As their eyes met, Edward went very still. Im sorry, what?

You heard me. She says shes going to tell Mother. And that shes not leaving Easterly. There was a pause. Of course, if it turns out there { 290 }.

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are money problems, then I wont have to worry about our fathers bas- tard living in our familys house. Chantal will go elsewhere and find another wealthy idiot to glom on to.

As an odd pain shot up Edwards forearm, he glanced at his hand.

Interesting. It had somehow locked onto the Beefeater bottle with such a strong grip that his knuckles were nearly breaking through his pale skin.

Is she lying? he heard himself ask.

If shed named anyone other than Father, I would say maybe. But no, I dont think she is.

A s Samuel T. emerged from the wine cellar and strode off, he found that ignoring the woman hed just screwed was an issue of survival. Her voice was enough of an energy suck; if he actu- ally focused on her words, he would probably slip into a coma.

" and then well go to the club! Everyones going to be there, and we can . . .

Then again, the exhaustion he was battling probably wasnt her. It was more likely the result of putting down his weapons after a decades- long battle.

What he was clear on was that hed had to fuck someone in there, on that table. It was his way of wiping the slate clean, metaphorically burning the last memory he had of being inside Gin here at this house.

And the other sites hed been with her at, whether they were at his farm, or in hotels internationally, or out in Vail, or up in Michigan? He was going to knock them off, too, until hed covered up every single recollection with another woman.

" Memorial Day? Because we could go out to my parents estate in the Loire Valley, you know, get away . . .

As the prattling continued, Samuel T. was reminded of why he pre- ferred to sleep with married women. When you had sex with someone who had to worry about a husband? There wasnt this expectation of a relationship.

The stairs back up to ground level couldnt arrive in enough of a { 291 }.

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hurry. And even though he was ready to take them two at a time just so he could lose the chatterbox behind him, he was enough of a gentleman to stand aside at the bottom and indicate for her to go first.

Oh, thank you, she said as she hustled up ahead of him.

He was about to follow when he caught a flash of something colorful on the floor.

A pair of stilettoes. Pale, made of satin. Louboutins.

He ripped his head around and searched where he and the woman had come from.

Samuel T.? she said from the top. Are you coming?

They were Gins shoes. She was down here. She had come down here . . . to watch?

Well, she certainly hadnt stopped them.

His first impulse was to smile and go on the hunt" but that was a reflex born out of the way they had related for how long?

To remind himself of how things had changed, all he had to do was think of that ring on her finger. That man standing beside her. The news that was soon going to go nationwide.

Funny, he had never cared about all the other men Gin had been with. Whether that came under the eye- for- an- eye exception because he was sleeping with an equal number of other women . . . or whether he had some kind of kink in him that made him want her more knowing shed fucked and sucked other men . . . or maybe it was something else entirely . . . he didnt know.

One thing that was certain?

Richard Pford was now a source of tremendous jealousy. In fact, it had taken every ounce of Samuel T.s self- possession not to give that waste of space a glare that left a hole in the back of his skull.

Samuel T.? Is there something wrong?

He looked up the stairs. The light coming from behind the woman turned her into nothing but shadow, reducing her to a faceless set of curves with no greater weight than an apparition.

For some reason, he wanted to take Gins shoes, but he left them behind as he let his ascent answer the ladys question.

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Emerging on her level, he cleared his throat. Ill meet you there.

Her smile drooped. I thought we would go to the track together.

The track?

Oh, right. It was Derby day.

I have some business to take care of. Ill see you there.

Where are you going now?

The question made him realize that hed started off toward the kitchen, not the party. Like I said, business.

Which box are you in?

Ill find you, he called out.

Promise?

Walking away, he could feel her staring at him" and he was willing to bet that she was praying to Mary Sue, the Patron Saint of Debu- tantes, that he turn around, come back over and become the escort that shed hoped would emerge thanks to that subterranean fucking.

But Samuel T. did not look back nor did he reconsider his exit.

