![]() ![]() They’d seen each other seldom in the intervening years, that tragic night a guilty barrier between them. He’d wondered but never dared ask the full extent of Walfort’s injuries. Within them he could almost see the night he and Walfort had been barreling wildly through the London streets, the curricle traveling at a dangerous breakneck speed. He pressed his forearm against the stone mantel to steady himself while he studied the madly dancing flames. Instead, he staggered and almost lost his balance as he crossed over to the fireplace. ![]() ![]() You owe me this.”Īinsley pushed himself out of the chair. You would not countenance what I thought you uttered.” ![]() Walfort had aged considerably during that time, his brown hair having gone white at the temples, his brown eyes somber enough to chase off any gaiety in the room. “Does your silence indicate your acceptance of the terms?” Walfort asked.Īinsley scrutinized his cousin and longtime friend, sitting in that damned wheelchair, where he himself had placed the marquess three years earlier. After three hours, they were both well into their cups, so surely he’d misunderstood. He’d been downing excellent whiskey ever since his arrival at the Marquess of Walfort’s country estate for his once legendary hunt. Ransom Seymour, the ninth Duke of Ainsley, struggled to concentrate as he sat sprawled in a comfortable armchair in the well-appointed library. “I ’ll consider your debt paid in full if you get my wife with child.” ![]()
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