Eight
John paced the parlor of his brother’s impressive Mayfair manse. “I want my urn,” he barked. “It’s done. I courted your charity case and now I want what I’m owed.” What the hell had he been thinking to kiss Penelope the night before?
Reclined in an arm chair, Colton threw his head back and laughed. “Come, John, you can’t expect me to hand over the urn after one day calling on Lady Penelope. Was it really so awful to spend time in the company of a woman?”
John glared at Colton. “I have no doubt after one day with me, Lady Penelope is quite over her infatuation with you.”
Colton’s expression sobered. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Nothing at all. Give me the urn.”
Colton set aside his newspaper and stood. “No. I can hardly believe you’ve accomplished anything in a mere day. Especially with Penelope.” He raked a hand through his hair, concern and doubt drifting through his expression. “Give me two weeks. Two weeks of light hearted courting and I will give you the urn.”
“What is it about this girl, Colt?” John speared his brother with a shrewd gaze. “None of this makes sense. If you’re so hung up on Lady Penelope, marry her.”
Colton appeared pained. “I can’t.”
“Why not? Because you’re engaged to the Featherton girl?” John shook his head. “I fail to understand why you proposed to her in the first place if Penelope is so important.”
Colt averted his gaze. “It’s complicated.”
John crossed his arms, resting a shoulder against the fireplace mantle. “I don’t understand, Colton. Are you in trouble?”
His brother’s jaw clenched, but he gave no verbal response.
“If you’re in trouble I can help,” John pressed.
“There is no trouble.”
John didn’t believe that for a second.
“I feel guilty is all,” Colt said after a long pause. “Lady Penelope may have believed I would offer more than friendship. Rightly so. But I… I simply can’t.”
Frustrated, John shook his head. “You’re talking in circles. I fail to understand why you can’t marry the woman you obviously want. You’re a bloody duke. You can do whatever you wish. Penelope is the daughter of an earl. She is also exceedingly beautiful. I should think she’d make any man an exceptional wife.” He strode forward, intent upon gleaning some answers. His brother was obviously hiding something. “What is going on, Colton? I refuse to believe you’re merely nursing a guilty conscience. Penelope is important to you or else you wouldn’t go to so much trouble with this charade. Something prevented you from following through with your plans for her. What?”
