Free A Gentleman Says "I Do" by Amelia Grey Page B

dog from certain death, and then you had to save them both.”
    Iverson laughed ruefully. “What nonsense. We weren’t strolling, we were talking. And I didn’t save the dog, she did.” Iverson replaced the decanter on the table.
    “Who saved whom is not as important at the moment as your courting Miss Crisp. I thought you were going to give Sir Phillip a black eye, like you did Lord Waldo, not go after his daughter. That’s beyond the pale, even for you.”
    Matson retook his seat, and Iverson eased down into a comfortable chair to rest his hip. First, he had to put up with a servant, and then Mrs. Gottfried thinking he wanted to court Miss Crisp, and now his own brother was giving him trouble.
    “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Matson asked.
    Iverson took a sip of his drink before saying, “I’m not courting Miss Crisp.”
    “So you just happened upon her on the street and introduced yourself and then proceeded to save her life in front of more than half a dozen people.”
    “That’s fairly close to what happened.”
    “Don’t give me that drivel, Iverson. Yesterday you wanted to ram Sir Phillip’s teeth down his throat.”
    Iverson frowned. “Did I actually say I wanted to do that?”
    Matson grimaced and swirled the dark liquid in his glass. “Yes, you did.”
    “And I probably meant it at the time, too, but I won’t do quite that much damage to him when I finally find him. I want only to break his fingers now.”
    “What?”
    Iverson grunted a laugh at the concerned look on Matson’s face. He relaxed his shoulders and said, “Don’t take me so seriously, Brother. I don’t intend to do any physical harm to the man this time. Everyone deserves a warning.”
    Iverson took a sip and looked at his twin over the glass. He held the port in his mouth for a moment and let it sting his tongue and the back of his throat before swallowing. It was amazing how much he and his brother looked alike, and how much they resembled Sir Randolph.
    Only recently had Iverson started wearing his hair much longer than Matson’s and pulled back in a queue. There were a few times in his life when it had pleased him to be the mirror image of his brother. Over the years, he and Matson had switched identities more than once to fool playmates, tease young ladies, or confound business associates, but those kinds of games no longer interested either of them. After almost thirty years of being a twin, Iverson needed his own identity, and never more so than when he’d come to London and discovered he not only was the spitting image of his brother, but of Sir Randolph Gibson, too.
    Now, though he hated to admit it even to himself, the longer hair and queue was his way of trying to look less like his brother, and if that made him look less like Sir Randolph Gibson, even better. Matson had made subtle changes in his appearance, too. He’d grown a closely cropped, chinstrap beard less than a fourth of an inch wide. It wasn’t something he and Matson had spoken about, but since coming back to England they were developing their separate lives, developing different interests and different friends. Even when they were at White’s, Matson preferred billiards, and Iverson a game of cards.
    “Tell me what happened yesterday after you left our offices,” Matson said.
    “Sir Phillip wasn’t home, so I spoke with Miss Crisp.”
    “Where is the devil?”
    “Miss Crisp didn’t know. She said he may not even be in London right now.”
    “I didn’t know the man had a daughter until this afternoon.”
    “Yesterday she told me she had attended some recent parties, but she always left early.”
    “Must be why we’ve missed her. It sounds as if you might have had a lengthy conversation with her, if you were talking about parties. And you did meet with her again today. Tell me about her.”
    She’s stunning, lively, alluring, exciting, and delectable.
    “I found her challenging to talk to,” Iverson said and took another