“What do you know about it, Alex?” Braddon said hotly. “You always have luck with women….” But he trailed off uncomfortably. Suddenly Braddon remembered something awful, something he’d forgotten in the excitement of seeing his old friend stride into the club after three years.

Alex didn’t seem to have noticed his pause, Braddon thought, stealing a peek over his brandy snifter. His heart quieted down. Alex looked just the same. He didn’t limp or anything. Braddon shuddered slightly and took a huge gulp of brandy. What would Alex do with his time now? Why, all gentlemen did was box, and bet, and—and wench. Alex never liked gambling, and now he couldn’t wench, apparently.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, so, are you back for good?” Braddon asked.

“Yes,” Alex said absentmindedly, not even looking up from his glass. “You know, my father died eight months ago, and I couldn’t come back just then, but now I … Well, the estate takes some running, and—”

He looked up and fixed Braddon with his disconcerting black eyes. “I missed England after a while. Italy is splendid, but Maria, my wife, died and so I decided to return.”

“But …” Braddon was bamboozled. “I thought … everyone thinks that you aren’t married, that Maria, ah, annulled your marriage.”

Alex looked up, his eyes dark. “She did,” he said briefly. “She remarried, and then she died. Of scarlet fever, a month ago.”

“So you, you stayed in touch?” Braddon hazarded.

“No. But she summoned me when she was dying.” Alex looked up again, and caught Braddon’s gaping expression. Poor old Braddon! He always was a slowtop.

“Enough of this!” Alex said, tossing off his brandy. “Didn’t you say there’s some sort of a ball tonight?”

“Yes,” Braddon said, “but you can’t go like that! You’re not even dressed.” He cast an accusing look at his friend’s buckskin pantaloons. “Besides,” he blurted, “why on earth would you want to go? You always hated those things, even before—” And he caught himself again.

“I plan to attend the ball for the same reason you will, Braddon,” Alex said gently. “I need a wife.” He stood up and hauled the silent earl to his feet. They stood, eye-to-eye, in the empty library.

“Why?” Braddon asked bluntly.

Alexander turned and strolled toward the door. “I have a daughter,” he threw back over his shoulder. “She needs a mother. Come on, Slaslow. I’ve got my coach outside; we’ll stop by my house and I’ll change and we can have some dinner. Then we’ll go find ourselves wives.”