Annesley’s shoulders stiffened. “I resent that.”

Chase lifted a brow. “No,” he said slowly, considering the man before him, “you don’t resent it at all. But you should, for I meant it in the worst way possible.”

For a moment, Chase thought Annesley would leap for him. Chase rather hoped that he would—it would give Chase the opportunity to pummel the rogue into a smear of blood, bone, and desolation.

But the bastard didn’t even have the pride to do that. Instead, he clamped his mouth into a thin line, his lips turning white.

Chase waited, ready for anything.

After a moment, Annesley relaxed with a deep sigh, then leaned back in the brown leather chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “What happened, St. John? What has turned you?”

It was an admission, those simple words. Chase accepted them as such. “It’s the strangest thing, Annesley. Last week, when I let you ‘borrow’ that thousand pounds, I did a little math. I realized that I’ve let you ‘borrow’ over five thousand pounds in the last two months alone.” His gaze dropped to Annesley’s pocket. “Make that six thousand.”

The bastard’s smile never slipped. Instead, he shrugged. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? To help one another.”

“Before the accident, you never ‘borrowed’ anything. Oh, I put out more than my fair share for our amusements. But that changed after the accident. Since then, you’ve attempted to bleed me dry and you know it well.”

Harry scowled. “What I didn’t pay back in funds, I paid back in friendship.”

“How? By encouraging me to drink? By gaining me entrance into all the worst gaming hells in London? By insisting that I forget who and what I am until I finally—” Chase clamped his mouth closed, a dull roar behind his ears. For a second, an image flashed before his eyes…of a rain-wet street. Of his carriage careening drunkenly out of control. Of the startled face of a girl as he rounded the corner, her large dark eyes widened in fear as his carriage—“No!”

God help him but he didn’t want to remember that. Not now. Not ever.

Annesley motioned for a waiter to bring a bottle of port. As soon as it arrived, he poured some in Chase’s glass and silently slid it forward.

Chase took a harsh gulp. Then another.

“I’m sorry, St. John. I’m sorry about it all. But…” Annesley filled his own glass. “I am not the one who ran over an innocent woman.”

The words, said so softly, hung in the smoky room, lingering about Chase’s head like a swirl of tepid air. Chase’s chest tightened, and he had consciously to unclench his teeth before he could speak.

Harry waved a hand. “Nor have I forced you to do anything—not the drinking, the gambling, none of it. Everything that you have done has been of your own free will.”

“I know,” Chase gritted out. “I take full responsibility for my actions. It’s my fault I drank too much. It’s my fault I was driving my carriage at such a speed. It’s all my fault. But it’s your fault for blackmailing me ever since.”