upsetting for her,” Christian replied noncommitally.
He was saved from further commentary by a shout from the other side of the room.
“Damn it,” Viscount Linton exclaimed, leaping up from his chair. “You did that on purpose, Cargill.”
So, Christian thought, the blighter was no longer missing. He crossed to the table where Linton had been playing whist and took in the scene.
Mr. Edward Cargill, an aging dandy who had a tendency to lose heavily when he gambled, dabbed ineffectually at Linton’s claret-spattered waistcoat and cravat. “I do apologize, my lord,” the old man said with some distress. “It was an accident, I assure you. My elbows, y’know. They’re always in the way.”
“You’re always in the way,” Linton said, his voice rising, his words slurred with too much drink. “Ish bad enough that I’ve been losing all evening, but this is the last straw. Cargill, I wish for you to—”
Seeing that Linton had no intention of accepting the other man’s apology, and wishing to prevent further trouble, Christian stepped forward, and interrupted the younger man. “Linton, I know it is annoying to have your waistcoat ruined, but I feel sure Cargill had no intention of doing so. Let’s go out onto the terrace for a cheroot and forget about cards for a bit, shall we?”
Annoyed by the interruption, but too drunk to formulate any real sort of argument, Linton tried but failed to pull his arm from Christian’s grip. “Ish a damned nuisance, Gresham,” he said with a shake of his head. “Ish a new weskit.”
“No doubt, old fellow.” Christian clapped an arm over Linton’s shoulders, as the other man staggered. Exchanging a nod with a grateful-looking Cargill, Christian led his charge from the room, Tretham stepping in to hold up Linton on his other side.
“Did you come in your own carriage, Linton, or shall you ride in mine?” he asked as, instead of heading for the terrace, he led the two men toward the entrance hall of the Marchford town house.
“He can ride with me, Gresham,” Tretham said calmly. “I’ve had as much wholesome entertainment as I can stand for one evening, anyway.”
Christian didn’t like the notion of leaving Maddie’s brother in the tender care of Tretham, especially since he wished to question him about the business with Tinker the other evening, but there was little he could do without causing a scene. For the time being he was simply grateful that Linton hadn’t called out a gentleman three times his age over a spilled glass of claret.
When they reached the entryway, Lady Emily Fielding was there waiting for her own conveyance. “Oh, dear,” she said, taking in the sight of Linton flanked by Christian and Tretham. “I hope you haven’t been too unwise, Lord Linton,” she said, her brow raised in something between censure and exasperation.
“Heavens!” Lady Poppy Essex’s tone was one of horror. “What on earth has happened?”
At his mother’s voice, Linton tried to stand straighter. And failed. Christian dipped his knees to keep from dropping the other man.
“Mama, ish not wha’ it looks like,” Linton said, swaying between Christian and Tretham. “Jus’ a li’l acshiden’.”
Stepping closer to her son, Lady Poppy looked him up and down with an expression of disgust. “An accident, yes, I see.”
Turning to Christian and Tretham, she said, “Thank you for seeing to my son’s safety. I will leave you to it, then.”
And to Christian’s astonishment, she turned on her heel and returned to the ballroom.
“In for it now,” Linton said morosely.
“Then we will have to ensure that you get a good night’s sleep before you face the dragons,” Tretham said cheerfully. “My carriage should be here by now.”
Together, he and Christian walked Linton through the entryway and out the doors, with a bit of help from Linton himself, settling that gentleman into Tretham’s carriage.
Turning to go back inside, Christian was surprised
He was saved from further commentary by a shout from the other side of the room.
“Damn it,” Viscount Linton exclaimed, leaping up from his chair. “You did that on purpose, Cargill.”
So, Christian thought, the blighter was no longer missing. He crossed to the table where Linton had been playing whist and took in the scene.
Mr. Edward Cargill, an aging dandy who had a tendency to lose heavily when he gambled, dabbed ineffectually at Linton’s claret-spattered waistcoat and cravat. “I do apologize, my lord,” the old man said with some distress. “It was an accident, I assure you. My elbows, y’know. They’re always in the way.”
“You’re always in the way,” Linton said, his voice rising, his words slurred with too much drink. “Ish bad enough that I’ve been losing all evening, but this is the last straw. Cargill, I wish for you to—”
Seeing that Linton had no intention of accepting the other man’s apology, and wishing to prevent further trouble, Christian stepped forward, and interrupted the younger man. “Linton, I know it is annoying to have your waistcoat ruined, but I feel sure Cargill had no intention of doing so. Let’s go out onto the terrace for a cheroot and forget about cards for a bit, shall we?”
Annoyed by the interruption, but too drunk to formulate any real sort of argument, Linton tried but failed to pull his arm from Christian’s grip. “Ish a damned nuisance, Gresham,” he said with a shake of his head. “Ish a new weskit.”
“No doubt, old fellow.” Christian clapped an arm over Linton’s shoulders, as the other man staggered. Exchanging a nod with a grateful-looking Cargill, Christian led his charge from the room, Tretham stepping in to hold up Linton on his other side.
“Did you come in your own carriage, Linton, or shall you ride in mine?” he asked as, instead of heading for the terrace, he led the two men toward the entrance hall of the Marchford town house.
“He can ride with me, Gresham,” Tretham said calmly. “I’ve had as much wholesome entertainment as I can stand for one evening, anyway.”
Christian didn’t like the notion of leaving Maddie’s brother in the tender care of Tretham, especially since he wished to question him about the business with Tinker the other evening, but there was little he could do without causing a scene. For the time being he was simply grateful that Linton hadn’t called out a gentleman three times his age over a spilled glass of claret.
When they reached the entryway, Lady Emily Fielding was there waiting for her own conveyance. “Oh, dear,” she said, taking in the sight of Linton flanked by Christian and Tretham. “I hope you haven’t been too unwise, Lord Linton,” she said, her brow raised in something between censure and exasperation.
“Heavens!” Lady Poppy Essex’s tone was one of horror. “What on earth has happened?”
At his mother’s voice, Linton tried to stand straighter. And failed. Christian dipped his knees to keep from dropping the other man.
“Mama, ish not wha’ it looks like,” Linton said, swaying between Christian and Tretham. “Jus’ a li’l acshiden’.”
Stepping closer to her son, Lady Poppy looked him up and down with an expression of disgust. “An accident, yes, I see.”
Turning to Christian and Tretham, she said, “Thank you for seeing to my son’s safety. I will leave you to it, then.”
And to Christian’s astonishment, she turned on her heel and returned to the ballroom.
“In for it now,” Linton said morosely.
“Then we will have to ensure that you get a good night’s sleep before you face the dragons,” Tretham said cheerfully. “My carriage should be here by now.”
Together, he and Christian walked Linton through the entryway and out the doors, with a bit of help from Linton himself, settling that gentleman into Tretham’s carriage.
Turning to go back inside, Christian was surprised
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