And he didnt pay any attention to the host of chefs in Miss Auroras kitchen.

He wasnt actually aware of anything until he stepped outside.

Closing the mud rooms door behind him, he took a breather and leaned back against the hot white- painted panels. Another scorcher of a day, which was not a surprise. Then again, nothing was a shocker in Charlemont when it came to the weather.

If you didnt like the conditions, all you had to do was wait fifteen minutes.

So sleet for Derby would also have been possible.

God, he was tired.

No . . . he felt old"

A throaty growl sounded from over on the left, but it wasnt a sports car. It was an old beater of a truck coming up the service road.

Poor bastard, whoever it was. Staff wasnt allowed to park anywhere near the house on a day like today. Whoever was behind the wheel was volunteering for a proverbial throat punch.

But he had troubles of his own to worry about. Putting his hand in { 293 }.

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his pocket, he took out his car key; then he stepped off the flat stone and began to head over to where he had tucked his Jag in tight to the house.

He didnt make it far.

Through the windshield of that old truck, he saw a very familiar face. Lane?

As the truck stopped by the rear entrance of the business center, he went across. Lane? he called out. You downscaling before Chantal hits us with a response?

The drivers window went down and the guy made a quick slashing finger across his throat.

Samuel T. glanced around. There was nobody anywhere. Staff were inside or out working the tent and gardens. Guests wouldnt have deigned to come back here where the scrubs might be. And it wasnt like the birds in the trees were going to have an opinion about two humans chatting.

As he came up to the truck, he leaned in. You really dont need to do this for your divorce"

He fell silent as he focused on the man sitting beside his newest client.

Edward? he croaked.

How lovely to see you again, Samuel. Except the man didnt look over. His eyes remained fixed on the dashboard ahead of him. Youre looking well, as usual.

As the words were spoken, it was impossible not to take a survey of that face . . . that body.

Dear . . . Lord, the pants were bagging around thighs that were like toothpicks, and the loose jacket hung from shoulders that had all the breadth of a coat hanger.

Edward cleared his throat and reached down to pick a BBC cap off the floorboards. As he put it on his head and drew the bill down low to cover his face, Samuel T. was ashamed of his gawking.

Its good to see you, Edward, he blurted.

You didnt, Lane said quietly.

Im sorry?

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You didnt see him. Lanes eyes burned. Or me. Do you under- stand, counselor?

Samuel T. frowned. What the hells going on?

You dont want to know.

Samuel T. glanced back and forth between the brothers. As a law- yer, he had been involved in a lot of gray areas, both in terms of avoiding them and getting into them with deliberation. He had also learned over time that some information was not worth knowing.

Understood, he said with an incline of the head.

Thank you.

Before he stepped away, he forced a smile on his face. Congratula- tions on the new addition to your family, by the way.

Lane recoiled. I beg your pardon?

Im quite sure you wouldnt have chosen Richard Pford as a brother- in- law, but one must adjust when love is in the air.

What the hell are you talking about?

Samuel T. rolled his eyes, thinking that was just like Gin. You mean you dont know? Your sister is engaged to Richard Pford. Have a good Derby, gentlemen. Perhaps Ill see you both"

But of course, not both of them.

Ah . . . if either of you need me, he amended, you know exactly where to find me.

Which would be anywhere their sister was not, he thought as he walked off toward his Jag.

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THIRT Y- FOUR.

P erfect time for a break- in.

As Edward got out of the Master Distillers truck, he pulled the baseball hat down even lower" although if that brim were any further south, he wouldnt be able to blink.

God . . . was he really back here?

Indeed, he was" and hed forgotten how enormous Easterly was.

Even from the servant entrances in the rear, the mansion was almost incomprehensibly large, all the white clapboards and black shutters ris- ing up from the green grass, a screaming statement of the familys long- held stature.

He wanted to vomit.

But after hearing what their father had done with Lanes wife? There was no way he wasnt going to do this.