Free And Then Comes Marriage by Celeste Bradley Page A

who would not do such a thing—
    That could only mean she didn’t know she was seeing two men at once.
    Which meant that bloody Cas was lying to her, sneaking in on Poll’s sweet, innocent widow! The rotter!
    And how is it that the lady you’ve been seeing for weeks does not know you are a twin? Everyone knows.
    Her very conservative marriage had sheltered Miranda from Society for years. She was aware of only what was printed in the newssheets. The Worthingtons, unholy terrors that they might be considered, weren’t rich enough to be truly newsworthy.
    And you somehow neglected to mention it.
    There was a very good reason why he hadn’t mentioned his brother, other than in a general “I have scads of brothers” kind of way.
    For some mystifying reason, there had never been a woman born who did not think longer on Castor Worthington, who did not linger more at his side, who did not listen more closely or gaze more longingly than she might at his identical twin, Pollux.
    Cas, of course, couldn’t care less, except to dally briefly and move on.
    When Poll realized that sheltered Mrs. Talbot had never heard a single word of gossip or otherwise about the Worthingtons, he knew at that moment that he would never introduce her to his family and, most especially, would not introduce her to Cas.
    Now he regretted that impulse. He should have told her—warned her—that his predatory brother would be circling her!
    It must end. Now. If a bit of Worthington blood must be spilled to make it end, so be it.
    This time it would be Cas who bled.
    *   *   *
     
    Poll strode through Worthington House, too furious to pause as usual to enjoy the marvelous mess that was his family home.
    He found Cas sitting in their attic study, pouring himself a brandy and contemplating the afternoon city through the large-paned, leaky window that made their haven a challenging spot to linger come January.
    Cas turned his head when he entered, and grinned. “Had a good time at Mrs. Blythe’s, did you?”
    For lack of any more deadly projectiles, Poll stripped off his coat and threw it at his brother. “You poacher !”
    Cas drew back, his expression confused. “What? Poach? I did not! Dilly was all yours!”
    Poll stood over him, fists clenched. He’d never hated his twin before. His more-than-brother, his other piece—at the moment, he’d like to tear that piece away and toss it from that grimy, smeared window and watch it fall to the street below!
    Cas tossed the balled-up coat aside and peered at him a little worriedly. “Poll, you don’t look well at all. Have a brandy.” He held out the decanter, still uncapped.
    Poll struck it from his hand. The crystal smashed on the floor, sending brandy splashing over both their boots.
    Cas was on his feet in a flash. Not one to let something like that slide, not his brother. Good. Nothing would satisfy Poll more right now than to thrash Cas within an inch of his life. But first, a confession!
    “You couldn’t bear it, could you? You couldn’t bear that I’d found a good woman, a widow who is a million times finer than your usual jades! You thought you’d slide in, tricking her, making her think you were me, and … and.…”
    Poll couldn’t say it. Cas had been in her house.
    Cas had been in her arms!
    It would not do to merely thrash Cas. Poll deeply and sincerely wanted him dead.
    Cas held up a hand to halt his brother’s threatening advance. “Wait … wait, Poll. Are you speaking of Mira—of Mrs. Talbot?”
    Poll growled. “Of course I’m speaking of Miranda! I’ve been courting her for weeks, as you well know!”
    “You have?” Cas’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh hell.” He put a hand to his face, rubbing at his cheeks.
    Cas didn’t want to think it. He didn’t want to know it.
    However, it was terribly, horribly possible.
    I suppose you’ve had time to perfect your Tempest ! Very good!
    She’d been speaking to Poll, not him.
    I wanted to see you.
    Cas didn’t know why