thing? So why did it mean so much more coming from Octavia? And why did it matter? As her “dearest” friend, her oldest friend, he should want to see her happily wed.
He did want to see her happily married, just not to Spinton.
A flash of movement caught his attention, and his gaze immediately followed. He saw a man disappearing into the crowd—an all-too-familiar man, even from behind. It was Harker.
What was he doing there? Certainly anyone with the means and proper attire could enter a public club, but Eden didn’t seem the kind of place Harker would frequent. Had thebastard been spying on him? If so, for how long, and how much had he seen? Or was his mind, bent on revenge, simply playing tricks? It might not have been Harker at all.
Or his nemesis might already be trying to figure out the connection between North and Octavia Vaux-Daventry, especially if he saw their embrace. No matter, any attempt Harker made at blackmail would be easily brushed aside. No one would believe him over Octavia, or even North himself. No, Harker would not be a danger unless he found out the truth about Octavia’s past, and he wouldn’t put himself to that task unless North gave him reason. Harker had many flaws, but patience was his most prominent virtue. He wouldn’t take action until he was certain it was the best action to take. Avoiding Octavia would keep her below Harker’s notice.
How hard could it be to avoid her in this city? He’d been fairly successful at it these last dozen years.
North’s brother Wynthrope was waiting for him in the gentlemen’s club. North picked him out of the milling bodies easily. He simply looked for the haughtiest, the most impeccably dressed, bored-looking man there, and his gaze immediately fell upon Wyn. He was standing against the far wall, watching a game of cards with no more interest than he might watch dust settle.
Wynthrope Ryland was no more than an inch shorter than his illegitimate brother, and while their coloring was similar, Wyn’s hair was darker and shorter, and his eyes were a deeper, darker blue. The only real resemblance between them was the Ryland lopsided smile, but on Wyn it was a cynical, cool expression, while his brothers tended toward amusement.
In fact, Wyn was smiling at him in just such a manner as he approached.
“I hope you were not dallying with some actress up there while I stood here like a dolt waiting for you?”
Dallying? Perhaps. With an actress? No.
“I met an old friend,” he replied, nodding his head in the direction of the exit. “Ready?”
Wyn was obviously surprised as he shrugged away from the wall. “Not—?”
“Yes.” North didn’t even look at him as they walked through the club entrance and exited to the street. He and Wynthrope shared almost everything that happened in their lives. With only a few months separating their births, they had been friends as well as brothers. Wyn was the reason North left Bow Street, and never once did he regret the decision to put his brother ahead of his own career.
In fact, Wyn knew him so well, he didn’t ask any more questions about Octavia and their meeting. He knew that if North wanted to talk, he would. Ryland men were very particular about discussing their emotions—especially Wynthrope. He wasn’t very keen on discussing other people’s feelings either, which was just as well, since North had no idea in hell what he would have said if his brother had asked.
They talked of other things as they walked to North’s house. Wynthrope, from past associations, knew the market district almost as well as North did, and the darkened streets held little danger for two men whom the occupants recognized as men not to be trifled with.
They sat in North’s office, each with a snifter of brandy. North never worried about developing the same dependency on spirits as his father and eldest brother had. Wynthrope never seemed especially worried either. Their youngest brother, Devlin, rarely drank at
He did want to see her happily married, just not to Spinton.
A flash of movement caught his attention, and his gaze immediately followed. He saw a man disappearing into the crowd—an all-too-familiar man, even from behind. It was Harker.
What was he doing there? Certainly anyone with the means and proper attire could enter a public club, but Eden didn’t seem the kind of place Harker would frequent. Had thebastard been spying on him? If so, for how long, and how much had he seen? Or was his mind, bent on revenge, simply playing tricks? It might not have been Harker at all.
Or his nemesis might already be trying to figure out the connection between North and Octavia Vaux-Daventry, especially if he saw their embrace. No matter, any attempt Harker made at blackmail would be easily brushed aside. No one would believe him over Octavia, or even North himself. No, Harker would not be a danger unless he found out the truth about Octavia’s past, and he wouldn’t put himself to that task unless North gave him reason. Harker had many flaws, but patience was his most prominent virtue. He wouldn’t take action until he was certain it was the best action to take. Avoiding Octavia would keep her below Harker’s notice.
How hard could it be to avoid her in this city? He’d been fairly successful at it these last dozen years.
North’s brother Wynthrope was waiting for him in the gentlemen’s club. North picked him out of the milling bodies easily. He simply looked for the haughtiest, the most impeccably dressed, bored-looking man there, and his gaze immediately fell upon Wyn. He was standing against the far wall, watching a game of cards with no more interest than he might watch dust settle.
Wynthrope Ryland was no more than an inch shorter than his illegitimate brother, and while their coloring was similar, Wyn’s hair was darker and shorter, and his eyes were a deeper, darker blue. The only real resemblance between them was the Ryland lopsided smile, but on Wyn it was a cynical, cool expression, while his brothers tended toward amusement.
In fact, Wyn was smiling at him in just such a manner as he approached.
“I hope you were not dallying with some actress up there while I stood here like a dolt waiting for you?”
Dallying? Perhaps. With an actress? No.
“I met an old friend,” he replied, nodding his head in the direction of the exit. “Ready?”
Wyn was obviously surprised as he shrugged away from the wall. “Not—?”
“Yes.” North didn’t even look at him as they walked through the club entrance and exited to the street. He and Wynthrope shared almost everything that happened in their lives. With only a few months separating their births, they had been friends as well as brothers. Wyn was the reason North left Bow Street, and never once did he regret the decision to put his brother ahead of his own career.
In fact, Wyn knew him so well, he didn’t ask any more questions about Octavia and their meeting. He knew that if North wanted to talk, he would. Ryland men were very particular about discussing their emotions—especially Wynthrope. He wasn’t very keen on discussing other people’s feelings either, which was just as well, since North had no idea in hell what he would have said if his brother had asked.
They talked of other things as they walked to North’s house. Wynthrope, from past associations, knew the market district almost as well as North did, and the darkened streets held little danger for two men whom the occupants recognized as men not to be trifled with.
They sat in North’s office, each with a snifter of brandy. North never worried about developing the same dependency on spirits as his father and eldest brother had. Wynthrope never seemed especially worried either. Their youngest brother, Devlin, rarely drank at
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