The Lady in Disguise

Chapter Thirty-Three (part 2)

"You choose," Byrne grunted. "I don't bloody care which."

"Well," Fletcher sniffed eyeing the cuff links in either hand. "This is a marked change from last night. I'd thought you were finally taking an interest in your appearance, but I suppose that was a fleeting thing."

Last night, he'd given a damn how he looked. Last night, he had a reason to look his best. That reason was still there and, if their new guest hadn't arrived, he'd be dressing with care for her. This afternoon had its setbacks, but there'd been some forward motion as well. He'd been almost gleeful before Reginald Goddamn Browning arrived.

Now, he felt tempted to have dinner in his room because he was still here. It better not last beyond supper. It was one thing for Tony to invite Oliver Browning to stay to even out the numbers, as he said. But there was no reason for Reginald Browning to stay beyond a meal. Really, there had been no reason to stay beyond a drink, but Tony's damned bred-in manners had interfered.

"What was I to do?" Tony shook his head. "He was here far too close to supper."

"You should have pointed him to the nearest inn or tavern." Byrne had confronted Tony earlier in his adjoining chamber while he shaved.

"I truly don't understand." Tony stared at him, tilting his head, half-covered in shaving soap, like a confused, but rabid dog. "First, you seemed to object to Oliver Browning's presence..."

"I never said I—"

"You didn't have to. Between your early protests, weak as they were, and the way you avoid even looking at him, it's quite obvious there's acrimony there. I thought you might confide the reason to me at some point, but that doesn't seem to be something you do. And now Lord Browning is staying for supper," he sneered as he shaved, "and you are nearly apoplectic."

"I am not... this isn't... You don't like him either." Byrne pointed a finger at Tony. "You're the one who said he was a slimy little bugger and told me all about his—"

"Yes, but it's more than that, isn't it?" Tony wiped his face and turned fully to Byrne. "Perhaps I would have known not to ask him to stay if you'd told me what I needed to know, but you didn't."

"As the host, you don't need to know every—"

"As your friend, I think I should know at least some of the many things you hide if I am to help you."

"I don't need your help with... There's nothing to help with."

"You are so..." Tony trailed off on a groan. "God, even getting you drunk, I barely got a damned thing out of you."

"Was that what you were trying to do the other night?" Byrne scoffed.

"No. I was looking for some company in my misery, but it would be nice — for once — to get back a little of what I give. You know every damned thing about me and I barely know—"

"I don't have time for all this." Byrne started for the door. "I need to dress for dinner, too."

"He asked about you, too, you know."

Byrne stilled. "In what way?"

"In several ways. He wanted to know how long I've known you, how we met, whether you can be trusted..."

"That rat bastard."

"See? I know there's more there," Tony said triumphantly. "Damn it, Byrne, just tell me now and I'll toss him out on his ear."

"There's nothing there. I simply do not like this... stranger questioning me." Byrne composed himself and turned to Tony. "All I know of him is what you told me. And you certainly had nothing good to say about him. I am only surprised that you would ask him to stay, knowing that."