Warren delivered the pineapple to the busy kitchen, his stomach twisting in knots at the smell of the glorious feast—roasted pheasants, boiled potatoes, tureens of vegetable soup. All that waited for him at home was a few slices of cold ham and a wedge of cheese.
He lingered for a moment, exchanging a few words with the maids. When he saw his chance, he snatched a couple egg tarts off a tray, quick stuffing them in his pocket. Taking his leave, he ducked out the main door that led into the house. Surely no one would mind if he cut through this way.
As he walked down the long hall, he slipped his hand in his pocket, pulling out the first egg tart. He stuffed it in his mouth with a groan. It was still warm; savory and salty. He ate it in two bites. He was about to eat the second tart when a deep voice called behind him.
“Warren? Are you lost?”
He turned around to see Burke’s teasing grin. He was dressed for dinner, his dark hair slicked back behind his ears. Burke closed the distance between them, slipping both his hands in his pockets as he walked.
“Just cutting through,” Warren replied. “I’m on my way home.”
Burke nodded, his eyes tracing him. “What’s in your pocket?”
Warren stiffened. “Nothing.”
Burke sighed. “Either tell me, or I’ll wrestle you to the floor and check for myself.”
He smirked. “You could try. You haven’t been able to take me since we were lads. I’d hate to damage that pretty face.”
Burke smiled, but it quickly fell. “Why don’t you join us for dinner.”
Warren bristled, wearing his pride like armor. “No.”
“You’re my friend, Warren. I’d like you to join us.”
“There’s no place for the likes of me at a duke’s dinner table,” he countered. “And I’m nobody’s charity case.”
“I never said you were. We have some of the families from the fire joining us tonight. A duke’s dining room can be intimidating for the average man. It would put them at ease to see another friendly face at the table.”
He huffed. “I’ve never heard my face called friendly. Frightening, maybe.”
“Oh, don’t start. You know the ladies all love a man with scars.”
Warren just rolled his eyes.
“Say, you’re friendly with Mr. Bray, right?”
He stiffened. “Why?”
“Well, it’s strange,” Burke replied. “James made him an offer to take over for Selby at the parsonage. He means to make Bray Vicar of Finchley. But the ungrateful wretch turned him down flat. I can’t make sense of it. What man in his right mind would prefer a position in Bredbury over a posting here? Hell on earth if you ask me.”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Hmm…well, he’s here for dinner again tonight. Perhaps you could talk to him, help us try to make sense of it.”
“I doubt I can be helpful,” he replied. “If he’s made up his mind, he’s made up his mind.”
Burke nodded. “Yeah, but I’d like you to try all the same. If nothing else, help us shed light on why he’s so dead set against us.”
Warren groaned. “Fine.”
“Excellent.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Now, let’s go. I’m starving. And unlike you, I don’t have biscuits stuffed in my pockets.”
If there ever was a true hell on earth, it would be suffering through the pacing of dinner at a duke’s table. Why were the portions so bloody small? And why so many courses? Warren ate the fish course in four bites and was forced to sit there, watching as the rest of the table nibbled and chattered.
This was only the third course. If the menu card resting above his plate was to be believed, there would be four more. He groaned, snatching up his glass of wine, draining it. In moments, a footman appeared at his side. The man reached over him, refilling his glass with pursed lips.
Warren smirked. It was Geoffrey. How it must gall the man to have to wait on him. If nothing else, Geoffrey’s jealousy made this insufferable night worth the torture.
He was seated between Burke and one of the men from the Carrington fire. Burke knew enough to leave him be, turning his attention to the duke and duchess instead. Warren felt the duke’s eyes on him, but he did his best to keep his eyes on his plate. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was uncomfortable.
And he didn’t miss the way the duchess’ gaze kept darting down the table. It was all he could do to avoid doing the same, for Charles was seated next to Madeline. They sat there, stiff as statues, cheeks flushed pink, as they attempted the smallest of talk. Warren was too far away to hear what they were saying, which annoyed him to no end. Were they settling matters? Planning the wedding? Their shared awkwardness was almost endearing.
“Oh, Mr. Bray,” the duchess called down the table. “Mrs. Davies has everything prepared. Did you still want to deliver the baskets tomorrow?”
Charles gave a nervous jump at being addressed directly by the duchess, which had Warren smirking into his wine glass. “Yes, Your Grace. I am happy to be of service.”
