gibberish.
The porter looked on Anthony with the same bored expression he’d given him days earlier. Nevertheless, Harry could never be accused of favoritism for he was equally disinterested in everyone. “Good afternoon, milord.”
Anthony mumbled a greeting and handed over his cane and hat. Two hours remained until Gabby was expecting him, and he wanted to earn the privilege of taking her for an ice. His prospects were looking bleak.
He touched his jacket pocket and heard the paper crinkle. Last night he hadn’t even been able to recall what a sonnet was exactly, so he had muddled through as best as he could.
The result? Utter rubbish. If she didn’t toss him out on his ear, he would be fortunate.
Perhaps a cup of Turkish coffee would chase away his fog, and brilliance would strike him before he was due at Talliah House.
He claimed one of the leather chairs and ordered a coffee from one of the footmen. The gentleman seated across from him lowered his newssheet to his lap and Anthony grimaced.
“Unusual weather we are having, aye, Ellis?”
“Corby.” He returned the troublemaker’s greeting with a sharp nod. A quick glance around the club reassured him that he would at least be spared Ledbery’s obnoxious company.
Corby returned to his newssheet, and Anthony eased back against his seat with a soft sigh. He was deep in thought when the footman returned with his coffee. Anthony had taken only one sip when Thorne rounded the vacant chair and dropped down beside him.
The baron grinned. “Beautiful day for an outing to Gunter’s.”
“Too bad you’ll have no one to take,” Anthony said.
Thorne shrugged, his smile growing wider, if that was even possible. He might believe his flash of straight teeth made the ladies swoon, but it made Anthony want to knock a few loose this morning.
Toothy jackass.
Thorne’s eyebrow angled upward. “Are you prepared to sweep the lady off her feet with your brilliant words? If I remember correctly, you never earned high marks for penmanship or composition.”
Anthony sipped his coffee, pointedly ignoring Thorne’s insult. He wished he had a witty rejoinder, but the baron was correct. Anthony had never thought those things were important, until now.
“I suppose you think you can do better,” Anthony said. If memory served, Thorne had never been a bard himself.
The baron drummed his fingers against the armrest and cocked his head to the side, his eyes trained to the ceiling. “Let not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.” His voice boomed. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.”
Damn. That was good. And Thorne’s delivery had a certain je ne sais quoi . No wonder he could claim success with the ladies.
Anthony grimaced. “Out of every available lady, why are you chasing after her? Are you even interested in matrimony?”
Corby peeked around his newssheet, saw Anthony’s glower, and snapped his paper back in place.
Thorne lost his smirk. “One doesn’t court a duke’s sister unless one intends to marry her. I enjoy Lady Gabrielle’s company and she is not hard on the eyes. She suits my purpose well.”
“And what purpose would that be?”
Thorne regarded Anthony as if he was dense. “The same purpose you have. She will make a good wife and beget me an heir.”
Anthony’s head felt like it might burst. If Thorne even thought about bedding Gabby, Anthony would strangle him.
Slowly.
And he would enjoy it.
Immensely.
“The lady will not accept your suit,” Anthony said.
Thorne winked. “Any lady can be persuaded to change her mind.” He pushed to his feet and strode away with a swagger.
Anthony gulped his coffee, barely noting it had grown too cold to be enjoyable. Gabby was too intelligent to fall for Thorne’s flattery and eloquent words.
Uncertainty tugged at his heart. She did like beautiful
The porter looked on Anthony with the same bored expression he’d given him days earlier. Nevertheless, Harry could never be accused of favoritism for he was equally disinterested in everyone. “Good afternoon, milord.”
Anthony mumbled a greeting and handed over his cane and hat. Two hours remained until Gabby was expecting him, and he wanted to earn the privilege of taking her for an ice. His prospects were looking bleak.
He touched his jacket pocket and heard the paper crinkle. Last night he hadn’t even been able to recall what a sonnet was exactly, so he had muddled through as best as he could.
The result? Utter rubbish. If she didn’t toss him out on his ear, he would be fortunate.
Perhaps a cup of Turkish coffee would chase away his fog, and brilliance would strike him before he was due at Talliah House.
He claimed one of the leather chairs and ordered a coffee from one of the footmen. The gentleman seated across from him lowered his newssheet to his lap and Anthony grimaced.
“Unusual weather we are having, aye, Ellis?”
“Corby.” He returned the troublemaker’s greeting with a sharp nod. A quick glance around the club reassured him that he would at least be spared Ledbery’s obnoxious company.
Corby returned to his newssheet, and Anthony eased back against his seat with a soft sigh. He was deep in thought when the footman returned with his coffee. Anthony had taken only one sip when Thorne rounded the vacant chair and dropped down beside him.
The baron grinned. “Beautiful day for an outing to Gunter’s.”
“Too bad you’ll have no one to take,” Anthony said.
Thorne shrugged, his smile growing wider, if that was even possible. He might believe his flash of straight teeth made the ladies swoon, but it made Anthony want to knock a few loose this morning.
Toothy jackass.
Thorne’s eyebrow angled upward. “Are you prepared to sweep the lady off her feet with your brilliant words? If I remember correctly, you never earned high marks for penmanship or composition.”
Anthony sipped his coffee, pointedly ignoring Thorne’s insult. He wished he had a witty rejoinder, but the baron was correct. Anthony had never thought those things were important, until now.
“I suppose you think you can do better,” Anthony said. If memory served, Thorne had never been a bard himself.
The baron drummed his fingers against the armrest and cocked his head to the side, his eyes trained to the ceiling. “Let not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.” His voice boomed. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.”
Damn. That was good. And Thorne’s delivery had a certain je ne sais quoi . No wonder he could claim success with the ladies.
Anthony grimaced. “Out of every available lady, why are you chasing after her? Are you even interested in matrimony?”
Corby peeked around his newssheet, saw Anthony’s glower, and snapped his paper back in place.
Thorne lost his smirk. “One doesn’t court a duke’s sister unless one intends to marry her. I enjoy Lady Gabrielle’s company and she is not hard on the eyes. She suits my purpose well.”
“And what purpose would that be?”
Thorne regarded Anthony as if he was dense. “The same purpose you have. She will make a good wife and beget me an heir.”
Anthony’s head felt like it might burst. If Thorne even thought about bedding Gabby, Anthony would strangle him.
Slowly.
And he would enjoy it.
Immensely.
“The lady will not accept your suit,” Anthony said.
Thorne winked. “Any lady can be persuaded to change her mind.” He pushed to his feet and strode away with a swagger.
Anthony gulped his coffee, barely noting it had grown too cold to be enjoyable. Gabby was too intelligent to fall for Thorne’s flattery and eloquent words.
Uncertainty tugged at his heart. She did like beautiful
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