Where Passion Leads (Berkeley-Faulkner #1)(6)

As always, Rand irritated the older man by treating a weighty matter as if it were nothing of much consequence. His attitude was careless, as if it didn’t matter to him whether the Berkeleys doubled their fortune or went to hell in a hand basket.

“I am certain that I am not, sir,” the younger man said wryly. “However, being deserving has no bearing on whether or not I am capable of handling it. You may rest secure on two points. I will keep the Berkeley fortune intact whenever it happens to be transferred to my care. And second, I don’t foresee that such a situation will occur for a good many years. Your health, as always, is—”

“My health is failing. Haven’t you seen that? The thing I desire most is the security of my lands and sundry possessions. And my demise is approaching all the quicker because of my fears about you.” The earl’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Rand with something akin to dislike. “What sort of bird are you?” he asked slowly. “You seem to care about nothing. What are your wants, your weaknesses? Women? Gaming? God knows it’s not strong drink—”

“Thanks to my father’s tender care, I’ve developed a ready caution for that.”

Rand’s general moderation in drink was well-known, for as a boy his father had often forced red wine on him as a preventive measure for gout. It had not taken long for Rand to become an alcoholic. As a teenager he had been in a lamentable condition even after the death of his one remaining parent. Without the intervention of his grandmother he would have drunk himself into the grave by now.

“All I know is that I’ve done my best for you, boy, and so far you’ve failed me. When are you going to get married? When will I see an heir?”

“An heir,” Rand repeated with weariness edging his voice. “I suppose you’ll see one when I discover a woman I’d care to mix my blood with.”

“Great Gad, boy, it’s not as if there aren’t hundreds of prime candidates who would accept you! Have you ever been attracted to a decent woman, the marrying kind?” the earl pressed.

“I don’t recall—”

“Damn, am I missing a discussion of Rand’s romantic activities?” Colin’s smooth drawl disturbed the atmosphere. “Might liven up a dreadfully boring afternoon.” He sauntered into the room, conscious as always of his appearance with every step he took. The thin tissue of his slippers made no sound on the floor. He wore a rich purple coat, the back divided into pleated tails that fastened with hip buttons. A brilliant white vest and canary-yellow trousers completed the outfit. Colin raised his hand to his forehead, drawing attention to the carefully tousled condition of his blond locks. Though they were only two years apart it was difficult to see the physical resemblance between Colin and Rand. It was generally agreed that Colin had inherited the looks in the family, for he was exquisitely made in both face and form. His skin was pale and polished, his eyes a remarkably pure green. Slim and elegantly turned limbs were enhanced by his graceful, catlike way of moving. The dandies he associated with were often moved to comment enviably on the bounty that nature had bestowed on Colin Berkeley, for every feature, every gesture, every accent of his words was nothing short of perfect. Rand, in contrast, had been cast in a different, rougher mold. His eyes were the murkier hue of hazel, the green often sullied by an indistinguishable shade of brown. He was much darker than Colin, his skin unfashionably dark and his hair a deep shade of amber rather than bright gold. Rand was also much taller, his body lean but built with solid muscles and powerful proportions. It was a body that was well-suited for physical labor, and as such it was inappropriate for an aristocrat, who was supposed to be as far removed from work as possible. Physical exertion was a burden for the lower classes to bear, not the nobility.

The brothers exchanged an assessing glance, and then Colin smiled slyly. “What is the most recent complaint?” he inquired with relish.

“He should be married,” the earl replied, regarding Colin with disgust. “And you should have been a woman. You’re too damned cattish and exquisite to be a grandson of mine. You and your friends usurp your manners, your costume, your values, from women. You have a woman’s way about you, and I dislike it.”

Unfazed by the words, Colin raised his nose slightly. “Grandfather, it is a privilege of aristocracy to be an exquisite. And if you care to discuss appearances, turn your attention to Rand. Hair cropped as short as a bruiser’s, the language of a mill worker. Not to mention skin as dark as a Gypsy’s.”

Rand’s wide mouth quirked slightly. “At least I wear no dandy’s corsets,” he remarked, and Colin stared at him coolly, placing long white hands on his nipped-in waist.

There was no love lost between the brothers, perhaps because they were close in age and had fought bitterly in childhood. Still, Rand sometimes found in his heart an odd sort of affection for Colin, who was as harmless as he was effeminate. He let Colin’s barbs bounce off him, for they did him no damage.

“Why have you left your pursuits in London?” Colin inquired.

“I’m off to France soon to settle a few business problems.”

“Really.” Colin viewed him through a quizzing glass with delicately arched fingers, frowning at first and then resorting to a snicker. “Dear me, how entertaining. I wish you good fortune.” He walked across the room to a decanter of brandy and poured himself a glass. “What exactly are you going to take care of?” The earl handed him the paper and Colin scanned it idly as he spoke to Rand. “I caught word of your appearance at the gala last week. No tender morsel caught your interest?”