Vorset opened the library doors without announcing him, a tribute to his closeness with the family. As Vorset disappeared back down the corridor, Alex paused in the doorway. There was a huge fire burning in the marble fireplace, taking the chill off the air. The draft going up the chimney was making the candelabra flicker. Still, the scene before him was clear enough. Braddon Chatwin was moodily reading what looked to be a stud report. And nestled in a settee before the fire was Alex’s brother. For a moment Alex forgot his rage and just let his heart feel glad to see Patrick again. His twin was like his arm, he realized suddenly. No matter how much he hated him, he would be devastated if anything happened to him. Patrick looked thinner, his skin tanned dark brown by the Indian sun. He was whispering into the ear of a lovely redhead, who was giggling softly at whatever nonsense Patrick was murmuring.

Alex cleared his throat deliberately.

Braddon looked about; no one else even looked up. Braddon’s clear blue eyes met Alex’s for a brief moment and then he said, “Patrick, my buck, there’s someone here to see you.”

Patrick didn’t move, his black curls bent over the mass of red hair seated next to him.

“Patrick!” Braddon insisted.

Finally Patrick looked up. But something about Alex’s coiled aggression as he leaned casually in the doorway made him pause. The twins could always read each other without speaking; Patrick knew from the other side of the room that Alex was filled with a cold, cold rage, greater than anything Patrick remembered.

Patrick walked slowly over to Alex and stopped in front of him. His eyebrows arched as he asked his twin a silent question.

Alex’s black eyes raked Patrick’s face. For a moment the library was absolutely still, and no noise broke the air but the hiss and crackle of green logs burning in the fireplace.

“Hell,” Alex said quietly. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

Patrick stayed where he was. “I didn’t sleep with your wife, if that’s what you mean.”

Alex’s face was a tight, cold mask. When he didn’t respond, Patrick dropped an arm about his brother’s shoulder and turned him around. Alex turned automatically, as if he were sleepwalking. The two men walked out of the library without looking backward.

“Lud!” Miss Arabella Calhoun breathed. (She was the red-haired enchantress who had been sharing Patrick’s sofa.) “He’s a mean-looking one, isn’t he?”

When Braddon didn’t answer she stretched a dainty foot out before her and carefully inspected it on all sides. She quite liked these slippers. They were French, of course, and pale blue, embroidered with small white doves.

Braddon drifted over and rested his arms on the back of the sofa.