“I’m going to drink it, of course,” he said, bowing his head toward the glass. “But since when am I more inebriated than you are, Captain? Or should I say, Viscount?”
“Call me whatever you’d like. I no longer find my pleasure at the bottom of a brandy glass. Daphne is more than enough to amuse me these days.”
Owen snorted and rolled his eyes. “You people who fancy yourselves in love make me quite ill.”
“I think it’s the brandy making you ill, not me,” Cavendish replied.
“I thought you detested the clubs,” Owen pointed out. “And yet, I’ve seen you here each time I’ve come.”
“Now that I’m a proper viscount, I need to get used to them, don’t I? And it’s the only place my brother doesn’t like to go.”
“He did seem a bit unimpressed the last time he was here. Do you plan on hiding from him forever?”
“I’m not hiding from him, I’m merely—”
“Avoiding him?”
“Yes, exactly. Much easier that way. Wherever Cade goes, trouble has a tendency to follow. And I want no trouble, especially before my wedding.”
“I understand,” Owen replied.
“Let’s play one more hand,” Cavendish said. “Then I promised Daphne I’d meet her at the Haverfords’ ball. Until the wedding, we’re limited to how much we can see each other.”
Owen snorted. “The Haverfords’ ball. Damn bunch of innocents, there.”
“Yes.” Cavendish eyed him over the tops of his cards. “No doubt Lady Alexandra will be there.”
Owen glared at Cavendish. “Do you think I care?”
Cavendish grinned. “Yes, actually. I think you do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“So you don’t want to accompany me there, then?”
Owen tossed the cards on the table. “Damn you, Cavendish, call your coach.”
* * *
Half an hour later, Cavendish’s carriage pulled up to the front of the Haverfords’ town house. Owen didn’t even bother with the receiving line. Taking his leave of Cavendish, who quickly located Daphne Swift, Owen bypassed the throngs of people and elbowed his way into the massive crowd. Voices called to him from all around.
“Good to see you, Monroe.”
“Surprised you’re here.”
“Have a newfound taste for ton balls, eh, Monroe?”
He ignored all the banter and kept making his way through the throngs. Thankfully, he stood head and shoulders taller than most of the other partygoers. He scanned the room, looking for another tall man, Lord Berkeley. Wherever Berkeley was, Alex would be. Unfortunately, Owen spotted his sister first. Cass was standing in a small group that consisted of Lucy Hunt, Jane Upton, Berkeley, and … Alex. Yes. Alex was there, wearing a blue gown with silver ribbons and long white gloves. She looked as prim and pretty as a violet. He squared his shoulders and took off toward the little group with no idea what he would say once he got there.
“Alex, dance with me.”
Apparently, that’s what he would say once he got there, because those forceful words came out of his mouth as soon as he reached the group.
All four ladies’ mouths flew open, and Berkeley turned toward him, assuming a protective stance in front of Alex.
“Owen, what are you doing here?” Cass asked, finding her voice first.
Owen ignored Cass and glared at Berkeley. “Stand down, Viscount. I don’t want to meet you outside and beat you to a bloody pulp, but I will if I must.”
Berkeley narrowed his eyes on him. “I’d like to see you try.”
“Wait!” Alex stamped her foot, and the entire party turned toward her.
“What, dear?” Lucy Hunt asked Alex, blinking at her inquisitively.
“I want to know why,” Alex replied.
“Why what?” Jane Upton asked, pushing up her spectacles.
Alex’s eyes never left Owen’s. “Why?” she asked. “Why do you want to dance with me?”
Because I can’t stop thinking about you? Because I try to drink enough to erase you from my memory but there’s not enough brandy in the kingdom?
“Because I want to talk to you,” he replied simply.
“Owen, have you been drinking?” Cass ventured, her brow furrowed with obvious concern.
His eyes didn’t leave Alex’s face as he answered his sister. “Yes. Far too much,” he admitted.
Berkeley stepped forward. “In that case, I must ask you to leave.”
Owen turned on the viscount with a snarl. “It’ll be the last thing you ever ask, you son of a—”
“Wait!” Alex’s voice stopped Owen’s diatribe again. “Why do you want to talk to me?”