I am also curious to explore Miss Peppiwell.”
Sebastian chuckled. “Miss Peppiwell, is it?” He then narrowed his eyes. “Explore? I thought you said she’s a young miss?”
“She is. Nineteen or twenty, I wager.”
“Then, what makes you think she will be open to your explorations? And is it wise, considering you don’t plan to offer for her? I never thought of you as a despoiler of virgins, Anthony.”
Anthony ignored the severe disapproval in his brother’s admonition. Desire lanced through him instead as he remembered the hunger in her response—her moans and gasps, and the tightness that had clasped his finger. He could imagine how she would squeeze his cock.
However, he also wanted to know her beyond her bedding responses. “I assure you, I’ve no intention of ruining her. Merely…testing the waters.”
She interested him. Considerably. What he intended to do with that interest was another matter, which he needed to carefully contemplate before acting to land himself in trouble he did not want and she did not need.
Sebastian’s gaze drilled into him. “You told me Georgina broke down and cried at what she labeled the ‘depraved desires’ you made her feel. A young, sheltered chit would surely run screaming from your brand of exploration.”
Anthony grunted. Georgina, his former mistress, was a widow and more than open to a man’s advances. The first night he had taken her, she had orgasmed until she lay limp, unable to twitch. He had been somewhat shocked on his next visit at the recriminations she’d heaped on his head. The lady had claimed not to enjoy the wanton desires he so clearly made her feel. With less than a month together, he’d moved swiftly to dissolve their attachment, impervious to her tears and pleading. Apparently, she’d enjoyed him more than she wanted to admit to herself.