Chapter One
Trust her? Ha! I wouldn't let that woman come within
ten feet of me without first counting all my buttons and
beads.
Lady Birlington to Viscountess Hunterston after
encountering Lady Caroline Lamb in the hallway at
Marchmont
Money, or the lack of it, haunted him. Oh, not because he
had so little. He was, in fact, very wealthy. It was the
beggarliness of his companion that caused him the most
pain.
Chase St. John reached into his pocket and withdrew a
folded stack of banknotes. He placed it on the table and
slid it across the smooth surface. "There. As you
requested."
Harry Annesley placed his fingertips on the notes, but
then hesitated. "You know how I hate this. If only my
father's solicitor could see clear of releasing my funds,
I wouldn't be reduced to asking you for assistance."
Annesley managed an embarrassed smile and lifted his
shoulders as if to ask how he could possibly clear the way
himself.
At one time, Chase would have believed the convincing
lies. At one time, he might have even been moved to induce
his jovial friend to take the money. To insist, even. But
those times were long gone.
And they were never to return.
Chase reached forward, his hand sliding over the table
toward the money. "If you don't want the money, then -- "
Annesley's hand closed convulsively over the folded notes.
"Well." Chase leaned back in his chair. "That answers
that. And much too clearly for my liking."
Though Annesley's expression darkened, he quickly
collected the notes and tucked them into his pocket. "You
did offer."
"I always offer. And you always ask for more. It has
become a bad habit between the two of us. One that must
stop."
A small smile crossed Annesley's face. "We've been through
a lot together." He looked at Chase meaningfully. "More
than most people know."
It was a threat. Low and oily, as despicable as the man
who uttered the words. Despite his disappointment, Chase
managed to shrug. "I have to give you credit; you are a
hell of an actor. At one time, I thought you were
genuinely my friend."
"I am your friend."
"No. You are friends with my bank account. Not with me."
Annesley made a face. "I don't know what's come over you
today, but you seem to think I've committed some breach of
etiquette or -- "
"I don't think anything," Chase said without rancor. "I
know. I know who and what you are."
Annesley met Chase's gaze for a long moment. They were at
White's, that most exclusive of men's clubs, and all
around them buzzed an aura of respectability. Leather
chairs sat scattered around heavy mahogany tables, the
quiet clink of silver and the murmur of voices adding an
air of unreality.
Chase wondered what fool had sponsored Harry Annesley's
membership, then decided that he didn't really care. "I
made a decision last night and I'm done. The next time you
need funds, you'll have to look elsewhere."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm leaving London. And I don't plan on returning."
"Why? The season begins in a week."
"I don't care. And I'm not just leaving London; I'm
leaving England." Chase reached over and signed the bill
left on the table by the waiter before Annesley had even
arrived. "I don't know where I'll go. Maybe Italy. Maybe
not."
"Italy? What a foolish idea. Italy is far away, and
everything you care about is here where -- "
"Yes, Italy is far away. So far away that you will not be
able to 'borrow' any more funds. You'll have to find
another pigeon to pluck."
Annesley's shoulders stiffened. "I resent that."
Chase lifted a brow. "No," he said slowly, considering the
man before him, "you don't resent it at all.
But you should, for I meant it in the worst way possible."
For a moment, Chase thought Annesley would leap for him.
Chase rather hoped that he would -- it would give Chase
the opportunity to pummel the rogue into a smear of blood,
bone, and desolation.
But the bastard didn't even have the pride to do that.
Instead, he clamped his mouth into a thin line, his lips
turning white.
Chase waited, ready for anything.
After a moment, Annesley relaxed with a deep sigh, then
leaned back in the brown leather chair and crossed his
arms over his chest. "What happened, St. John? What has
turned you?"
It was an admission, those simple words. Chase accepted
them as such. "It's the strangest thing, Annesley. Last
week, when I let you 'borrow' that thousand pounds, I did
a little math. I realized that I've let you 'borrow' over
five thousand pounds in the last two months alone." His
gaze dropped to Annesley's pocket. "Make that six
thousand."
The bastard's smile never slipped. Instead, he
shrugged. "That's what friends are for, isn't it? To help
one another."
"Before the accident, you never 'borrowed' anything. Oh, I
put out more than my fair share for our amusements. But
that changed after the accident. Since then, you've
attempted to bleed me dry and you know it well."
Harry scowled. "What I didn't pay back in funds, I paid
back in friendship."
"How? By encouraging me to drink? By gaining me entrance
into all the worst gaming hells in London? By insisting
that I forget who and what I am until I finally -- " Chase
clamped his mouth closed, a dull roar behind his ears. For
a second, an image flashed before his eyes ... of a rain-
wet street. Of his carriage careening drunkenly out of
control. Of the startled face of a girl as he rounded the
corner .