opinion.”
“Well, I’m hardly ready to be put out to pasture.”
Jack choked on his wine. “No. I wouldn’t go that far. But I really do think you should try to find one lady to devote your talents to. . . And she to you. If you’re not careful, you’re going to become a bitter old uncle, the one with a fat belly who has to undo his trousers after dinner and belches.”
Charles arched an astounded brow then looked down at his own physique which matched his brother’s.
The two of them were as lean and muscled as Apollonian Greek statues.
“You think it absurd, but it’s not,” warned Jack. “Look at Lord Roxby. The fellow was an Adonis in his day. Now look at him”
“Roxby has no hair,” Charles pointed out.
“I’m just pointing out,” Jack returned.
“Are you saying I’m going to lose all my hair because I haven’t wed?” Charles asked.
Jack shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth the chance. Do you?”
“Mad. Marriage has made you mad.”
Jack grinned, his eyes glowing like a besotted school boy’s. “A magnificent madness.”
“Stop. I beg of you to stop.” Charles put his wine down. “What time is it?”
Jack frowned.” After eleven and the opera must be done.” He waggled his dark brows. “Time to go home and pay attention to my wife, as you advise.”
“Thank God. I’m not sure I could take another moment of your sickening sentimentality or dire warnings about my hair.”
“There’s nothing sick about happiness, old man.” Jack winked. “And one’s hair is a serious business.”
“Hmmph.” Charles took one last drink, put the glass down again, then hauled off his linen shirt. He’d need a bath. “As it turns out, I’ve an appointment and I mustn’t be late.”
Jack frowned. “Tarts are well and good but they won’t make you happy.”
“She’s not a tart and if you say happy one more time, I’m going to pop you one.”
Jack grinned. “Not a tart? Perhaps marriage bells are nigh after all.”
“Jack, I’m going to kill you.”
“No, you won’t old boy. You’re too afraid of Cordelia.”
Charles sighed before he laughed dryly. “Have done. Have done! You’re right, of course. While you’re death might be pleasurable, I shouldn’t live long after. Your wife knows how to use a pistol even better than I.”
And with that, Charles led Jack away from the dueling hall, each off to visit a lady. . . And for not so very different reasons.
Chapter 11
A cab rolled up to her doorstep. Patience lingered in the shadows of her foyer, eyeing the surprisingly plain conveyance from the security of her foyer. Her London lodging was simple and not in a fashionable area. It was, instead, in one of those newly made areas by the ever rising middle classes. She'd needed a place to stay where she could be relatively unknown and her middle class neighbors didn't seem to stay up nearly as late as her titled class.
Early to bed, early to rise was not a maxim of the ton .
It was nearly one o' clock and the square in which she lived was silent as a church.
Gathering her courage, she pulled her cloak about her, opened her front door herself, and strode down the steps with practiced calm. She would not appear a nervous rabbit to Lord Charles.
His note had been clear. Dress in a simple evening frock. Attractive but not overly so. No jewelry whatsoever. And just a little coin.
Which was interesting because she didn't carry coin. The nobility didn't. They lived entirely on credit after all.
She'd had to ask her housekeeper to arrange for coins.
The coach door swung open before the driver could even attempt to descend.
A black-gloved hand appeared.
For a brief moment it felt terribly dramatic and a portent of ill shimmied down her spine.
"Reluctant, are we?"
There it was, Charles’ dark drawl with its twist of humor.
"No, my lord,” she replied brightly. “Merely ensuring you weren't some jackanape. A woman shouldn't enter a strange vehicle without knowing
“Well, I’m hardly ready to be put out to pasture.”
Jack choked on his wine. “No. I wouldn’t go that far. But I really do think you should try to find one lady to devote your talents to. . . And she to you. If you’re not careful, you’re going to become a bitter old uncle, the one with a fat belly who has to undo his trousers after dinner and belches.”
Charles arched an astounded brow then looked down at his own physique which matched his brother’s.
The two of them were as lean and muscled as Apollonian Greek statues.
“You think it absurd, but it’s not,” warned Jack. “Look at Lord Roxby. The fellow was an Adonis in his day. Now look at him”
“Roxby has no hair,” Charles pointed out.
“I’m just pointing out,” Jack returned.
“Are you saying I’m going to lose all my hair because I haven’t wed?” Charles asked.
Jack shrugged. “I don’t think it’s worth the chance. Do you?”
“Mad. Marriage has made you mad.”
Jack grinned, his eyes glowing like a besotted school boy’s. “A magnificent madness.”
“Stop. I beg of you to stop.” Charles put his wine down. “What time is it?”
Jack frowned.” After eleven and the opera must be done.” He waggled his dark brows. “Time to go home and pay attention to my wife, as you advise.”
“Thank God. I’m not sure I could take another moment of your sickening sentimentality or dire warnings about my hair.”
“There’s nothing sick about happiness, old man.” Jack winked. “And one’s hair is a serious business.”
“Hmmph.” Charles took one last drink, put the glass down again, then hauled off his linen shirt. He’d need a bath. “As it turns out, I’ve an appointment and I mustn’t be late.”
Jack frowned. “Tarts are well and good but they won’t make you happy.”
“She’s not a tart and if you say happy one more time, I’m going to pop you one.”
Jack grinned. “Not a tart? Perhaps marriage bells are nigh after all.”
“Jack, I’m going to kill you.”
“No, you won’t old boy. You’re too afraid of Cordelia.”
Charles sighed before he laughed dryly. “Have done. Have done! You’re right, of course. While you’re death might be pleasurable, I shouldn’t live long after. Your wife knows how to use a pistol even better than I.”
And with that, Charles led Jack away from the dueling hall, each off to visit a lady. . . And for not so very different reasons.
Chapter 11
A cab rolled up to her doorstep. Patience lingered in the shadows of her foyer, eyeing the surprisingly plain conveyance from the security of her foyer. Her London lodging was simple and not in a fashionable area. It was, instead, in one of those newly made areas by the ever rising middle classes. She'd needed a place to stay where she could be relatively unknown and her middle class neighbors didn't seem to stay up nearly as late as her titled class.
Early to bed, early to rise was not a maxim of the ton .
It was nearly one o' clock and the square in which she lived was silent as a church.
Gathering her courage, she pulled her cloak about her, opened her front door herself, and strode down the steps with practiced calm. She would not appear a nervous rabbit to Lord Charles.
His note had been clear. Dress in a simple evening frock. Attractive but not overly so. No jewelry whatsoever. And just a little coin.
Which was interesting because she didn't carry coin. The nobility didn't. They lived entirely on credit after all.
She'd had to ask her housekeeper to arrange for coins.
The coach door swung open before the driver could even attempt to descend.
A black-gloved hand appeared.
For a brief moment it felt terribly dramatic and a portent of ill shimmied down her spine.
"Reluctant, are we?"
There it was, Charles’ dark drawl with its twist of humor.
"No, my lord,” she replied brightly. “Merely ensuring you weren't some jackanape. A woman shouldn't enter a strange vehicle without knowing
Similar Books
