Why hadn’t Spencer mentioned this? She supposed he hadn’t yet received the payment. So much for their country house party. She hated thinking of Briarbank occupied by strangers, but it did lift a weight from her shoulders, to know that Jack was clear of debt. Perhaps that was the reason for this new lightness in his demeanor.

“How long will you stay?” she asked.

“A few weeks, if you can put up with me. Thought I’d ride over to Cambridge one of these days and see about resuming my studies.”

Her heart soared into her throat, and she swallowed her tea with difficulty. She couldn’t have dreamed of a better morning. First her conversation with Spencer, where he’d finally begun to reveal to her what a good-hearted, remarkable man he was—if inexplicably determined to hide it from the world. And now Jack’s fortuitous arrival, his intention to reform.

It was all so perfect. Jack could stay here for several weeks, away from his miscreant friends. Spencer would be such a good influence on him. Perhaps Jack could even live here when he resumed his studies—Cambridge was only a nine-mile ride away. In time, Spencer could find Jack a living somewhere: a nice vicarage, a few hundred pounds a year. It wasn’t much perhaps, but it would be a good life—and as much as the fourth son of impoverished nobility could reasonably expect. With a summer like that, she would scarcely miss Briarbank.

Brimming with optimism, Amelia nipped a lump of sugar into her tea. “Who did let it, in the end? Briarbank, I mean.”

Instead of answering, Jack rose to his feet. It took her only a moment to discern why.

Spencer stood in the salon entrance, freshly bathed and dressed in immaculate linen and dark, chocolate-brown wool.

Oh, dear. All the sensual excitement of their encounter in the stables … it rushed back in the space of a moment. When Jack had arrived, Amelia had carefully banked the fire of her lust—she’d had no choice—but beneath her every motion and every breath, desire had been quietly smoldering all the while. And now Spencer appeared, and he was … the poker, or the bellows, or the very long straw one used to light tinder—heavens, take any crude male analogy, and it fit. One glance at his tall, strong, handsome figure, and heat washed over her, instantly. Perspiration beaded in inconvenient places—the cleft of her bosom, the backs of her knees, her inner thighs. Even her mouth watered. Her choices seemed to be two: look away, or liquefy. She opted for the former, hoping to spare the silk upholstery of her chair.

“Your Grace.” Jack made an elegant bow. He did have very pretty manners, when he chose to use them.

“Mr. d’Orsay.”

“Oh, come now, Morland. Won’t you call me Jack?” Jack took his seat. “We are brothers now, you know.”

Amelia risked a glance at Spencer then. His face revealed no pleasure at Jack’s sudden familiarity. His eyes were hard and unforgiving. Magnetic and entrancing. Demanding and arousing.

Look away, look away. A good hostess doesn’t salivate.

“Well, Jack.” He strode into the room and joined their group, dropping his muscled frame onto a slender, straight-backed chair that looked, Amelia worried, rather unequal to the challenge. “Let’s dispense with the pleasantries, then. What is it you want?”

“What do you mean?” she said. “He’s come for a visit.”

“Oh, has he?”

Amelia couldn’t fathom the reasons for Spencer’s suddenly cool demeanor. But Jack didn’t seem overly surprised.

“Yes, of course.” Her brother chuckled nervously. “A visit. Fine way to welcome me.”

Spencer raised his eyebrows in a clear expression of skepticism.

“Perhaps I want to see how you’re treating my sister,” Jack said, his voice growing defensive. “You took her from us rather quickly, don’t you think? And there’s talk”—he leaned forward—“about you.”

“What sort of talk?” Claudia asked.

Everyone froze, surprised by the young lady’s sudden question. By appearances, she’d spent recent minutes arranging lemon slices with tiny silver tongs rather than heeding the conversation.

“The usual talk?” Claudia’s dark eyelashes fluttered with interest. “Or something new?”

Amelia bit her lip, both appalled at Claudia’s rudeness and eager to hear Jack’s answer. Obviously Claudia knew nothing of Leo’s death and the mysterious circumstances surrounding it, but Amelia wondered if Julian Bellamy had been spreading his suspicions through Town. She prayed not. Spencer would be proved innocent eventually, but the stain of scandal was difficult to scrub clean. Rumors of the duke’s involvement in a murder would damage the prospects of all connected with him. Claudia, most of all.

“Claudia.” Spencer addressed the girl without even looking at her. “Leave us.”

“But—”

“I said, leave us. Now.”

His tone was rapier-sharp, and though Amelia understood his reasons for wanting Claudia gone, she hurt for the girl. No one deserved that sort of dismissal, especially not in front of a guest.

“It’s all right, dear,” she whispered, laying a gentle touch atop Claudia’s wrist. “We’ll see you at luncheon.”

Tears gathering in her eyes, Claudia rose from her chair. “No, you won’t.”

As she fled the room, Spencer winced just a little. Amelia filed away a thought for some later date: Give His Grace some lessons on the care and feeding of children. He did well enough with foals, but he was a disaster with young humans. She’d best find a way to work on that, before birthing him a child of his own.

Oh, heavens. The mere thought of carrying his babe inside her … Her heart gave a sweet, sudden kick.

