He entered his hotel room on the third floor. George stood in front of the looking glass in his shirtsleeves, frowning as he tied his cravat.

“Squire Talbot expects us downstairs in half an hour for a preprandial drink,” he said. “You’d better hurry and change.”

Alex stripped off his coat. “If you think you’re drinking tonight, I advise you to think again.”

“You can’t be serious. I know I rather lost control of my urges that night at the vicarage, but I’ve been dry as a bone ever since.” George met his eyes in the mirror. “Come, Archer. We’re on holiday. A glass of wine with dinner can do no harm.”

“One glass leads to another, which leads to a bottle, and then God knows what else. I’ve no intention of dragging your drunken carcass out of a gin shop at four in the morning—or worse.”

“Worse? In Margate? Drunken sailors, maybe, but I doubt there are gin shops and opium dens along the promenade.” George fastened his cufflinks. “You’re becoming an old woman.”

Alex ignored the barb. He didn’t care what George thought of him. All he needed was for George to stay sober and clearheaded until this affair was brought to a close. Alex hadn’t come this far in the game to end it playing nursemaid.

“A drop of wine—or whiskey, come to that—never harmed anyone,” George said. “If you had any notion of what I suffer—”

“Is it too much to ask that you hold up your end of the bargain?”

“What about your end?” George heaved an impatient breath. “Do it tonight, will you? There’s dancing at the assembly rooms. Henrietta was nattering on about it earlier. You can propose to her during the waltz. It’s what I would do, if I were you.”

Alex paused in the act of unbuttoning his waistcoat. He couldn’t stop himself from asking: “Is that how you proposed to Laura? At a dance?”

George bent his head, resuming his toilette with increased focus. “That was another sort of proposal.”

“What sort, exactly? You’ve never made it clear.”

“If this is a preface to you mauling me about as you did at the vicarage—”

“It’s a simple question. One with a simple answer, I trust.”

George’s lips compressed. And then: “I asked her to be my mistress.”

Alex’s hand froze on his cravat.

“She’d just come out of mourning, and there I was, half-seas over on Squire Talbot’s Christmas punch. I knew she’d always fancied me. Ever since we were children. So I kissed her, and I mumbled some rot about setting her up in a townhouse, after which she slapped me.” George slipped his waistcoat on over his arms. “And then I went to London, found a chorus girl to warm my bed, and congratulated myself on a lucky escape.”

“And now you’re back.”