Richard's brother, Neil, arrived five days later, just as the bruises on Richard's back were turning yellow. Richard was almost relieved it hadn't been earlier. The first few days after what he now termed 'The Accident' he was barely able even to feed himself. Merely spooning soup from a tray on his lap had exhausted him. He had had to rely upon his servants to dress him, bathe him, shave him, sit him up, lie him down, as though he was an infant. It was a humiliating state, and Richard was faintly grateful that Neil hadn't arrived in time to witness it.

Instead, when Neil came, Richard was in his dressing gown, lying on the sofa in his bedroom and reading a novel. He was so immersed in the tale that he only looked up when Neil dropped a stack of folded newspapers to the floor with a bang.

"Oh," Richard said, "you're here."

"And what a welcome I receive!" In his mock offense, Neil did not quite cover his smile. "You don't look bad at all! And to think I worried all the way down here. And there you are, reading..." He came closer and peered at it. "Oh goodness! The Lustful Turk!? You must be well!"

Hastily, Richard dropped the book to the floor. "Yes, well, people have been sending me all types of books to read and I don't know who sent this one but they were very wrong to do so. It's not to my taste at all."

"Of course not. Not at all." Neil pulled a chair closer and sunk into it. He relaxed and smiled. "But I'm really very glad to see you well. When I got your letter, I feared the worst."

Richard gave him a thin smile. He didn't want to tell his brother that he had been practically carried to the couch this morning, and that already his muscles were beginning to ache. That beneath his dressing gown and cravat were vile yellow purple bruises. That it was not yet noon and already he was thinking of retiring to bed.

Neil, however, did not see his hesitation. With a burst of nervous energy, he dived to the floor to gather up the newspapers he had dropped there.

"The past few days, I had nothing else to read in the carriage," he explained, getting back in the chair and thrusting a newspaper at Richard. "Have you seen them? They're awful. Hardly better than your Turk I fear."

Richard had been reading only his usual Times and skimming the bits of it that mentioned himself or Laura. He turned the paper over cautiously and started at the back, where all the dirty gossip was usually kept. A paragraph leapt out at him almost immediately, insinuating cheerfully:

No one admits to having seen Lady Laura Maidstone since she quit her father's house in an unusual fashion on Friday evening last week. A report from a source close to her suggests that she is increasingly likely to remain invisible for nine months or more. Lady Laura was widowed more than one year ago and has not yet remarried.

The next paragraph down, allegedly of no relation, began:

It is widely discussed that last week a certain Gentleman in a London street thrashed a certain Lord A—— who had made a guy of him over a Lady. We have now received disturbing reports that this certain Gentleman is continuing his path of sin in the insalubrious confines of a Parisian house of ill-repute...

Richard put the paper down with a sigh. The next one Neil handed him played even looser with the facts:

The (dis)Hon. Mr F—— has fled to the Continent after the Murder of a Member of our Valued Peerage. He is known to have Ruined more than one Woman, including the grand-daughter of a Marquess, who attempted for her Honour to do as Lucrezia Did but for her Salvation was prevented by Divine Providence, as proved by the Testimony of a Witness. The Scandal would be Hushed but the Press has a Duty to keep the Public In The Know about the Sins of our So Called Betters.

The founder of that particular paper was currently in prison for libel, but it had not prevented his paper from flourishing. It seemed the Public had an appetite for spiteful gossip.

"Do people believe this trash?" Richard asked Neil, dropping the paper in disgust to the floor.

"Probably," Neil said, prodding the paper with his foot. "I had trouble not believing it myself. You might have said in your letter that you weren't badly hurt. I wouldn't have rushed down so urgently."

There was a hint of accusation in his tone. Richard winced. Unable to find the words to express it, he slowly, silently, pulled apart the neck of his dressing gown and pushed aside his silk cravat until the bruised, pummelled flesh was visible, right down to where it disappeared under the bandage around his ribs.

The colour drained from Neil's face.