“Wonderful,” she said with a warm smile. “And Madeline, you’ll go in my stead?”
Warren stiffened as he watched Madeline nod. So, they were going on a little adventure together now? Wandering through the winter wood, arm in arm, delivering baskets to the needy families. What a perfect scene of domesticity: the vicar and his wife, nobly doing their duty to the community.
He didn’t even realize he was squeezing his wine glass until Burke hissed. “Christ man, steady on.”
Warren blinked, looking down at the broken pieces of glass, the red wine pooling like blood on the white tablecloth. Then there was the actual blood. His palm was filling with it.
“Oh, goodness. Mr. Warren are you alright?” said the duchess, eyes wide.
He dropped his bloody hand to his lap, wrapping it in his napkin. “‘Scuse me,” he muttered, pushing his chair back with a loud squeak. The whole table watched him get up and walk towards the door.
Geoffrey, the arse, just shook his head. Warren wanted to punch him in the stupid face. Geoffrey opened the door for him, and Warren stomped out. He moved quickly across the hall into the empty drawing room. He’d only been in this room a few times before. The family always opened the house at Christmas for a ball to which all the staff and the villagers were invited. He’d sat at the corner table, playing whist with Burke and the duke.
He shuffled over to the fireplace, lifting the napkin away to look at the carnage of his hand. It was a bloody mess. He dabbed at it with the napkin, wincing as he plucked free a piece of broken glass and dropped it into the flames.
“What the hell just happened in there?”
He stiffened not turning around to face Burke. “Nothing.”
Burke crossed the room towards him. “Right…nothing. Except that James can’t stop looking at you. Bray can’t stop looking at you. Even Madeline can’t stop. What the hell has them so curious?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he muttered, keeping his back turned.
“You need to wash that out. And it might need stitches.”
“I’m fine.”
“Don’t be a brute, Warren.”
He spun around, shoulders squared. “I don’t need your help. Go back and join the dinner.”
Burke raised a dark brow. “Giving me orders in my own house? My, we are in a mood tonight.”
“It’s not your house, Burke. You’re a guest here, same as me. Soon as the duchess tires of having something pretty to look at, you’ll be out on your arse.”
“Unlikely,” Burke replied, wholly unfazed by Warren’s unpardonable rudeness. “But then I didn’t follow you out here to talk about me.”
He lifted the napkin off his hand, checking the cuts.
“Jesus,” Burke muttered. “Here, let me help you.”
“I don’t—”
“I know, I know. You don’t need my help. You don’t need anybody’s help. You are an island. A man alone. A man apart. Spare me.” Burke stomped over to the sideboard and snatched up a bottle of gin. “Give me your damn hand.”
With a grimace, Warren lifted the napkin away and held out his bleeding hand.
Burke popped the stopper out of the bottle and grabbed his wrist. “This is going to hurt.”
“I don’t—”
Burke clamped tight to his wrist, holding him still as he poured gin over the cuts.
“Shit—damn—” he cursed, fingers shaking. The clear liquid washed the blood away, dripping down onto the white marble of the hearth. The alcohol pooled towards the flames, making the fire hiss and pop.
“Once more,” Burke murmured, his touch gentling.
Warren nodded and Burke doused his hand with more gin. Warren clenched his teeth tight, letting the alcohol clean his hand. Burke let go of his wrist, setting the bottle aside.
“Looks worse than it is,” Burke assessed. “I don’t think you need stitches.”
They stood there together, quietly looking down at his tattered hand.
“I can’t go back in there,” he muttered.
“I know,” Burke replied. “Can you tell me why?”
He sighed, lowering his hand to his side.
“James will tell me his side of it as soon as I ask, but the man is notoriously ill informed. If there is a puzzle here, James is sure to have a box of missing pieces. And you know I can’t stop once I’ve started,” he added with a smirk. “I’ll hound you to the ends of the earth.”
“Christ, you’re relentless,” he muttered.
“I am,” Burke replied with a satisfied smile. “And there is nothing I hate more than thinking James is privy to an intrigue without me. So, spill already.”
Warren groaned, turning to face the flames. “He caught me tonight…just before dinner.”
“Caught you? What, stealing food from the kitchen? That’s hardly worth—”
“No. That’s not…no,” he said with a shake of his head.
“I’m listening.”
Warren grimaced. “Look, I’m only telling you this because I know you and the duke are thick as thieves, and I know he’s going to tell you anyway.”
Burke’s grin widened. “Now I’m definitely listening.”
