Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

Lunch wasn’t due to be served for another thirty minutes, but Burke had no interest in spending any more time outside. He escaped to the dining room and propped his legs up on a chair, newspaper unfolded in his lap…but he hadn’t read a word. He was far too distracted.

Renley begged off early to go visit his brother, and Burke was annoyed to find that Rosalie skipped breakfast too. When he found out from a footman that she’d slipped out with the sunrise to go riding with James, it was all he could do to keep calm and not demand another horse be saddled. There had to be a good reason why they were riding together, why neither made mention of their plans last night—

The dining room door slammed open and in swept George, followed closely by James.

“George, you cannot be serious!” James barked.

George snatched up a glass, filling it with wine and draining it. “Of course, I am. Fate has spoken. I am but her humble servant—”

“You’ve never been humble a day in your goddamn life!”

Burke swung his leg off the chair. “What’s happening?”

“George says he’s going to propose to Miss Harrow,” James snapped.

Some monstrous beast uncoiled deep in the pit of Burke’s stomach as he suddenly fought the urge to leap across the table and strangle George. No one was going to touch Rosalie but him, especially not George fucking Corbin. “What?!”

“It’s not like I want to marry her,” George groaned. “But it was your idea for me to pick a name out of a hat.” He turned to Burke. “I did what he asked and now he’s mad!”

“Walk me through it,” Burke said, moving around the table to stand next to James.

“George was being a petulant child again,” said James. “He was packing to leave again, and I told him the only way he was leaving was if he picked a bride first.”

“So, James bid me put all the ladies’ names into his hat,” George added. “And I’m sorry if you don’t like the result, but it’s out of my hands at this point. Fate has spoken.”

Burke glanced at his friend. “Oh James, you didn’t…” Why on God’s green earth would James play into George’s superstitions? It was—

“It was a mistake,” James muttered to Burke. “And I never for one moment expected you to take this so seriously,” he threw at George. “Miss Harrow’s name wasn’t supposed to be an option!”

The monster inside Burke purred with delight at this. James hadn’t forgotten his ironclad principles after all. Burke turned to George, determined to help James put him back in his box. “She’ll never agree to marry you,” he said at George.

George just scoffed. “Of course, she will. Any of the ladies would fall over themselves to become duchess. Why do you think I detest this all so much? Why would any man want to go pheasant hunting if all the birds throw themselves at you and beg to climb in your sack? If my torture ends with her, so be it.”

“I’m telling you, she’ll not agree,” Burke repeated.

“Why not?” George said with a scowl.

“Because she’s far too principled. She’s like James here,” he said, jabbing a thumb at his friend. Linking her in any way to James was a surefire way to make George retreat.

But his response wasn’t quite what Burke expected. George narrowed his eyes between Burke and James, landing on his brother with a glower. “Really, James? Your own sex life is so boring you have to go and talk to Burke about mine?”

Burke blinked. “What?”

“I’m flesh and blood, James. I have needs! I’ll not be ashamed just because you live like a monk—”

“I don’t care if you fuck every maid in this house. I clearly can’t stop you,” James countered. “But there’s a time and a place!”

“What happened?” Burke repeated, eyes darting between the brothers.

George raised a surprised brow. “Ahh, so you didn’t tell him. That’s interesting.”

Burke could feel himself getting angry again. “Tell me what?”

James groaned, glancing at Burke. “Miss Harrow caught George in the stairwell this morning…with a maid.”

He left the rest unsaid, but Burke could well imagine what Rosalie saw. What George probably said and did. Burke wanted to lunge forward and punch George in the face, but that was a line he couldn’t cross. As much as Burke might want to on occasion, only James could get physical with George with impunity.

“And Burke’s right,” James added. “Now that she’s taken the measure of you, she won’t say yes.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do now?” George said, sinking into his chair. “Pick a different name from the hat?”

“Yes.” Burke and James replied together.

“But…that feels like cheating,” George said with a pout.

“Give me that fucking hat.” Burke snatched the hat from James’ hand. He dug his hand inside and scooped out all the little papers, tossing them on the table and opening them as he read each. “George…what is this?”

George didn’t look up as he refilled his glass with wine. “What is what?”

Burke read the papers aloud. “Mousey, Ice Queen, Red One, Red Two—what the hell is this?”

George shrugged. “What? I can’t be expected to learn all their names. There’s too many—”

“Jesus fucking Christ, there’s only five, George,” James groaned, rubbing his temple with a tired hand.

