Collin shrugged, finishing his whisky with one final gulp.
"You were unusually generous in the marriage contract."
"I will not have Alex or anyone else wondering if I've married her for money."
Hart raised his glass, offering Collin a toast and a quirk of his brow. "It is more than I'd hoped for her, frankly, even before the scandal."
"Surely you jest. Alex had her pick of the damned empire."
"Yes, she is lovely and intelligent and yes, men want her. But she is also an heiress and the daughter of a duke. A prize. Certain men might have been desperate to have her. Men worse than St. Claire." Hart's hand clenched, white knuckles a contrast to the amber liquid in his glass. "I should be shot for not guarding her more closely."
"She was chaperoned, surely?"
"Yes, but by a companion she herself chose. Cousin Merriweather turned out to be a sickly, self-indulgent chaperone, no doubt just as Alex planned. Of course, I was not willing to endure the marriage mart to supervise her personally, and she paid the price for that."
Collin winced, absolutely understanding the man's guilt. The woman had brought him to a very similar place. "Well, as you said, she can be ruthless in her enthusiasm. If she had determined to ruin herself, she would have got to it eventually."
Hart grunted into his glass as he finished his whisky. He did not shatter the glass against the wall this time, only set it firmly on the table beside him and frowned at it.
"Still nothing?"
"No." Collin had spent the past week scouring the countryside for any hint of St. Claire, but the man was gone or well-hidden. There had been several cold campgrounds near the inn where he'd meant to meet Alex though. Apparently St. Claire had grown too wary to show himself in public.
He hadn't been afraid to send a note to Alexandra though, the vicious dog. You have betrayed me, darling bitch. I will not forget this. No explicit threat, but Collin would kill the man all the same, just for the look on Alex's face as she'd read it.
Collin snarled in frustration. "I still have the next week before the wedding. He's gone to ground, but I'll find him if he so much as twitches."
"I should have gone after him myself," Hart murmured. "I did not, because Alex begged me to show mercy. She pled with me, took all the blame on herself. I wanted to kill him, of course, but she . . ."
He shrugged, shoulders eloquent in their self-directed scorn. "When you told me that she'd been used as a pawn, I realized I should never have promised her anything."
"You wanted to protect her."
"Well, I was wrong. I thought it was nothing more than what it appeared—a game of flirtation gone awry. But I looked into it after you came to me, Collin. Asked around. You know that he and your brother were classmates at Harrow."
"Yes. They were supposed to have been friends."
"I think they were, but at some point St. Claire began to resent your brother—his money, his future title . . . something. He lost a great deal of money to him one night and John forgave it, returned his notes to him. St. Claire apparently lost his temper, began raging about disrespect and arrogance and the whole damned system of noble rank."
"When was this?" Collin sat forward, grimly eager to have this mystery of motive solved.
"Years before the duel. Five years ago maybe."
"Could that be it? A stupid argument between two young bucks?" He rubbed his suddenly aching head. "He would risk his life just for revenge against John's kindness to him?"
"It was the only solid thing I could come up with. St. Claire made clear that he did not consider your brother a friend after that incident, though John was obviously the injured party."
"So . . . What? He simply resented his wealth?" Collin shook his head in disgust. Oh, he'd had reason himself to resent many a wealthy man, but he had pride, for God's sake. He had taken his resentment and built himself a business, a life. He'd determined to make his money off the very men who would look down on him for his mother's blood. And now he would marry one of the finest daughters of the realm. Sweet justice indeed, if he wanted it. But he didn't want that, not in his bed.
"A rumor circulated," Hart added, his words carefully spaced.
"About?"
"I couldn't confirm it, but there was talk that St. Claire had taken up cards again . . . and that he lost another fortune to John."
"Just before the duel?"
"Two months."