“Do I look like Russell to you?” Greg grumbled. “I have it on good authority Gillingham may be inside.”
“And you thought to do what? Wrestle him from some lightskirt’s bed?” Tristan’s brow lifted in question. “To what end?”
Dear God, Greg would rather not have that particular scene in his mind. “I was hoping to press upon the ne’er-do-well, that his actions are hurting his sister.”
“Yes, I imagine they are,” Tristan agreed with a sigh. “I also don’t imagine Gillingham will listen or that he cares overmuch.”
Tristan was most likely right about that, but Greg had to try to reason with the soused wastrel. Between Chatham and Gillingham, it was no wonder poor Bella was in her current situation. What decent fellow would want to throw his lot in with the likes of her tyrannical grandfather and her pickled brother for a lifetime? When this ruse of theirs was over, she’d be in exactly the same predicament she was in before their pretend betrothal, unless something changed. And that was hardly fair to her. She was a charming girl, delightful really, and she deserved better than wasting away to eventual spinsterhood thanks to her unappealing relations.
“Well, perhaps I’ll just beat some sense into him, then.” Greg lifted his hand to knock on the door.
But Tristan grabbed his arm. “Why don’t we wait for him to finish whatever he’s doing in there?” Then he gestured toward a carriage not too far away. Greg’s carriage with the Avery lion crest emblazoned on the side.
So Tristan had followed him in that? Greg had hired a hack to avoid detection in Covent Garden, but apparently his brother didn’t have the same concerns about being spotted outside a brothel in the dead of night.
“He may be more receptive to your suggestions if you wait,” Tristan continued.
Greg snorted in response. “You think I should spend the rest of my evening, sitting in front of a bawdy house, waiting for an inept drunkard to stumble back out?”
Tristan shrugged. “I am simply saying, Greg, that bounding through that door, dragging him from whosever bed he’s in and beating him to within an inch of his life will hardly garner you the results you’re looking for.”
Dragging the wastrel from a brothel and beating him within an inch of his life sounded like a decent plan. Perhaps it would shake some sense in to Gillingham. The damned fool. “And what makes you such an expert?”
Tristan shook his head. “I spent many more years with Russ than you did.”
Greg snorted again. That was true, but… “Certainly you’re not equating our brother with that degenerate.”
“No, no, of course not. Though there were a few times Russ might’ve come close to resembling Gillingham in his present condition.” He gestured to the coach once more. “Come on, I’ll keep you company while you wait.”
Greg heaved a sigh, but did make his way to the coach, Tristan by his side. He climbed in and took a spot on the bench so he’d have a clear view of the brothel’s entrance. How long could Gillingham even be? Especially in his condition? One wouldn’t think he’d be able to perform at all considering the fact that walking a straight line seemed beyond him when he’d stumbled out of Kelfield House a few hours ago.
Across the coach from him, Tristan released a sigh. “You don’t plan on telling me anything?”
Greg flicked his gaze away from the brothel’s entrance to his younger brother on the opposite bench. “What do you want to know?” Though he had a fairly good idea exactly what was troubling Tristan.
His brother scoffed. “You could always start with the fact that you’re betrothed to Lady Arabella but neglected to mention anything about that to me before Kelfield made his announcement this evening.”
“Was that a question?”
Tristan sighed. “All right, I’ll re-phrase it, Greg. Why didn’t you tell me you were betrothed before Kelfield made that announcement to all and sundry?”
Greg supposed he should have expected his brother to be annoyed about that.
“I would think being your brother—”
“I hadn’t seen you until this evening. It wasn’t a slight, Tristan.”
His brother shook his head. “I knew you found her attractive the other night, but…”
Had it been that obvious? “But…?” Greg prodded when Tristan said nothing else.
“I’m just surprised is all.” His brother leaned back against the squabs, those green eyes of his studying Greg in the dim light. “You hid away at Rufford Hall for more years than were healthy and then you offer for a girl you barely know. It doesn’t seem like you, not in the least.”
I never thought you were the sort to put more thought into stocking your stables than in the selection of your bride, Avery. Sarsden’s words echoed in Greg’s mind. If he thought he could get away with telling Tristan the same thing he’d told his former schoolmate, he would have done so. But Tristan would never be appeased so easily.
“You don’t believe in love at first sight?”
Tristan sent him a glance that said very clearly he did not. “And neither do you.”