“Six if you count the lovely little Cabbage Rose.”

Burke clenched his jaw. “What?”

“His name for Rosalie is Cabbage Rose,” James murmured, holding out the crumpled strip of paper in his hand.

Burke snatched it and read the moniker scrawled in slanted black ink.

“Come on,” George snickered. “It’s funny. She’s poor, so she’s like a little cabbage rose. I mean, I know you don’t find it funny,” he shot at James. “But you want to fuck her so—”

“George, enough,” James barked.

The beast inside Burke was ready to breath fire. “What the hell is he talking about?”

“Ignore him.” James rounded on his brother. “You can’t pick your duchess by drawing a name from a hat. The woman you pick will stay in this house. Her portrait will go on the wall, her children will be born upstairs.”

“Yes…I suppose you’re right.” George let out a deeply agitated sigh. “Frankly, I think I dodged a bullet, because that Miss Harlow seems like a nightmare.”

“Harrow,” Burke corrected.

“Whatever.”

James chanced a hesitant step forward. “So…will you stay?”

George frowned, glancing from James to Burke. Suddenly, his eyes flashed with mischief. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “If you really want me to stay…the two of you have to kiss. Right here, right now.”

Burke choked on a laugh as James’ face went from pink to red with swallowed fury.

“Get fucked, George,” Burke replied for the both of them.

“Oh, I plan to,” George replied. “Perhaps later again this afternoon. Meanwhile, the two of you will be stuck holding your own cocks as you cry into your pillows tonight about the Cabbage Rose and how she’ll never have any of us. Those principled types die old maids.” He stood, pushing his chair back from the table. “Tell Reed I’ll take a tray for lunch in my room. James, you can handle the guests until dinner.”

As he turned to leave, a cacophony of shrieks and screams had all three men running to the window.

“What the hell?”

“I can’t see anything—”

More screams. Clattering. Smashing.

“Get it open—”

“Bloody—fuck—”

All three men fought with the latch of the window until it gave, and Burke shoved the glass panel open. It was the work of moments to swing one leg over and climb out. James was out just behind him and George last. Just as they were rounding the corner, George grabbed hold of Burke by the coat and jerked him backwards.

“Look out!”

“Christ—” Burke gasped as a white horse went streaking past. “What the—”

George let go of Burke’s coat. “How did a horse get loose?”

“It wasn’t loose. It had a saddle,” Burke replied, eyes narrowed as he searched for the fallen rider. He charged around the corner to see that the ladies were in hysterics.

“Oh, Mr. Burke, that animal was wild,” shrieked Elizabeth, her red hair fluttering around her face.

“It came charging through our game like a hurricane,” her sister added.

Burke’s eyes darted around the group looking for Rosalie.

“Burke!” James called.

“Your Grace, thank heavens,” another cried.

George stood dumfounded, surveying the tipped tables and ladies in various states of swoon.

“Burke!” James called again.

“We were nearly trampled,” shrieked the marchioness, fanning her daughter’s face. “That animal should be shot!”

Burke didn’t care about any of this. Where the hell was Rosalie?

“Christ man, come on!” James was suddenly at his side, one hand snatching at his lapel and jerking him around.

“Where is she?” Burke said. “Where’s Rosalie?”

James’ face was stricken. “That was her horse.”

“What? I thought she rode in with you—”

James took off at a run towards the stables. “George, come on,” he called to his brother.

Burke easily caught up. “James, tell me what happened! You just left her out there?”

“She’s got a good seat and she was just walking the park. Something must’ve happened. Damn it.”

“What’s going on?” George called, running after them.

“Saddle horses!” James shouted as they neared the stables. It was already in pandemonium as the grooms did their best to catch poor little Magellan, who was trotting in circles in the courtyard.

“We need horses,” James ordered. “Jack, Wallace, take to foot. Find Miss Harrow. Last I knew she was heading towards Finchley Hill, but that was an hour ago.”

Rage flooded Burke. “An hour? She could be anywhere by now—”

“You don’t think I know that?” James spun around. “Look, I’ll let you thrash me later. Right now, she’s the only priority. Shut up, mount up, and help me find her.”

Burke fumed. If anything happened to her, he’d be taking James up on that offer. He’d beat James bloody. But Rosalie was missing, possibly injured. She was his only concern. He snatched the reins of his horse and swung into the saddle. Wheeling it around, he took off towards Finchley Hill.