Free Brook Street: Fortune Hunter by Ava March

cower gone, the strength back in his voice. “As I’ve already explained, I have a guest for the Season. I am not prepared to take on four unexpected ones.”
    The woman crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you actually intend to throw your family out onto the street? You must know it is impossible to rent a respectable house on such short notice this far into the Season.”
    Briefly closing his eyes, Woodhaven let out a sigh, the sound tired and full of exasperation. “No, of course I would not throw you out onto the street. I will send word to Mivart’s Hotel. Make arrangements for a suitable suite.”
    “Town has spoiled you.” The uncle’s glower was back in full force. “Turned you into an ungrateful snob. After all we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?”
    Woodhaven started, as if his uncle had slapped him. Shock flittered across his face. “I’ve given you forty thousand pounds. Wasn’t that enough?”
    The desperation, the plea behind the question, had Julian’s hands curling into fists at his sides. “Mr. Woodhaven has generously offered to make arrangements for your family at Mivart’s, one of the best hotels in the city. I suggest you make your way there. Now. ”
    The command hung in the air.
    The uncle’s features hardened, a glare of purest loathing fixed on Woodhaven. Julian’s muscles tensed, prepared to spring into action, to knock the man onto his arse, if he made even the slightest move toward his friend.
    “I will certainly not stay where I am not welcome. Girls.” Woodhaven’s aunt flicked her fingers in the direction of the young ladies who still lingered by the console table. “Come now.”
    The women swept out of the house.
    Woodhaven looked up at his uncle. “I won’t marry her.” He spoke in a whisper yet the determination, the iron will behind his words, rang loud and clear.
    The older man’s lip curled. “She doesn’t want you anyway. Saves me the expense of bribing the yes out of her.” With that, he turned on his heel.
    The snap of the front door echoed in the entrance hall.
    Woodhaven dropped his gaze to the polished marble floor. “I’m sorry, Julian.”
    His heart clenched, tightening his chest. Goddamn Woodhaven’s aunt and uncle. Goddamn them for reducing him to apologizing for their atrocious behavior.
    He reached out, laid a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. By God, the man was shaking. “It’s all right, Oscar,” he said, low and gentle. “There is absolutely no need to apologize. None at all. Relatives can be…hell.”
    Chin still tipped down, Oscar peeked up at him. “Thank you.”
    “You don’t need to thank me, either.”
    The beginnings of a self-conscious smile dared to tug the edges of Oscar’s mouth. The tension slid out of his body, taking the awful tremble with it.
    The door opened, letting in a gust of cool early evening air. Julian dropped his arm to his side. Oscar stiffened then let out a breath as only Cooper entered the house, shutting the door behind him.
    “Cooper, have my aunt and uncle stayed at the house previously?” Oscar asked.
    The butler’s brows drew together, contrition written on every feature. “Yes, sir. The past three Seasons, since the house came to you. We were expecting you as well, sir, but were informed on each occasion that you had decided to forgo the Season and remain in Yorkshire.”
    “It’s not your fault, Cooper. I don’t blame you for…them. Please send a footman post-haste to Mivart’s. Have him do whatever must be done to secure the best suite for them.”
    “Yes, sir. Is there anything else you need?”
    When Oscar made to shake his head, Julian spoke up. “Yes, please have a bottle of whisky delivered to the study.”
    “I’m fine, Julian,” he murmured.
    The man was the furthest thing from fine. His cheeks were much too pale. Julian could barely make out the freckles across his nose, and his beautiful dark eyes were dull and flat, devoid of their cheerful spark. But