They call him the Devil Earl-a scoundrel and accused murderer who grew up on the violent London streets. A proper young lady risks more than her reputation when consorting with the roguishly handsome Hero Fiennes Tiffin , but Lady Josephine Langford...
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It was late, long past midnight when Hero walked the familiar back hallway of O'Reilly's. He and his friends had gambled there, drunk there, and commiserated there. In a way, it was Feagan's dwelling—simply fancier, cleaner, and better smelling.
Hero stopped at the open doorway that led into Hunter's sanctuary, not surprised to find Hunter sitting behind his desk going over his books—not checking Mabel's figures so much as relishing all he'd gained. More than any of them, Hunter loved his coins.
Hero cleared his throat. Hunter glanced up, and for a heartbeat, Hero thought he saw joy in Hunter's eyes before he shuttered his emotions.
"You haven't stopped by in a while," Hunter said, leaning back insolently in his chair.
"I had no desire to be here."
"I can hardly blame you for that, I suppose. What brings you here tonight?"
"I've asked Lady Josephine Langford to become my wife. She's consented to granting me the honor of being her husband."
Hunter's eyes widened slightly, before he once again gained control of his thoughts. It wasn't like him to reveal so much, and now he had—twice.
"I thought you loved Mabel."
"I do. But I love Josephine more deeply." And differently. He'd come to realize what he felt for Mabel was the love of a boy for a girl and what he felt for Josephine was the love of a man for a woman. When he'd thought of taking Mabel to bed, he'd never felt any fire, probably because he'd never truly contemplated anything beyond sleeping together, spooned around each other as they'd slept as children. But where Josephine was concerned, he could hardly go fifteen minutes without thinking of falling into bed with her —and sleeping was seldom on his mind.
But these were realizations that he could no longer discuss with Hunter. There was now a part of his heart and his soul that he might never again be able to share with his long-time friend.
"Damn," Hunter muttered.
Hero arched a brow. "That seems an odd reaction—even from you."
"I have to build Bill a hospital. We wagered"—he shook his head—"it doesn't matter. Congratulations. Shall we drink to it?" He stood up, reached for the bottle—
"No."
Hunter looked back at him.
"I'm not drinking much these days."
"I am." Hunter poured whiskey into the glass, then held it aloft. "To your health and happiness as well as Josephine's."
He downed the contents in one gulp.
Hero remembered that it was Hunter who had given him his first taste of whiskey, rum, and gin. It was Hunter who had taught him how to cheat at cards, how to pick pockets without getting caught. Hunter who had assured him when he was a small, frightened boy cowering in the alley that everything was going to be all right, that Hunter wouldn't let anyone hurt him.
