“We are only asking for what is fair,” his brother said.
“Oh, I think you are getting exactly what you deserve.” Spinning on his heel, he marched out of the room and right out of the house.
Kit lifted his half-empty glass in another toast. “Let us toast to Harrison. May the rest of us get every single thing we desire in the span of a few weeks, as well.”
“Hear, hear!” Preston called loudly.
Harrison grinned at his friends. Upon returning from the meeting with his family, he’d learned that Maddie was still training with her coach. Not wishing to disturb her, he sent for Kit and Preston to help him celebrate today’s victory over the Archers, and the three of them had been holed up in the smoking room, drinking his father-in-law’s best scotch, for the better part of an hour.
“It hasn’t been easy,” Harrison said.
“Are you saying marriage to Maddie is a hardship, then?” Preston asked. “Because I won’t believe it.”
Not a hardship, but the start had been rocky—which had been entirely his fault. He didn’t wish to discuss the details of his marriage with his friends, even as close as they were. So he shrugged. “There was a moment or two where I worried she wouldn’t break it off with Lockwood.”
“To be fair, she didn’t,” Kit said. “Thank God for nosy busybodies taking late-night walks.”
Yes, Harrison owed quite a debt to Mrs. Lusk.
Thankfully, Maddie had forgiven him and they’d spent last night in his bed, continuing to explore each other. She was the perfect match for him, adventurous and responsive, passionate and demanding. He relished every minute. No matter what else happened, he’d never take for granted that he could touch and hold her, sleep next to her each night.
He was desperately in love with her. The words were on the tip of his tongue whenever they were together, a burning need to confess everything in his heart. Only she didn’t feel the same . . . and he wasn’t certain she ever would. Not once had she uttered any tender declaration or hinted at stronger feelings for him, other than the way she clung to him in bed.
And why would she? He had bamboozled her into this marriage, stolen her away from the man she’d actually wanted to marry. If not for Harrison, she would be a duchess, one of the most powerful women in England. Would she always harbor a small amount of resentment toward him for preventing that? His heart twisted, agony spreading in his chest.
I’d rather make the man’s fantasies come true.
He’d never forget those words as long as he lived. And yes, he knew she cared about him and enjoyed their time in bed. Yet it wasn’t enough. He wanted it all—her body and her heart.
Unfortunately, it seemed dashed unlikely.
Preston leaned forward to refill his glass. “Any of the shareholders give you trouble?”
“No. The stock price has been steadily falling ever since Thomas took over. They were happy to make a substantial amount of money by selling their shares to me.”
Kit sighed dramatically. “I wish I could have seen your mother’s face—Thomas’s, too. That room must have been colder than a February blizzard in Maine.”
Harrison swallowed a mouthful of scotch, feeling the smoky burn all the way to his stomach. “They were surprised. Angry. Horrified. Exactly what you’d expect.” It had been immensely satisfying, a moment he was unlikely to ever forget.
“I can’t believe you were able to pull it off so quietly,” Preston said. “Normally these takeovers are long public battles, like when Vanderbilt tried to get his hands on Erie Railroad.”
“No one was paying attention,” Harrison said. “Thomas was busy traveling and spending money, and he didn’t stop to notice what was happening with the company.”
“He’s a nincompoop,” Preston said, direct and to the point as usual. “Always has been.”
“While that is undoubtedly true,” Harrison said, “that nincompoop threatened Maddie today.” Harrison shook his head. “My mother, too.”
Kit froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Wait, what do you mean, they threatened her?” Preston’s face darkened, the expression one that had sent many a man scurrying away in fear.
Harrison told his friends about the offhanded comments made by his family. “They said she’s the most important thing in the world to me.”
“They aren’t wrong,” Kit said, “but it is beyond low to threaten a man’s wife.” He looked at Preston. “Remember when Thomas held that young boy under the waves until he almost drowned?”
Preston nodded. “The Newbold son, wasn’t it? The one who moved out West.”
Harrison recalled that afternoon, when Thomas had picked on the skinnier, younger boy. “I was blamed for it, incidentally.” At his friends’ surprised expression, he elaborated. “Mrs. Newbold marched to the cottage and gave my mother an earful. Thomas denied his involvement, saying I was responsible instead. I couldn’t sit for two days.”
“Jesus,” Preston muttered. “And here I’d always wished for a brother.”
“My brother and I used to get into terrible fights,” Kit said. “Still do, actually.”
Preston pointed at Harrison. “You must be careful. Keep a close eye on her until the tournament. I can give you the names of men you could hire to watch over her.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Harrison said. “Probably just bluster. A trapped animal lashing out.”
Kit frowned. “I wouldn’t give your family the benefit of the doubt. Ever.”
“I agree,” Preston said. “Maybe warn your wife, so she is aware of the threat.”
“No.” Harrison’s voice was sharp and loud in the cavernous room. “Absolutely not. She’s about to play in the biggest tournament of her life. I cannot let my family distract her in any way.”
Preston’s brow wrinkled in concern, but he raised his glass. “To our families. May they all rot in hell.”
“Indeed.” Kit toasted with his tumbler, as well. “To a friend in the morning!”
“And a mistress at night,” Preston continued.
“To fill us with pleasure and blissful delight.” Harrison finished their favorite toast and tapped his glass to the others. Then all three men drank.
“Speaking of friends,” Harrison said. “How is Forrest? Anyone heard from him lately?” The four of them were like brothers, and it felt strange not to have Forrest here.
“In Chicago, last I heard.” Kit shook his head. “Saw him in April for dinner. He was blind drunk before we even finished the first course. Had to get a waiter to help me carry him out to the carriage.”
“He’s always drunk,” Preston told Harrison, his voice low and serious. “Worse than before.”
“Christ.” Forrest had always loved to drink, but this seemed excessive. Harrison grimaced. “Should we try to help him?”
“I’ve tried,” Kit said. “He won’t hear it, doesn’t care.”
“I took him to the Adirondacks to try and dry him out,” Preston said. “He slipped out of a window when I wasn’t looking and disappeared on me. That’s the last I saw of him.”