“Milord! I have good news for you.”
Irritated, Dare stopped and turned on his heel. The sneer on his face gave the footman pause.
“Well?” he snapped.
“Oh, yes, sir—well, your carriage and luggage have arrived. Your man is unpacking it at this very moment. Oh, and there is a letter for you.”
The footman scuttled back to the table, swept an envelope off, and handed it to him. Dare took one look at the handwriting and snatched the paper from the startled servant before storming up to his room.
His man, Jackson, was in the room arranging his things.
“Good day, milord. I have put your belongings away and can prepare your clothes for dinner now.”
“Yes, do it with all haste and then get out. I’m in no mood for your chatter.”
Well used to his master’s curtness, Jackson took no offence to the insinuation that he “chattered.” Instead, he helped him out of his riding clothes and into a clean linen shirt, dove-gray trousers, and spotless boots. That being done, he gathered up the dusty clothes and closed the door behind him.
Anticipating unpleasantness, Dare stretched out in a chair by the window to read the missive from his sister.
Adair,
While I am usually able to overlook your abhorrent behavior, this time I must protest. I urge you in the future to unleash your baser instincts on women raised for that sort of behavior. What business have you abusing my friends so callously?
Poor Victoria has been widowed for a mere six months, as you well know. In her fragile state, you have no right to use her and then toss her aside. It is not as though she is that attractive and has any self esteem to begin with (although I would never admit so to her).
Would it have been too much to ask her to join you at the Horsham’s affair? Now, I shall have to invite her to come to Shavely to restore her spirits. With her moping around, it is sure to be much less pleasant than I had hoped.
I do not understand how you can be so selfish. Just because Miss Abbington broke your heart does not mean you should take it out on the entire female species. You do not have to be as cruel as father.
Regards,
Anne
He threw down the letter in disgust. You do not have to be as cruel as father. As if that were even remotely possible. The devil himself could take notes from the marquess on ways to torment people.
Picking up the letter again, another line caught his eye, further stoking his anger.
Just because Miss Abbington broke your heart, does not mean you should take it out on the entire female species. As though Constance Abbington had any effect on his behavior! The idea was ludicrous.
As for breaking his heart? Relieved was more the word. If anyone was suffering, no doubt it was she. She could have had a peer of the realm. And yet she threw him over for a peasant. The man had been a servant in the Abbington household, for God’s sake! He comes back from war with a mangled leg and a pathetic title, and suddenly the wench decided being a marchioness wasn’t good enough.
He fumed as he paced the room.
And now that William’s father had married Constance’s mother, he had to be polite and magnanimous whenever the woman was mentioned. If William hadn’t been such a good friend, he would not stand for it.
Growling in frustration, Dare banged on his desk, causing the writing instruments to jump.
He had expected the wedding party to be boring but tolerable. Instead, it was one irritant after another. He merely wanted to enjoy life with no baggage, no ridiculous delusions about love and family. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.
At least he could set his sister straight. He dashed off a quick yet cutting response to her correspondence and slammed it on the desk, ready for the morning post.
Vowing to make the best of it, he yanked on his jacket, took a large pinch of snuff, and headed down to do some serious drinking.
Chapter 10
Pausing at the bottom of the stairs, Dare steeled himself. Before he could drown out his irritation, he must first suffer through another supper held before the sun was down. He would never get used to country hours. Still, he took his place at the table, bestowed a few witticisms on his companions, offered a few set-downs when necessary and, after a healthy serving of wine, began to feel more like himself.
That is, until they finished their meal. He was almost through the doorway when Nivea stopped him with a touch of her hand. The warmth of her fingers penetrated the thin sleeve of his silk coat. Strange that he didn’t mind, as he didn’t particularly like to be touched—outside the bedroom.
She looked up at him with an enchanting smile. “Lord Landis, thank you for delivering my luggage. I was afraid my clothes would not arrive in time for the wedding.”
Her sweet expression made him feel strangely benevolent. “I am happy to have put your mind at ease, Miss Horsham. I regret I cannot take all the credit. In truth, it was my coachman who returned your possessions.”
Issuing a dramatic sigh, she responded, “I suppose that’s true.” Then she flashed him a saucy grin. “In that case, perhaps I should seek out Weldon. I am certain he would be grateful of my appreciation.”
He was bemused by her flirtatious response. Without missing a beat, he slipped into his rakish persona. “I will pass along your appreciation, milady, and let him know you are in his debt. He will be most honored to hear of it.” With a flourish, he bowed over her hand before raising it to his lips. At her gasp, a rather entrancing blush warmed her cheeks. Enjoying the sensation, he held on to her fingers a moment longer than was necessary. In fact, he found that he didn’t want to let go.
When her eyes darted to his right, he realized others were watching. Good lord, what was he doing? He dropped her hand. Spinning on his heel, he found himself skewered by Lady Wilshire’s incredulous glare. She must be irritated that he was showing attention to another female. Perhaps he would make it up to her tonight. She was certainly a more appropriate quarry.
With a lascivious wink in her direction, he headed into the study to join the other men. There, he grabbed a glass from the sideboard, filled it with amber liquid, and took a satisfying gulp.
Ahh, brandy. The magic elixir. Crossing the room, he sat down in his favorite mahogany chair at the card table and nodded to his friends. Joseph was lounging to his right, Thomas, ever the soldier, sat stiffly erect on his left, and Nicholas, the nit, sat across from him. William had been chatting with a few other gentlemen around the room, but strolled over to join them.
This was comfortable. Familiar. Dare just hoped they would behave as they ought. The rest of the day had been quite a trial.
Eager to set things to rights, he placed a stack of notes next to his glass. “I am in the mood to play a bit of chance. Are you gentlemen ready for a little wagering? Vingt-et-un, perhaps?”
“I am,” stated Joseph eagerly. “I still need to recover the funds you stripped me of last month at White’s.”
“And what makes you think you’ll have any more success tonight?” Dare taunted as he gulped down his glass.
“Well, I’m more sober this evening, and it appears you’ll be in your cups in no time.” Joseph grinned.
He fixed his friend with a steady gaze. “When have you ever found me to be a poor gambler as a result of drink?”
William laughed, slapping Joseph on the shoulder. “He has you there. Never seen a man more able to hold his liquor and his cards at the same time. It’s almost mythical.” He grabbed a deck of cards from the drawer and sat down with the others.
“Perhaps