coat.
“Why in blue blazes would I want to see Missy? I have rather enjoyed not having my hide flayed off.” Brooks cleared his throat and wondered why his pulse was racing like a runaway mustang.
The image of her dark eyes as she’d turned and left him standing with Violet had kept him awake more than one night. He just wanted to explain that he had no intentions of settling down with any woman. That was all.
Wasn’t it?
Rod shrugged. “It was just a joke, little brother. Take it easy.” Rod walked to his mother’s chair and dutifully bent to deliver a kiss to the top of her silver curls. “I never dreamed you’d return from the Territory so serious, Brooks. Perhaps a garden party is what you need.”
“Where are you going, Rod?” Patricia looked up, still holding the invitation in her hand, with a happy smile on her face. Parties did that to her, Brooks mused.
“It is my morning at the gentlemen’s club.”
“Oh yes.” Patricia frowned at Brooks. “Why don’t you go too, Brooks? You have been a bit grumpy lately.”
“I have been grumpy?” Brooks repeated in astonishment. “I don’t know why you all keep saying that.”
“Well, you have, dear, and I can’t for the life of me imagine why, especially when things seem to be working out for you and Violet Ashland.”
Brooks rolled his eyes to the ceiling and counted to ten. “Mother, there is nothing between me and Violet. I’ve told you this before.”
Patricia smiled. “All right, dear.” She held both her hands up. “If you want everything to be a surprise, then fine, I will act as if I haven’t heard a word.” She beamed at him. “Just as you say, there is nothing between you and Violet.”
“Mother—” Brooks started to explain, but Rod snagged his arm and tugged him toward the door as if he were a shavetail.
“Come along, little brother, or I’ll box your ears. It will do you good to work up a sweat instead of just getting hot under the collar.” Rod laughed aloud when Brooks flashed him another dark gaze, but he continued to tug his sibling toward the door.
The carriage lurched through a light drizzle of rain. Brooks had been silent on the way to the club, trying to figure out why on earth his mother could be so convinced that he and Violet were still romantically involved. But before he had found a scenario that seemed to fit, Rod was opening the carriage door.
Moisture accumulated on Brooks’s face and his mustache as his eyes traveled up the craggy facade of the club. Vermont granite, the color of the storm clouds scudding overhead, soared upward without a break for seven stories.Stark, unadorned rock, solid and unyielding, met his eye.
“It never changes, does it?” he muttered.
“Not on the outside, at any rate.” Rod tilted his head, endeavoring to see what held his brother’s attention. “We have had one or two minor alterations on the inside.”
Brooks’s eyes scanned each floor while memories of his former life flooded through him. He’d had his first liaison here with Violet after a boxing match. “What? Have they installed new leather sofas?”
The carriage clattered away as the pair took the polished steps two at a time, side by side. “Not exactly.”
“I know—new humidors,” Brooks teased, suddenly glad that Rod had insisted he come along.
Rod smiled thinly at his brother’s attempt at humor. “A group of forward-thinking young women came to attend one of the weekly sparring matches.” He chuckled.
Brooks raised both brows, a little doubtful of the story. “I’ll bet that caused some of the older members to need three fingers of brandy and a short rest.”
“You would think—but that wasn’t the way it turned out at all. After the hoopla settled down, everyone noticed the pugilists actually seemed to be putting forth a little more effort.” Rod shook his head and laughed. “Because of the record amount of wagers won and lost on that day, a new tradition was started. Now,
“Why in blue blazes would I want to see Missy? I have rather enjoyed not having my hide flayed off.” Brooks cleared his throat and wondered why his pulse was racing like a runaway mustang.
The image of her dark eyes as she’d turned and left him standing with Violet had kept him awake more than one night. He just wanted to explain that he had no intentions of settling down with any woman. That was all.
Wasn’t it?
Rod shrugged. “It was just a joke, little brother. Take it easy.” Rod walked to his mother’s chair and dutifully bent to deliver a kiss to the top of her silver curls. “I never dreamed you’d return from the Territory so serious, Brooks. Perhaps a garden party is what you need.”
“Where are you going, Rod?” Patricia looked up, still holding the invitation in her hand, with a happy smile on her face. Parties did that to her, Brooks mused.
“It is my morning at the gentlemen’s club.”
“Oh yes.” Patricia frowned at Brooks. “Why don’t you go too, Brooks? You have been a bit grumpy lately.”
“I have been grumpy?” Brooks repeated in astonishment. “I don’t know why you all keep saying that.”
“Well, you have, dear, and I can’t for the life of me imagine why, especially when things seem to be working out for you and Violet Ashland.”
Brooks rolled his eyes to the ceiling and counted to ten. “Mother, there is nothing between me and Violet. I’ve told you this before.”
Patricia smiled. “All right, dear.” She held both her hands up. “If you want everything to be a surprise, then fine, I will act as if I haven’t heard a word.” She beamed at him. “Just as you say, there is nothing between you and Violet.”
“Mother—” Brooks started to explain, but Rod snagged his arm and tugged him toward the door as if he were a shavetail.
“Come along, little brother, or I’ll box your ears. It will do you good to work up a sweat instead of just getting hot under the collar.” Rod laughed aloud when Brooks flashed him another dark gaze, but he continued to tug his sibling toward the door.
The carriage lurched through a light drizzle of rain. Brooks had been silent on the way to the club, trying to figure out why on earth his mother could be so convinced that he and Violet were still romantically involved. But before he had found a scenario that seemed to fit, Rod was opening the carriage door.
Moisture accumulated on Brooks’s face and his mustache as his eyes traveled up the craggy facade of the club. Vermont granite, the color of the storm clouds scudding overhead, soared upward without a break for seven stories.Stark, unadorned rock, solid and unyielding, met his eye.
“It never changes, does it?” he muttered.
“Not on the outside, at any rate.” Rod tilted his head, endeavoring to see what held his brother’s attention. “We have had one or two minor alterations on the inside.”
Brooks’s eyes scanned each floor while memories of his former life flooded through him. He’d had his first liaison here with Violet after a boxing match. “What? Have they installed new leather sofas?”
The carriage clattered away as the pair took the polished steps two at a time, side by side. “Not exactly.”
“I know—new humidors,” Brooks teased, suddenly glad that Rod had insisted he come along.
Rod smiled thinly at his brother’s attempt at humor. “A group of forward-thinking young women came to attend one of the weekly sparring matches.” He chuckled.
Brooks raised both brows, a little doubtful of the story. “I’ll bet that caused some of the older members to need three fingers of brandy and a short rest.”
“You would think—but that wasn’t the way it turned out at all. After the hoopla settled down, everyone noticed the pugilists actually seemed to be putting forth a little more effort.” Rod shook his head and laughed. “Because of the record amount of wagers won and lost on that day, a new tradition was started. Now,
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