Wexford made a face and a gagging sound. “Disgusting bilge water. Doesn’t come close to Irish.”

“Then why is there still so much of yours in the cellar?” Lucien teased.

Wexford snatched the glass from Tobias’s fingertips. “Because I hide it so you lot don’t drink it all.” Chuckling, he went to the cabinet where the Phoenix Club’s butler restocked the supply every day.

“Deane is frustrated by his ward,” Lucien said. “And my sister, who has befriended his ward.”

“Is Lady Cassandra causing trouble?” Wexford called from the sideboard.

Lucien’s brows pitched into a deep V. “Why would you say that?”

Wexford returned with two glasses and handed one to Tobias, then the other to Lucien. “Because she’s your sister.”

Tobias snickered. “He has a point. And she did take my ward into Lady Billingsworth’s card room.”

Turning when he’d reached the liquor cabinet again, Wexford swept up his glass of presumably Irish whisky and started back toward them. “Lady Billingsworth? I hope you didn’t give your ward much pin money, Deane.”

“I didn’t give her any. She was only able to play because Lady Cassandra supported her.”

Casting himself into a chair and sipping his drink, Wexford looked to Lucien. “Sounds as though your sister is causing trouble.” His vivid blue gaze darkened. “I know all about troublesome sisters.” Because he had four of them.

“She’s not, but I’ll talk to her nevertheless.”

“No need. Aldington said he would do it.”

“You spoke to him about this?” Lucien asked. “Ah, he was at the musicale. I’m so glad I’m not the heir,” he murmured before taking a drink with a thoroughly smug expression on his face.

“He was, but we discussed the matter at White’s. I stopped in there before coming here.”

Wexford goggled at him. “Why?”

“To improve his reputation,” Lucien said with a snort. “As if a few visits to White’s to drink with my brother will erase the past two years of his debauchery.”

Tobias tossed a glare to each of them. “I’m beginning to think your brother was better company.” This earned him laughter from both men. Tobias glanced toward the door. “Where’s MacNair? He’s less annoying than you two.”

“He had business outside London,” Lucien said. “How was my brother?”

Sipping his whisky, Tobias settled into his chair. “He had a headache. And he asked if I kept my mistress.”

In the process of lifting his glass to his lips, Lucien’s movements arrested as he pinned Tobias with a puzzled stare. “He did?”

“I found it odd too. I asked if he kept his, and he assured me, quite sternly, that he’s never had one.”

“That is certainly true. At least to my knowledge.” Lucien took the drink Tobias had interrupted. “Perhaps I should accompany him and my father with Cassandra to the queen’s drawing room tomorrow so I can pester him about why he asked you such a thing.”

“You can’t do that.” Tobias looked at him in exasperation. “I don’t want him to think we’re talking about him.”