LITMIR.BIZ

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tell them apart.

      Everyone, that is, but their parents and their young neighbor Brianna Quinn. The tiny minx with a wild mane of autumn-hued curls could never be deceived.

      “I will have you know this coat is not above three or four seasons old,” Stefan assured him as he smoothed his hands over the blue coat.

      Edmond gave a soft laugh. “I would lay ten quid your valet would tell me differently.”

      Stefan wrinkled his nose, his gaze skimming over Edmond’s closely tailored mulberry jacket and silver waistcoat.

      “Well, I never was as dapper as you.”

      “Thank God,” Edmond said with utter sincerity. “Unlike your feckless brother, you have far more important matters to fill your days than the cut of your coat or gloss of your boots. Not the least of which is allowing me to live in magnificent comfort.”

      “I would hardly consider being the guardian angel of his Imperial Highness as being feckless,” Stefan countered. “Far from it, in fact.”

      “Guardian angel?” Edmond gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh at the ridiculous words. “You are far off the mark, dear Stefan. I am a wicked sinner, a rake, and a self-indulgent adventurer who has only avoided the hangman’s noose due to the fortune of possessing a Duke for a brother.”

      The vivid blue eyes narrowed. “You might be able to fool others, Edmond, but never me.”

      “Because you are always determined to believe the best in everyone, even your worthless brother.” Edmond lowered himself into a wing chair near the desk, quite ready to be done with the conversation. “Presumably Mrs. Slater is busily preparing a banquet, but in truth I am in more need of a shot of that Irish whiskey you keep hidden in your drawer.”

      “Of course.” With a knowing smile Stefan moved to the desk and pulled out the bottle of whiskey and two glasses. Splashing a healthy measure of the amber spirit into each, he handed one to Edmond and took his own seat behind the desk. “Cheers.”

      Tossing the spirit down his throat, Edmond savored the delicious burn.

      “Ah…perfect.” Placing the empty glass on a nearby table, Edmond settled back in his seat and took a deep breath. He smiled at his brother. “This room smells of England.”

      “And what does England smell of?”

      “Polished wood, aging leather, damp air. It never changes.”

      Stefan polished off his drink and set his glass aside. “Perhaps not, but I find such familiarity comforting. I am not like you, Edmond, always seeking some new adventure. I prefer a more dull and tedious existence.”

      “There is something to be said for familiarity. I am glad you haven’t changed Meadowland. I like knowing that when I return, it will be just as I remembered.” He studied his brother, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Of course, once you take a wife you will no doubt be badgered into constant renovations. We might love this rambling old place with its smoking chimneys, leaking casements and sadly dated furnishings, but I doubt a woman of good breeding would be happy to live among such shabbiness.”

      As always Stefan refused to rise to the bait. “No doubt that is the reason I still have yet to take a wife,” he murmured with a placid indifference to his bachelor state. Of course he could be. Everyone knew there wasn’t a maiden in all of England, or the rest of the world for that matter, who wouldn’t leap at the opportunity to become the next Duchess of Huntley. “I cannot bear the thought of altering my treasured home.”

      “More likely you are just foolish enough to be waiting for love to strike your heart, and when it does I predict that it will be to some entirely unsuitable miss who will lead you about by your nose.”

      Stefan arched a dark brow. “Actually I’ve always assumed that you would be the one to tumble neck deep in love with some spirited lady who will lead you a merry dance. It would be only fair, for all the havoc you have caused among the fairer sex.”

      There was no need for Edmond to fake his shudder. He possessed a natural desire for a beautiful woman, but never for more than a passing affair.

      He would readily share his body and his wealth, but never anything more.

      “Mon dieu, not even I deserve such a hideous fate,” he muttered.

      Stefan chuckled, but he didn’t appear nearly as convinced as he should have been. “Now, tell me all the news from Russia. You know I hear nothing here in the country.”

      Edmond leaned forward, his smile fading. “Actually, Stefan, I am far more interested in what has been happening at Meadowland.”

      IT WAS CLOSE TO TWO HOURS later when Edmond entered his private sitting room. Decorated in soothing shades of cream and sapphire, it possessed a simple elegance. The furniture was fashioned in the solid English style with a satin settee, a mahogany chased ormolu and brass bureau, and a few trellised-backed chairs that smelled of beeswax. On the walls were several Flemish masterpieces that had been collected by a distant ancestor; the floor was covered by a magnificent oriental carpet.

      It was the logs laid in the fireplace and fresh flowers arranged on the marble mantle, however, that made his lips twitch with amusement.

      Clearly Goodson had not lied. The room looked as if he had never left.

      Shifting his attention, he regarded the short, rotund form of his brother’s valet who was standing near the arched windows that offered a stunning view of the nearby lake. The servant was neatly attired in a black and gold uniform, his pudgy face settled in lines of stoic patience.

      “James, thank you for coming.”

      “My lord. It is good to have you home.” The valet, who had been with Stefan for over ten years, offered a deep brow. Straightening, he dared to allow a hint of disapproval to touch his pale eyes. “His Grace pines for your company when you are gone.”

      “Well, I am here now.”

      “So, you are, sir.” James covertly glanced over Edmond’s elegant attire. “I would be happy to lend you assistance in your chambers whenever my duties with your brother…”

      “No, my manservant should be arriving with my luggage before nightfall,” he interrupted. “What I need from you is information.”

      James frowned in confusion. “Information?”

      “I want to know every incident, no matter how trivial, that has put my brother in danger over the past year.”

      “Oh…thank God.” Without warning, the servant was moving forward and falling to his knees directly before the startled Edmond. “I have tried to convince his Grace that he is in danger, but he refuses to believe that anyone would want to harm him.”

      “I assumed as much, which is why I have returned. Unlike Stefan, I am not naive enough to brush aside such obvious attempts at murder. And I can assure you that I will not rest until I discover who is behind these attacks.”

      CHAPTER TWO

      THE TERRACE HOUSE ON CURZON Street was a narrow affair with a wrought-iron railing and unremarkable facade. The interior had once been fashionable, with a cheerful front parlor and long, formal dining room. These days, however, it could claim nothing more than a vulgar collection of Egyptian-inspired furnishings complete with a sarcophagus and mummy that had caused more than one visitor to faint in horror.

      Precisely the sort of overblown opulence that marked the owner as one of those encroaching mushrooms with more money than good breeding.

      The house did, however, possess a tidy garden in the back that had the added advantage of a small grotto where it was possible to hide from prying eyes.

      Standing near the narrow window of the grotto that overlooked the back gate, a young woman pressed a hand to her stomach, which was tied in painful knots.

      Standing in the shadows, with her vibrant curls yanked

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