“Now, then.” Spencer braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward over his linked hands. “Let’s settle this. You’ve come here to see how I’m treating Amelia?”

Jack fidgeted in his chair. “Yes.”

“You. The devoted brother who deserted her at a ball without chaperone, transportation, or a coin to her name. Who played high with money he didn’t have, to the detriment of her hopes and prospects. Who failed to appear at her wedding. You … are questioning my treatment of her. Do I understand this?”

Jack blinked.

Spencer turned to her abruptly. “Amelia, how are you being treated? Well enough?”

After a stunned moment, she replied, “Very well.”

“There you have your answer, Jack. The reason for your visit is satisfied. You’ll remain here as my guest tonight, and tomorrow you’ll head back the way you came.”

“Tomorrow?” Amelia blurted out. “Why, he traveled all night by coach just to get here. I’d hoped he could stay for some weeks. He means to ride over to Cambridge and see about resuming his—”

“Tomorrow.” The word was a verdict, not a suggestion. End of discussion. But his gaze trapped hers, and the conversation continued.

Why? she felt herself silently asking. Why are you retreating to this cold, arrogant behavior, after the lovely morning we just shared? If I truly mean something to you, why can’t you extend the slightest consideration to my kin?

There were answers there, in his eyes. But she couldn’t quite make them out.

And then something clattered to the table between them, breaking the silent communication with a sharp, metallic clang.

Amelia’s eyes flew to the object instinctively, and she gasped at what she saw. A small, roundish disc of brass, stamped with a horse’s head.

Leo’s missing token.

“Oh my …” She reached for it in surprise.

Jack clapped a hand over the coin. “I have what you want, Morland. And I know what it’s worth to you.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Spencer said.

Enmity sparked between the men, exploding all Amelia’s hopes for a happy, idyllic summer.

“However did you get that token?” she wondered aloud. “There are investigators searching all London for that scrap of brass.”

“Yes, well. The investigators haven’t come asking me.” Jack’s lips quirked in a strange little smile, and a sliver of fear pierced Amelia’s heart. Oh, God. He couldn’t have been involved in Leo’s murder. Not her own brother. No, no, no. It simply couldn’t be.

No.

It simply couldn’t be.

She replayed the events of the evening, slowly filling her lungs with relief. Jack had been with her at the ball all evening. True, he’d departed early, at half-eleven. But Mr. Bellamy and Lord Ashworth had appeared not an hour later, and Leo had already been dead for some time. Jack could not possibly have been involved. Thank God. But the question remained …

“How did you get your hands on that token?”

“It was the damnedest thing,” her brother said, speaking to Spencer. “I’d been passing some time with a—” His gaze flicked toward Amelia. “With an acquaintance, a few days ago. We had cause to exchange a coin or two, and I spied this in her purse. Offered her a guinea for it, and she happily made the exchange.”

Amelia’s stomach turned. This “acquaintance” had to have been the prostitute who found Leo. She knew Jack had been sinking lower and lower … but this exceeded even her worst imaginings.

As usual, Spencer didn’t mince words. “So where’s the whore now? Could you find her again?”

Jack stammered a bit, rising to his feet. “Look, man. Perhaps we could discuss this alone.”

“Why? Amelia’s no simpleton. She already knows you’ve been taking her money and throwing it away on dockside bunters.” Spencer stood, too. “It’s a bit late to spare her the shame, Jack. If you want to try redeeming yourself, start with information. Where did you find this woman? Where did she take you? What does she look like? What did she tell you about the attack, about Leo?”

“Why should I tell you anything? So you can get to her first and hush her up?”

The room went very quiet.

Jack strolled forward. “Julian Bellamy thinks you killed Leo.”

“I don’t give a damn what Julian Bellamy thinks.”

“Perhaps not. But others do. When he talks, the ton listens. And public suspicion like that is hard to live down. Your pretty little ward there”—Jack’s chin jerked toward Claudia’s exit route—“might suffer for it. As would my sister.”

“Well, if you’re so concerned for Amelia, you have the evidence to exonerate me right there in your hand. Julian Bellamy thinks I killed Leo to get that token. Obviously, I don’t have it.”

“No, you don’t.” Jack flipped the coin into the air and caught it in his hand. “I do.”

Amelia’s heart plummeted. Of course. He needed money. Though his debt to Spencer was dispatched, he must have landed himself in worse straits now, and he hoped to buy his way clear with that token.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, coming forward. “Just tell us what trouble you’re in. There’s no need to extort assistance from the duke. As you say, we are all family now. We can find some way out of your scrape, surely.”

“He’s not getting a penny from me,” Spencer bit out.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Morland,” Jack said. “I’m not a blackmailer. Now that would be low, even for me. Besides, the Stud Club tokens”—he tossed the coin and caught it again—“can’t be bought or sold. Everyone knows that.”

“You want me to play you for it,” Spencer said.

Jack nodded.

“By God, you truly are an idiot. A prideful, stubborn idiot.” He shrugged. “But if you insist … In my library, then.”

He walked swiftly from the room, with Jack following after him. Amelia stood there for a moment, stunned. Then she picked up her skirts and gave chase.