Fortnum severely. The wind ruffled his black locks and plastered his loose
linen shirt to his chest. He looked every inch a black-hearted devil. There was
about him a fateful ferocity that Phillip admired greatly.
“Let’s see. How can
we make this a worthy game for our friends here? You are betting men, are you
not?” he asked.
Both men agreed.
“Ha! I knew I’d
taken your measure right. Here it is, then. I wager that I can dupe everyone
attending Lady Harquist’s party for a full hour.
“And furthermore, I
bet you that when my identity
is
finally divulged, not one word of
censure greets that revelation no matter how crudely I misbehave, no matter how
lecherous my leers, no matter how deeply I drink—and make no mistake, my dears,
I intend to be very, very drunk.” His smile was fierce and challenging.
“Oh, come now, Merrick,” Fortnum sputtered.
“Ha!” St. John burst out. “I’ll take that bet.”
“Will you?” Ash
tipped his head. “But I haven’t said what the stakes are.”
“What?” St. John asked.
Ash smiled. “Two
hundred pounds.”
Phillip caught back
his surprise. Two hundred pounds was more than he’d ever wagered on a single
bet before.
Ash’s cool, mocking
gaze scanned their faces. “I thought not,” he murmured pleasantly. He took
another deep draught from the wineskin.
“I say you can do
it!” Phillip declared staunchly. Ash passed him the flask. Phillip slurped it
greedily, eyeing his lily-livered companions scornfully.
“I’ll take that
bet,” St. John finally said.
“Excellent, St. John,” Merrick declared. “I knew
you
were a game one. First, the rules. None
of you, by action or word, must betray your acquaintance with any of Lady
Harquist’s guests. You must, on your honor, keep strictly away from those you
call intimates, be they friend, father, or lover.” His glance found Phillip.
Heat rose to Phillip’s cheeks. “Agreed?”
They all nodded.
“Good. Now, I’ll
want a sharp blade and a steady hand to hold a mirror.”
“But why?” Fortnum
asked.
Merrick laughed. “I fear overcoming the clue my beard provides would strain
even my thespian skills,” Merrick said. “Who can help me?”
It was one of the
gypsies who found amongst his travel kit the means to rid Merrick of beard and
moustache. Ten minutes later, the razor’s sharp blade had revealed a square and
manly jaw, a pair of deeply bowed and sensual lips. Merrick held the mirror up
and gave a mocking laugh to his own reflection before pulling the black silk
domino back down over his blacker hair and upper face. “Now, away my lads.”
A short time later
they were following Merrick down the cobbled drive that led up to the
Harquists’ manor. The weak moonlight washed over the contours of Merrick’s thighs and shoulders. His hands were pale against the black silk cuff. Phillip
quaffed more from the flask.
Who could possibly
take exception to a man like Merrick? Yet, Rhiannon appeared to have developed
an aversion to him. Odd. Especially since she had seemed to like Merrick well enough at first. But in the past few days Rhiannon had grown uneasy in Merrick’s company, skittish. Through no fault of Merrick’s.
Merrick was all that was pleasant and respectful to Rhiannon, even courtly.
Perhaps he drank a bit much, and each day seemed to increase his thirst, but
what of it? Phillip was perhaps imbibing more than usual, too. Especially now,
with his impending nuptials closing in.
He twitched away
the unpleasant sensation the thought awoke. Being a touch goosey about being
leg-shackled was surely normal.
Rhiannon had best
learn right now that Phillip was loyal to his friends and that his companions
ranked high in his esteem.
Nothing
was more sacred to a man than his
friends. They sustained and encouraged and understood him in a way a woman
never could.
Phillip took
another swig, arguing away his sense of unease. Rhiannon wouldn’t interfere
with him, he reasoned. It was why
linen shirt to his chest. He looked every inch a black-hearted devil. There was
about him a fateful ferocity that Phillip admired greatly.
“Let’s see. How can
we make this a worthy game for our friends here? You are betting men, are you
not?” he asked.
Both men agreed.
“Ha! I knew I’d
taken your measure right. Here it is, then. I wager that I can dupe everyone
attending Lady Harquist’s party for a full hour.
“And furthermore, I
bet you that when my identity
is
finally divulged, not one word of
censure greets that revelation no matter how crudely I misbehave, no matter how
lecherous my leers, no matter how deeply I drink—and make no mistake, my dears,
I intend to be very, very drunk.” His smile was fierce and challenging.
“Oh, come now, Merrick,” Fortnum sputtered.
“Ha!” St. John burst out. “I’ll take that bet.”
“Will you?” Ash
tipped his head. “But I haven’t said what the stakes are.”
“What?” St. John asked.
Ash smiled. “Two
hundred pounds.”
Phillip caught back
his surprise. Two hundred pounds was more than he’d ever wagered on a single
bet before.
Ash’s cool, mocking
gaze scanned their faces. “I thought not,” he murmured pleasantly. He took
another deep draught from the wineskin.
“I say you can do
it!” Phillip declared staunchly. Ash passed him the flask. Phillip slurped it
greedily, eyeing his lily-livered companions scornfully.
“I’ll take that
bet,” St. John finally said.
“Excellent, St. John,” Merrick declared. “I knew
you
were a game one. First, the rules. None
of you, by action or word, must betray your acquaintance with any of Lady
Harquist’s guests. You must, on your honor, keep strictly away from those you
call intimates, be they friend, father, or lover.” His glance found Phillip.
Heat rose to Phillip’s cheeks. “Agreed?”
They all nodded.
“Good. Now, I’ll
want a sharp blade and a steady hand to hold a mirror.”
“But why?” Fortnum
asked.
Merrick laughed. “I fear overcoming the clue my beard provides would strain
even my thespian skills,” Merrick said. “Who can help me?”
It was one of the
gypsies who found amongst his travel kit the means to rid Merrick of beard and
moustache. Ten minutes later, the razor’s sharp blade had revealed a square and
manly jaw, a pair of deeply bowed and sensual lips. Merrick held the mirror up
and gave a mocking laugh to his own reflection before pulling the black silk
domino back down over his blacker hair and upper face. “Now, away my lads.”
A short time later
they were following Merrick down the cobbled drive that led up to the
Harquists’ manor. The weak moonlight washed over the contours of Merrick’s thighs and shoulders. His hands were pale against the black silk cuff. Phillip
quaffed more from the flask.
Who could possibly
take exception to a man like Merrick? Yet, Rhiannon appeared to have developed
an aversion to him. Odd. Especially since she had seemed to like Merrick well enough at first. But in the past few days Rhiannon had grown uneasy in Merrick’s company, skittish. Through no fault of Merrick’s.
Merrick was all that was pleasant and respectful to Rhiannon, even courtly.
Perhaps he drank a bit much, and each day seemed to increase his thirst, but
what of it? Phillip was perhaps imbibing more than usual, too. Especially now,
with his impending nuptials closing in.
He twitched away
the unpleasant sensation the thought awoke. Being a touch goosey about being
leg-shackled was surely normal.
Rhiannon had best
learn right now that Phillip was loyal to his friends and that his companions
ranked high in his esteem.
Nothing
was more sacred to a man than his
friends. They sustained and encouraged and understood him in a way a woman
never could.
Phillip took
another swig, arguing away his sense of unease. Rhiannon wouldn’t interfere
with him, he reasoned. It was why
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