Annesley eyed him for a long moment. “Black-mail is such an ugly word. All I said was that I can’t imagine what your brother Marcus would say if he knew about that particular incident.” The man’s gaze hardened. “That you killed that woman.”

Chase’s throat ached at the words. For all they knew, she wasn’t dead. It was possible she’d survived, possible but—

No. The woman was dead. He was certain of it. And though he’d tried to drown his sorrow and hide from his responsibilities, the time had come to face facts. He was a St. John, and b’God, it was time he remembered it.

Annesley tilted his head to one side. “You will tell your brothers before you leave?”

Chase could almost see his oldest brother, Marcus, stern and forbidding, disappointment etched in his eyes. And for a second, Chase wavered. It would be so easy just to pretend he hadn’t awakened to what his good friend, Harry Annesley, really was. If he could only pretend that nothing bad had happened on that night a year ago.

But he was through pretending. His stomach, and his sense of honor, would have no less. “I will send them a letter explaining all, once I have settled on the Continent.”

It would be hell, writing that letter. But it had to be done; he owed his family that much. They cared for him, believed him better than he’d ever been.

He met Annesley’s knowing gaze unflinchingly. “Not that it’s any concern of yours.”

Annesley looked down at his perfectly pared nails. “Isn’t it?”

Chase’s jaw tightened until it ached. He asked himself how the hell he had been so foolish as to believe that Harry Annesley was an amusing companion. Chase knew the answer—brandy. And more brandy. In the months since the accident, he’d seen the bottom of more decanters than he could count. “Marcus is a very intelligent man. I daresay he knows my sins already. I’ve never been able to keep a secret from him, even when I was a child.”

Annesley suddenly smiled, a deep dimple appearing in his right cheek. “And you’ve had so many secrets…This, I think, is different.”

It was all Chase could do not to grab the slimy bastard by the throat and toss him across the room. But that would just cause more talk, and there was going to be enough of that already. Most of society thought Harry Annesley a handsome, well-turned-out man, always impeccably dressed and perfectly behaved. If they only knew.

Chase shoved his chair from the table and stood. “It’s done. I’m leaving tonight.”

Annesley’s smile slipped. “But St. John—”

“Go to hell. If you are going to tell my brothers, then do so. Here, I will even make it easy for you. Brandon is still on his honeymoon, but will return tomorrow. Marcus and Anthony were to visit Tattersall’s. And Devon is at Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon. Shall I call for your carriage? If you hurry, you might catch Devon, at least.”