threats of his own, but at the time the family hadn’t known he was back in England, and he’d been trying to waylay the same viscount for a sound thrashing he felt hedeserved for an entirely different reason. And he’d done just that, almost making the young scamp miss his wedding to Regan, James’s favorite niece.
Shaking his head, James returned to the parlor and the decanter of brandy, deciding a few more drinks might bring the answer to him. Love he discounted. If Anthony hadn’t succumbed to that emotion in the seventeen years he’d been seducing the fairer sex, then he was as immune to it as James was. And he could also discount the need for an heir, since the number of titles in the family were already secured. Jason, their eldest brother, had his only son Derek, fully grown now and already taking after his younger uncles. Edward, the second oldest Malory, had five children himself, all of marriageable ages except the youngest, Amy. Even James had a son, Jeremy, albeit an illegitimate one whom he’d discovered only six years ago. He hadn’t even known about the lad who’d been raised in a tavern by his mother, and had continued working there after she died. But Jeremy was seventeen now and doing his damnedest to take after his father in his rakehell ways—and succeeding admirably. So Anthony, as the fourth son, certainly didn’t need to worry about perpetuating the line. The three oldest Malorys had taken care of it.
James stretched out on a couch with the decanter of brandy. Just shy of six feet, his large frame barely fit. He thought about the newlyweds upstairs and what they were doing right about now. Well-shaped, sensual lips curled in a grin. The answer simply wasn’t going to come to him about why Anthony had done such a ghastly thing as marry—something James would never make the mistake of doing. But he hadto allow that if Anthony were going to take the plunge, it might as well be to a prime article like Roslynn Chadwick—no, she was a Malory now—but still a prime piece.
James had thought of pursuing her himself, despite the fact that Anthony had already staked his claim. But then, when they had both been young rakes about town all those years ago, they had often pursued the same woman for the sport of it, the winner generally tending to be whichever of them the lady happened to clap eyes on first, since Anthony was a handsome devil females found it almost impossible to resist, and James had been called the same himself.
And yet, two brothers couldn’t be more dissimilar in looks. Anthony was taller and slimmer, and had the dark looks inherited from their grandmother, with black hair and eyes of cobalt-blue, the same coloring possessed by Regan, Amy, and, annoyingly, James’s own son, Jeremy, who, even more annoyingly, looked more like Anthony than like James. James, however, bore the more common Malory looks, blond hair, eyes a medium shade of green, a large-framed body. Big, blond, and handsome, as Regan liked to put it.
James chuckled, thinking of the dear girl. His only sister, Melissa, had died when her daughter was only two, so he and his brothers had raised Regan, equally. She was like a daughter to them all. But she was married to that bounder Eden now, and by choice, so what could James do but tolerate the fellow? But then, Nicholas Eden was proving to be an exemplary husband.
Husband again. Anthony had cracked a screw, obviously. At least Eden had an excuse. He adoredRegan. But Anthony adored all women. In that, he and James were alike. And James might have just turned thirty-six, but there wasn’t a woman alive who could entice him into the matrimonial state. Love them and leave them was the only way to get along with them, a creed that had done well for him all these years, and one he would continue to live by in the years to come.
Chapter Three
I an MacDonell was a second-generation American, but his Scottish ancestry was proclaimed loudly in his carrot-red hair and the
Shaking his head, James returned to the parlor and the decanter of brandy, deciding a few more drinks might bring the answer to him. Love he discounted. If Anthony hadn’t succumbed to that emotion in the seventeen years he’d been seducing the fairer sex, then he was as immune to it as James was. And he could also discount the need for an heir, since the number of titles in the family were already secured. Jason, their eldest brother, had his only son Derek, fully grown now and already taking after his younger uncles. Edward, the second oldest Malory, had five children himself, all of marriageable ages except the youngest, Amy. Even James had a son, Jeremy, albeit an illegitimate one whom he’d discovered only six years ago. He hadn’t even known about the lad who’d been raised in a tavern by his mother, and had continued working there after she died. But Jeremy was seventeen now and doing his damnedest to take after his father in his rakehell ways—and succeeding admirably. So Anthony, as the fourth son, certainly didn’t need to worry about perpetuating the line. The three oldest Malorys had taken care of it.
James stretched out on a couch with the decanter of brandy. Just shy of six feet, his large frame barely fit. He thought about the newlyweds upstairs and what they were doing right about now. Well-shaped, sensual lips curled in a grin. The answer simply wasn’t going to come to him about why Anthony had done such a ghastly thing as marry—something James would never make the mistake of doing. But he hadto allow that if Anthony were going to take the plunge, it might as well be to a prime article like Roslynn Chadwick—no, she was a Malory now—but still a prime piece.
James had thought of pursuing her himself, despite the fact that Anthony had already staked his claim. But then, when they had both been young rakes about town all those years ago, they had often pursued the same woman for the sport of it, the winner generally tending to be whichever of them the lady happened to clap eyes on first, since Anthony was a handsome devil females found it almost impossible to resist, and James had been called the same himself.
And yet, two brothers couldn’t be more dissimilar in looks. Anthony was taller and slimmer, and had the dark looks inherited from their grandmother, with black hair and eyes of cobalt-blue, the same coloring possessed by Regan, Amy, and, annoyingly, James’s own son, Jeremy, who, even more annoyingly, looked more like Anthony than like James. James, however, bore the more common Malory looks, blond hair, eyes a medium shade of green, a large-framed body. Big, blond, and handsome, as Regan liked to put it.
James chuckled, thinking of the dear girl. His only sister, Melissa, had died when her daughter was only two, so he and his brothers had raised Regan, equally. She was like a daughter to them all. But she was married to that bounder Eden now, and by choice, so what could James do but tolerate the fellow? But then, Nicholas Eden was proving to be an exemplary husband.
Husband again. Anthony had cracked a screw, obviously. At least Eden had an excuse. He adoredRegan. But Anthony adored all women. In that, he and James were alike. And James might have just turned thirty-six, but there wasn’t a woman alive who could entice him into the matrimonial state. Love them and leave them was the only way to get along with them, a creed that had done well for him all these years, and one he would continue to live by in the years to come.
Chapter Three
I an MacDonell was a second-generation American, but his Scottish ancestry was proclaimed loudly in his carrot-red hair and the
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