"I am not as well as it might appear," Richard said softly, closing his dressing gown again and busying himself with his cravat to avoid meeting Neil's eyes.

Cautiously, Neil leaned forward and patted Richard on the shoulder. Normally, his gesture of affection was to grip him there and shake slightly. Even his gentle touch now made his bruises twinge.

"That filthy, evil bastard," Neil said, his voice low and choked. "Dishonourable, cowardly brute. If he ever comes back— I'll never forgive him. Or Laura. Stupid lying bitch."

"She's not the one who beat me," Richard said.

"She dragged you into it. It's in the papers. She told Fordham that you were her lover. She must've set him on you. Lying little sneak."

"Neil..."

"To bring you into this, for no reason but to solve her petty love squabbles—"

"Neil..."

"—it proves nothing more than what they always said about her is tr—"

"Neil, it's not a lie."

Neil stopped short. "What."

"I— am — was. I suppose. Her lover." Richard winced. "It was only once. But it is true."

A deep flush slowly suffused Neil's cheeks.

"It just sort of... happened," Richard said helplessly, feeling his own cheeks burn.

For some time, Neil occupied himself with buttoning and unbuttoning his coat front. Richard rearranged his weight on the pillows and leaned back further; he was getting tired and his back hurt. At last, seemingly having accepted it, Neil broke the silence:

"She still had no reason to tell him." Doubt came to his face. "Was it she who told him?"

"Fordham said it was. And I certainly didn't tell him." Richard couldn't keep the note of bitterness from coming to his voice. "I didn't think she'd betray my confidence."

"She always was a shrew. I can't imagine why you would— but she's pretty, I suppose."

Richard didn't think it had been just her prettiness. But he wasn't going to detail his motivations to Neil. He wasn't even going to detail them to himself.

"And she must have gotten worse," Neil added, "to boast about it to another man — another lover perhaps. No. I still cannot forgive her for what she did."

"Fortunately, you don't have to," Richard said drily.

Neil shot him a look. "Then you have forgiven her?"

"I don't know." He gave a long pause. "Probably not."

"I don't see why you should forgive her," Neil said slowly. "Not if you don't want to."

"Perhaps you're right... but even if I don't, I may have a certain... responsibility towards her."

"Responsibility," echoed Neil. Then, more fiercely, "What kind of responsibility?"

"I don't know."

"You won't be fool enough to marry her, will you?"

Richard thought of the way she had refused him — twice now. "Probably not."

Neil templed his fingers over his knees and looked doubtfully at Richard. "Then what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I can't know until I see her again. Have the papers said she turned up? Miss Dalrymple has told me she's missing."

Neil raised a palm face upwards. "Rumours of a gutter in Glasgow, a brothel in Paris, and your own bedroom, I'm afraid. My guess would be she returned to her father's house, tail between her legs."

It didn't sound like Laura to do so. Moreover, despite his anger, Richard was worried for her. Or perhaps, only guilty. He knew very well that if anything happened to her, it would be partially his fault. Oh, Fordham and her father and she herself were also to blame, but their culpability did not lessen his.

He shifted again the chair, trying to ease a compressed ache in his spine. "I can't move from this room. And I must see her. Neil, will you find her for me, and bring her here?"

Neil hesitated.

"You didn't come here to nurse me," Richard persuaded. "You came to help me. This is the help I need."

Neil shuffled his feet awkwardly in the pile of discarded newspapers. "I think the best thing is if you have nothing more to do with her."

"I tried that. It failed." Richard sighed. "Please, Neil. I must speak with her. I must at least know that she is safe and well. And she must know that, if she is in need of help, I will offer it."

Neil chewed his lip. "She's got sharp edges, Rich. I think the more you have to do with her, the unhappier you'll be."

"I think she is unhappier than you or I have ever been in our whole lives."

"Yes, I can believe that. Because don't unhappy people always make others unhappy too?" Neil shook his head. "Never mind. If you want to see her, I'll find her. But don't say I didn't warn you."