nothing like that,” he hastened to assure her. “It’s just…Did you say…lodgers?”
“Yes.” She paused, taken aback. “Are you…? Aren’t one of the lodgers?”
“No. I’ve never been here before in my life. I’m just looking for my brother.”
“I should not be talking to you at all,” she murmured in dismay. “This is most irregular. Mrs Dean should show more care for her niece. I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I,” he said stoutly. “However, it’s very important that I speak to my brother at once. The name is Alexander Pope. My mother told me I could find him here.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Mr Pope,” she said, shaking her head. “I cannot help you. You will have to wait for Mrs Dean, the proprietress.”
Momentarily startled to be called by a name other than his own, Julian was tempted to correct her. But how could he explain to her that “Pope” was his brother’s alias? She already thought him rude; he did not want her to think him sinister.
“But I must see him now,” he said, letting the assumption stand. “The matter is urgent. Will you help me, please? If you were looking for your brother, I would certainly help you.”
“I suppose I could ask which is his room,” she said reluctantly. “I will have to wake Mrs Dean. She keeps London hours, I’m afraid. Will you please wait here, Mr Pope?” she requested, stopping him in the hall. “In Yorkshire, a gentleman does not follow a lady up the stairs unless she asks him to. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“Thank you,” he said, but she was already running lightly up the steps, the little white dog tucked under one arm. He tried not to look at her slim ankles, but he could not help himself.
Chapter Five
To Julian’s disappointment, the black-haired girl did not return. Instead, it was the big, ugly manservant who led him upstairs to his brother’s room. Although exceedingly untidy, the room was comfortable, with plenty of coals glowing in the fireplace and a window that overlooked the street. Unconscious and unshaven, the Honorable Mr Alexander Devize lay supine on the bed, naked but for a bunched-up sheet. One arm hung over the side of the bed.
Going over to the bed, Julian struck the sleeper with his hat none too gently. When there was no response, he picked up the pitcher of water next to the bed and poured its contents onto his brother’s face.
Alexander Devize sputtered to life. “Bloody hell!” he roared, sitting up and blinking as water ran into his bloodshot brown eyes. His thick, dark hair was standing on end in pomaded clumps, surely not what his valet had intended. He reeked of brandy. Stubble rasped against his palm as he wiped the water from his face. He looked around him blearily. He was only thirty-four, but, at the moment, he looked almost fifty.
“Julian,” he croaked. “What the devil?”
Julian was brief. “Get dressed. It’s the governor. He wants to see you.”
“Well, I don’t want to see him,” Alex said sullenly. “He keeps trying to arrange marriages for me. He threatens to cut off my allowance.”
“He’s very seriously ill, Alex,” Julian said quietly.
“No, he isn’t,” Alex said bitterly. “He’s never ill. It’s only a ploy to get me to marry Miss Molly Peacock.”
“You could be right, of course,” said Julian. “I hope you are. But our mother is waiting for you at the top of Portland Place. Perdita’s with her. Now, where are your clothes?”
Groaning, Alex swung his legs out of the bed and began fumbling for his shirt.
Julian walked over to the window and looked out on the street as his brother dressed.
Alex spoke to Julian’s back. “Are you going to Sussex?”
“No,” Julian replied. “I’m still disowned.”
“Lucky devil!” Alex grumbled. “Of course, if he were really ill, he’d want you at his side, Julian. You were always his favorite. How I hate living under his thumb. He holds the purse strings like an old maid guards her virginity! I’ll go to Sussex, but I’ll be damned if I let him choose me a wife. There’s only one girl I ever wanted to marry, and she’s dead now.”
The revelation caught Julian by surprise, and made him feel excessively awkward, as if he had accidentally overheard something intensely private. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“She married someone else,” Alex went on, to his brother’s acute dismay. “She died in childbirth. If she were not dead, I think I would hate her. She was such a plain little thing, too,” Alex said, his eyes suddenly filling with tears. “I still remember how she felt in my arms when we danced together.”
“All the same,” said Julian. “Life goes on.”
Alex glared at him. “How can you be so callous? Life goes on? No, it doesn’t.”
“Obviously, it does,” Julian said dryly. “Would you be here if it didn’t?”
“You think I come here to feel alive?” Alex demanded indignantly. “Do you think I enjoy passing out every night in the arms of a strange woman who doesn’t give a tinker’s damn for me?”
“You could do that with Molly Peacock,” Julian said. “At considerably less expense.”
“That’s right,” Alex said grimly. “Make your jokes. You’ve never been in love.”
“No,” Julian agreed cheerfully, “but I can’t wait. You make it sound so pleasant.”
Alex went into the closet to wash, leaving the door ajar.
Julian was looking out of the window, watching as a man exited the house. With his collar turned up and his hat low over his eyes, he scurried into Oxford Street to be swallowed up by the traffic.
“Sorry about all that,” Alex said presently. “I didn’t mean to be so maudlin. I hope I didn’t embarrass you?”
“It’s quite all right,” Julian assured him. “I wasn’t listening anyway.”
“Good.” Alex sounded relieved. Half-dressed now, he began to shave.
“Alex,” Julian said thoughtfully, still observing the street, “this is a brothel, isn’t it?”
Alex laughed shortly. “If it isn’t, I want my money back,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“I met a girl downstairs who seems to think this is some sort of boarding house,” Julian replied. “A very pretty, genteel sort of girl, nothing like what you’d expect to find in a place like this. She seemed like a carefully brought up young lady,” he added. “She refused to talk to me because we hadn’t been introduced. Just like the girls back home.”
“Ah, yes,” Alex said, yawning. “The tragic little niece from Yorkshire. I’ve heard all about her. Supposedly, her