Throwing caution to the wind, Warren let his truth spill forth. “The duke caught me with Bray in the hothouse.”
Burke blinked, his smile falling. “James caught you with Bray?”
“Yes.”
“In the hothouse?”
“Yes.”
“He caught you with Bray in the hothouse?”
“God damn it, did I not just say as much?” he barked, rounding on him.
“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to catch up here,” Burke replied, taking a step back with his hands raised. “You’re so, well…you,” he added with a shrug. “I’m struggling to picture it. You and Bray. Bray and you.”
“You’ll stop picturing it right now if you want to keep all those pretty teeth in your mouth,” he growled.
Burke bristled. “You know, I boxed all through Oxford. Keep threatening to punch me, and I might just take a few swings of my own.”
Warren scoffed, raising himself up to his full height. He had easily three inches on Burke, and well over twenty extra pounds of muscle. “The day you land a punch on me, pretty man, will be the day the angels sing.”
Burke met him stare for stare, his frown slowly turning back into a grin. “I believe you. And, as you say, my worth here is all down to my handsome face. Can’t go having you mess it up.”
Warren sighed, shoulders relaxing as he turned away.
“So, James caught you with Bray. How bad was it?”
“Bad enough,” he muttered.
Burke let loose a laugh. “Oh god, please tell me how he responded. What did he do when he realized?”
“He gave me a pineapple.”
Burke blinked. “He…what?”
“He came to fetch a pineapple for the duchess and found us together. He gave me the pineapple and made me bring it to the kitchen. That’s when you found me and dragged me to dinner.”
“Wait…so, we’re all running around trying to fix Bray with Madeline. Meanwhile, Bray is off with you doing Lord knows what and—” He spun around, his smile falling. “Oh, goddamn it. Oh, Rosalie is going to be furious.”
“Why?”
“Because James was right,” he muttered. “Damn, I hate when James is right,” he grunted, punching his palm with his fist. “At least we didn’t wager anything this time.”
“Right about what?”
“About Bray. He knew something was off. He told us not to push the issue. Bray leaving the way he did. Bray turning down his offer. And if their awkwardness tonight is any indication, Madeline proposed, poor thing. I’m sure he turned her down too.”
“He didn’t,” he replied.
Burke spun to face him, eyes wide. “What?”
“He just hasn’t given her an answer,” he said with a shrug.
“Well, he’s going to turn her down, right?” Burke pressed. “If he’s in love with you? The man is far too principled to say yes to Madeline if he’s already given his heart to another.”
Warren stiffened. “He doesn’t love me. He uses me. He’ll soon leave, and we’ll not see him again.”
Burke gave him a measured look. “You really think that?”
“I’m not comfortable talking about Charles with you.”
Burke’s eyes went wide. “Ooooh, now I see it! That’s why he won’t stay…because he’s in love with you. I can only imagine his position as a vicar has something to do with his inner turmoil, eh? Let me guess, he sees being with you as a sin? Does he blame you for luring him in? Does he pretend to fight it? I imagine you take the lead in your dalliances. You don’t strike me as much of a receiver—”
Warren growled, turning away. “Drop it, or I’ll start throwing those punches.”
“And how does Madeline fit in?” Burke asked, ignoring his threat. “Rosalie told me you were the one who brought her up to the house the other night. She sensed a chemistry between you. I believe the word she used was ‘magnetic.’”
“Nothing happened,” he muttered, shoulders stiffening.
“Oh shit…which means something definitely happened there too. My god, Warren. It’s been all of three bloody days. What the hell did you do?”
Warren groaned. “I kissed her.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did. Twice.”
Burke shook his head in disbelief. “Does Bray know?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
He bristled, casting the man a glare. “Why should I? What the hell does it matter? It didn’t mean anything. And I’m not beholden to him…or her…or you. I’m only answering your questions because I see you as a friend.”
“And I thank you for that” Burke replied, lowering his mask of charm. “You’ve been a good friend to me too these long years,” he added, giving his shoulder a squeeze. “You know I’ll not say a word outside of James, right?”
“I know,” he replied, his gaze lost to the crackling fire.
Burke nodded, his gaze drifting to the fire too. They both stood there for a few moments, their profiles framed by the dancing flames.
Slowly, Burke turned, his hand still on his shoulder. “Warren, what if I told you there was a way you could all get exactly what you wanted…and perhaps more than you could have ever dreamed?”
