light-headed and needed her assistance.
When she brought their lunches up to him that afternoon, they ate
together — and then he asked her to walk with him to the top of
Sparsholt Down.
He thought she would protest; instead, she
surprised him by saying the fresh air would probably do him good.
And so it was that an hour later the two of them, Charlotte safe in
the care of Nerissa, set off across the front lawn, heads together
and laughing.
As they passed the library, the drapes at
the window moved slightly — but neither noticed. The Duke of
Blackheath watched them go, his expression unreadable. He was, of
course, very much aware of Juliet's frequent sojourns to his
brother's room. He was also very much aware of the attraction
between the two, a fact that did not annoy him half as much as he
wanted Gareth to believe; in fact, it was quite the opposite.
Quite the opposite indeed.
The faintest of smiles crossed his face, and
he let the drape fall shut.
Gareth was purposely defying him.
Things were going precisely according to
plan.
And when, a few hours later, he saw them
racing a spring thunderstorm home, the two of them laughing like
children — he was smiling even more.
~~~~
By week's end, however, Gareth needed more
than bucolic walks around the Lambourn Downs. He missed his
friends. He missed doing things with those friends. By the time
Saturday night came around — and with it, Perry and the other Den
of Debauchery members — the Wild One was ripe for trouble.
"You're looking fit as a fox," Perry
drawled, flicking open his snuff box and taking a pinch. "Never
thought you'd want to go out and raise hell again so soon."
"I am hardly an old woman," Gareth returned,
standing in front of the looking glass and carefully tying his
cravat. He wore a tailored coat of plum silk, cream breeches, and a
waistcoat embroidered with gold thread. His hair was tied back and
lightly powdered, his sword already at his hip. Unlike his friends,
Gareth had spent most of the last two weeks cooped up and bored,
and he was not about to pass another day, let alone this night, in
similar fashion. "Besides," he added derisively, "it was little
more than a flesh wound — a scratch , as Lucien called it.
Now." His gaze met theirs in the mirror. "Where to tonight?"
"Whist at Cokeham's?" suggested Sir Hugh
Rochester hopefully.
"Boring," said Gareth.
Neil Chilcot pulled out a half-shilling and
began flipping it in the air. "I hear Broughton's having a
cockfight in his barn...."
"I hate cockfights," Gareth declared.
"Lord Pemberley's mistress is rumored to be
doing her famous 'forbidden fruit' act tonight. I say we attend
that," murmured Tom Audlett, grinning and elbowing Hugh.
"No, no, none of that," Gareth muttered
impatiently, still standing before the looking glass and pulling at
the frothy lace until it lay just-so against his shirt and
waistcoat. He turned, perfectly handsome, perfectly tailored, and
perfectly innocent.
Looks were deceiving. There was nothing
innocent about Lord Gareth de Montforte at all.
"I am bored with endless rounds of drinking,
whoring, and gaming," he announced. "There must be something else,
something more exciting we can get up to without taking ourselves
all the way off to London...."
"Speaking of excitement, how's that fine bit
of muslin who saved your life, eh, Gareth?"
"Yes, have you made a suitable
impression upon her yet?"
Gareth grinned. "I am working on it."
"Ha! I can imagine what your despot of a
brother thinks about that !"
"Who gives a damn what he thinks? Lucien may
be Blackheath's master, but he sure as hell isn't mine. Now come,
let's go. The evening waits, and I simply cannot abide being in
this place another minute."
~~~~
It didn't take long for the notorious Den of
Debauchery — which had managed, through every fault of its own, to
become the bane of the Lambourn Downs — to get up to its usual
devilment.
The Den members had gone to the cockfight
after all; then to
When she brought their lunches up to him that afternoon, they ate
together — and then he asked her to walk with him to the top of
Sparsholt Down.
He thought she would protest; instead, she
surprised him by saying the fresh air would probably do him good.
And so it was that an hour later the two of them, Charlotte safe in
the care of Nerissa, set off across the front lawn, heads together
and laughing.
As they passed the library, the drapes at
the window moved slightly — but neither noticed. The Duke of
Blackheath watched them go, his expression unreadable. He was, of
course, very much aware of Juliet's frequent sojourns to his
brother's room. He was also very much aware of the attraction
between the two, a fact that did not annoy him half as much as he
wanted Gareth to believe; in fact, it was quite the opposite.
Quite the opposite indeed.
The faintest of smiles crossed his face, and
he let the drape fall shut.
Gareth was purposely defying him.
Things were going precisely according to
plan.
And when, a few hours later, he saw them
racing a spring thunderstorm home, the two of them laughing like
children — he was smiling even more.
~~~~
By week's end, however, Gareth needed more
than bucolic walks around the Lambourn Downs. He missed his
friends. He missed doing things with those friends. By the time
Saturday night came around — and with it, Perry and the other Den
of Debauchery members — the Wild One was ripe for trouble.
"You're looking fit as a fox," Perry
drawled, flicking open his snuff box and taking a pinch. "Never
thought you'd want to go out and raise hell again so soon."
"I am hardly an old woman," Gareth returned,
standing in front of the looking glass and carefully tying his
cravat. He wore a tailored coat of plum silk, cream breeches, and a
waistcoat embroidered with gold thread. His hair was tied back and
lightly powdered, his sword already at his hip. Unlike his friends,
Gareth had spent most of the last two weeks cooped up and bored,
and he was not about to pass another day, let alone this night, in
similar fashion. "Besides," he added derisively, "it was little
more than a flesh wound — a scratch , as Lucien called it.
Now." His gaze met theirs in the mirror. "Where to tonight?"
"Whist at Cokeham's?" suggested Sir Hugh
Rochester hopefully.
"Boring," said Gareth.
Neil Chilcot pulled out a half-shilling and
began flipping it in the air. "I hear Broughton's having a
cockfight in his barn...."
"I hate cockfights," Gareth declared.
"Lord Pemberley's mistress is rumored to be
doing her famous 'forbidden fruit' act tonight. I say we attend
that," murmured Tom Audlett, grinning and elbowing Hugh.
"No, no, none of that," Gareth muttered
impatiently, still standing before the looking glass and pulling at
the frothy lace until it lay just-so against his shirt and
waistcoat. He turned, perfectly handsome, perfectly tailored, and
perfectly innocent.
Looks were deceiving. There was nothing
innocent about Lord Gareth de Montforte at all.
"I am bored with endless rounds of drinking,
whoring, and gaming," he announced. "There must be something else,
something more exciting we can get up to without taking ourselves
all the way off to London...."
"Speaking of excitement, how's that fine bit
of muslin who saved your life, eh, Gareth?"
"Yes, have you made a suitable
impression upon her yet?"
Gareth grinned. "I am working on it."
"Ha! I can imagine what your despot of a
brother thinks about that !"
"Who gives a damn what he thinks? Lucien may
be Blackheath's master, but he sure as hell isn't mine. Now come,
let's go. The evening waits, and I simply cannot abide being in
this place another minute."
~~~~
It didn't take long for the notorious Den of
Debauchery — which had managed, through every fault of its own, to
become the bane of the Lambourn Downs — to get up to its usual
devilment.
The Den members had gone to the cockfight
after all; then to
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