Mary Frances MacGregor, as described by her brother, was wellborn enough to have no need of association with the Flynns, something the marquess had also never acknowledged in Tye’s hearing.

And there was more. In a casual tour of the house, Tye had seen a portrait of Mary Fran as a young mother. The lady was gorgeous, putting Tye in mind of his own mother’s height, red hair, and feminine figure. This too, would have given her more marital options besides a marquess’s younger son sporting around in regimental colors.

And eighteen in a proper household could be innocent—very likely had been innocent.

“More whisky?” Balfour was the soul of good manners now that he’d rattled swords and upset Tye’s enjoyment of very fine spirits.

“No, thank you. This is drink to be savored.”

“It is. Just as Fiona is a child to be loved.”

Damn the man. “I cannot fault my father for attempting to redress what could be seen as previous neglect of his granddaughter.”

“He can redress all the neglect he wants—set up a trust fund, send you along on annual inspections, have Fee down to visit her aunties when she’s old enough to sit still on the train. An old man is entitled to deal with his regrets. He’ll not be taking our Fee, though, not unless Mary Fran herself tells me to allow it.”

“And that good woman is not here, is she?”

Balfour drank in silence, his gaze going to a window on the third floor. “Ask your father what he’s truly about, Spathfoy. The child’s happiness matters more to me and mine than your father’s consequence or his queer starts. Meaning no disrespect to present company, your brother was a cad and a bounder, and your father had the raising of him. Taking possession of Fee as if she’s some prize of war will not bring Gordie back, nor will it change what Gordie was.”

And this was most damning of all, because Tye had known his brother—he better than his father had known him, though perhaps not better than his mother. Tye had seen his younger brother for the spoiled, self-indulgent boy he’d been.

He’d seen Gordie’s venal streak, and borne the brunt of it more than once, and he’d desperately hoped some years in the military would mature the selfish streak into something more honorable.

So Tye compromised. Balfour had treated Tye honestly. Tye offered a truth in return: “If my brother dealt with Lady Mary Frances in a cavalier fashion, it would disappoint me. While it might surprise my father, it would not surprise me.” He rose from the bench. “I thank you for a wonderful meal, and for sharing a memorable drink with me, though if I tarry much longer, I’ll lose the light for my journey home.”

“We’ll call for your horse, but let me fetch you a bottle for your papa’s cellars before we send you on your way.”

That was Scottish of Balfour. They were a tightfisted race of necessity, but Balfour was making a statement: even a marquess condemned to lose a legal battle was entitled to a last, decent drink.

The man was entirely too trusting of the marquess’s honor. Balfour’s earlier point had been telling: Gordie’s honor had been wanting, and Gordie was Quinworth’s son. Tye was on his horse and headed down the lane before it occurred to him: he, too, was Quinworth’s son.

“I will be more than relieved to see your son weaned, Husband.” Augusta MacGregor shifted over to give her spouse the warm side of the bed, though in moments, his sheer size and brawn would have the whole thing toasty.

“I will be relieved as well, Wife, though likely for different reasons. It does send the lad to his slumbers, though.” He moved about, rocking the bed until he was wrapped around Augusta from behind.

“Was Spathfoy very tiresome?”

“The man needs to indulge in good spirits more often, but no, he wasn’t any worse than he was raised to be. Maybe a little better.”

Augusta felt Ian’s lips trailing over her neck, then his nose. He was particularly adept at the nose-kiss, or nuzzle, and especially… “That tickles, Ian.”

“A sweet spot.” He kissed the place right below her ear that made Augusta both sigh and shiver. “I think Spathfoy was honestly surprised to hear Matthew has brought suit to become Fee’s guardian.”

Augusta caught her husband’s wandering hand before it lifted her nightgown any higher on her thigh. “You were surprised. I’m Matthew’s cousin, and I was surprised. Do you think Hester knows?”

“That one.” Ian squeezed Augusta’s fingers, then freed his hand from her grasp. “For the life of me, I can no longer read her, Augusta. Last year, she was full of mischief, carefree, and happy to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine. This year, she seems blighted.”

“Blight kills.”

“She’s not a potato vine, my love.” His hand started its stealthy stroking over her hip again. “I believe our Hester has caught Spathfoy’s notice.”

“Did he ask about her?”

“He stood before the daguerreotype we had taken of her at our wedding, and he’d have to be blind not to notice the changes in her. She was petite a year ago. She’s a shadow now.”

“And a cranky shadow.” Augusta shifted ever so slightly, so her backside nestled more snugly against a certain part of her husband’s anatomy. “Did you learn anything from Spathfoy over the manly tot of truth potion?”

“He’s not his younger brother. I left enough insults in the air to be risking my good health, but Spathfoy is cannier than that. I couldn’t bait him, and if I’m not mistaken, he was trying to pass along some information without being blatantly disloyal to the marquess.” He shifted as well, so there was no mistaking his arousal. “My love, I never did get that lecture on proper deportment.”

“I had hopes my good example might be inspiration enough.”

But a thought was trying to edge its way through her growing arousal. “Do you think Gordie had despoiled other innocents?”

Ian went still. Bodily, this manifested as a simple absence of movement, but Augusta was his devoted wife, and even lying on her side facing away from him, she could feel his mind focus on a single still point as well.

“Wife, you are brilliant. I would bet the rest of the laird’s cache that’s exactly what Spathfoy was intimating. He said he wouldn’t be surprised to find Gordie had taken advantage of Mary Fran—disappointed, but not surprised. My wife is a genius.” He rolled her to her back and caged her with his much larger body.

His kisses were tender, enthusiastic, and captivating. His kisses were part of what had endeared him to her when their chances of lasting happiness had seemed so dim.

“Ian?”

“Your Brilliance?”

“Have we heard from Mary Fran and Matthew?”

He lifted up and scowled down at her. “We have not. I will worry about that in the morning, Wife.”

“Will you also worry about any will Gordie might have left?”

He smoothed a big hand over her hair and sighed gustily, some of the lust seeming to go out of him. “My heart, I thought you wanted a large family, though why you’d aspire to such a thing when one baby has already turned this household upside down is beyond the understanding of a simple man such as myself.”

“You are worried.” Augusta urged him down against her chest and wrapped her arms around him. “Did Gordie leave a will?”

“I’ve people looking into it. Gordie was an officer, so making a will ought to have been something he saw to in the ordinary course. The question is, was it a will that provided for the guardianship of any minor children, and if so, what did it provide?”

“You think he’d leave his children in his father’s care, don’t you?”

Ian settled more closely on her, though even preoccupied, he was careful of her breasts. “Gordie was a heedless, selfish younger son. Such prudence and consideration would have been foreign to his nature.”

“But you’re worried.” She stroked a hand through his thick, dark hair. “You’re worried for Fee, for Mary Fran, and even for Matthew.”