“Take it back to Grosvenor Square,” he snapped at Enzo as they walked past St. Clare’s curricle in the drive.

The earl’s carriage was waiting in the street. St. Clare climbed in after his grandfather. A footman shut the door behind them.

“What did you hope to achieve by that display?” Allendale asked as the carriage set off.

St. Clare sat back in his seat. His arm twinged as his shirt brushed over his wound. He could barely suppress a grimace. “The same thing you did, I imagine.”

“To warn them off? It sounded to me as though you had something else in mind. Another duel, in fact.”

“It was Lionel who broached the topic of a duel, not I.”

Allendale frowned. “What’s he playing at, I wonder?”

“I’d have thought it was obvious. He’s attempting to dig up the truth. And he’s doing a damned good job of it.”

“On the scent like a bloodhound,” Allendale muttered from his place across from St. Clare. “All because of that duel of yours with Burton-Smythe. And because of your dealings with that Honeywell female.” He scowled at him. “You’ve been careless.”

“Perhaps I have.”

“You’ve forgotten your duty.”

A swell of bitterness took St. Clare unaware. “I beg your pardon, but I have not. How could I forget? It’s been hammered into my head every minute of every day for ten years.”

“Self-pitying claptrap. You may have been obliged to work hard and train hard, but look at what you’ve gained in the bargain. You came to me a raw country lad, nothing but unchecked emotion, and I’ve made you into a gentleman of restraint and refinement. My heir. My true heir. And you would throw it all away? Cast it to the wind the very moment we stand on the brink?”

“We are standing on the brink,” St. Clare said. “But not of success, I fear.”

“Nonsense. My solicitor will manufacture the proof required. After which—”

“After which, I shall be beholden to the man for the remainder of my life.” The prospect left a sour taste in St. Clare’s mouth. “I’m amazed you’re willing to trust him with our secret.”

“What’s the alternative? You’ve yet to make a match with a suitable gel. Had you proposed to Miss Steele—or one of the dowager’s granddaughters—”

“Not this again.”

“Yes, this,” Allendale snapped. “If you’d managed to contrive a betrothal with Miss Steele, it wouldn’t only be my influence you’d have on your side. It would be the influence of the gel’s father.”

“I’m not going to marry Miss Steele. It was a mistake to act the part of her escort these past days. I thought I could stomach it—”

“Stomach it!” Allendale repeated, outraged. “You talk as if the gel’s an antidote.”