Gayle Wilson – Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart (страница 16)
He’d been scrupulous about his behaviour since making his appearance in the
That thought did not conjure up an image of the delectable Lady Hannah. Rather, Morgana Hart flashed into his mind. Sloane frowned. Morgana Hart was unpredictable and much too apt to engage in ruinous escapades. Sloane could not afford to have her drag him down with her. He ought to avoid her.
Even though she lived next door.
Sloane took a sip, letting the brandy slide down his throat and warm his chest. Did her bedchamber share a wall with his? he wondered. Was she at this moment undressing for bed, perhaps sitting in a filmy shift, brushing her long silky hair? Sloane set his glass down on the table so sharply that some heads turned at the sound.
He must cease these rakish thoughts.
At that moment, three gentlemen entered the coffee room, one tall, but thin and slightly stoop-shouldered. Though this grey-haired man leaned on a cane, an aura of power still emanated from him. The two men with him were mere moons to this man’s planet. He turned and caught sight of Sloane.
Sloane, glass in hand, met the man’s eye and nodded.
His father, the Earl of Dorton, stood stock still.
Sloane knew what to expect, and the anticipation made him wish to laugh at the sheer predictability of it all. The Earl’s gaze would gradually move away and he would turn his back, acting as if he had not even seen this unnatural son. He would do as he had done all of Sloane’s life. Act as if Sloane did not exist.
Sloane was mistaken. The Earl marched directly towards him. Sloane’s brother, Viscount Rawley, and his nephew, David, must have been equally surprised. They’d gaped open-mouthed at the Earl’s destination.
Sloane stood, never straying from a direct gaze into his father’s eyes. ‘Good evening, sir.’
The Earl glared, but did not speak. Sloane’s brother and nephew scrambled up behind. Keeping his eye on his father, Sloane turned the corner of his mouth up in the same insolent smile that in his boyhood used to earn him a hard slap across the face. His father’s lips pursed in response.
‘Would you care to sit down?’ Sloane asked with an expansive gesture of his hand.
Without speaking, the Earl waved to his son and grandson to take seats. The Earl leaned heavily on his cane as he lowered himself into a chair. Sloane did not miss the effort. But the man who levelled a steely gaze directly at him was more like the one who used to strike terror in a young boy’s heart.
No longer, however.
Sloane, with studied casualness, took a sip of his brandy, then asked, ‘Shall I signal for more drinks?’
His father glared, his brother shifted uncomfortably and his nephew watched warily. Sloane took that as agreement and gestured for the server to bring more glasses. Sloane poured the brandy and handed each a glass.
He raised his drink in a toast. ‘To this cosy family party.’ None of them responded.
The Earl finally spoke. ‘I want to know what your business is, boy, and I want to know now.’
Sloane gave an inward smile at the term ‘boy.’ He’d not been a boy since the age of ten, when this man made certain his eyes were wide open as to the circumstances of his conception. ‘My business, sir?’
‘You know what I mean.’ He tapped his cane on the carpet. ‘What are you scheming? I tell you, I’ll not have you courting respectable young ladies and throwing your ill-gotten money around on respectable residences.’ The Earl leaned forward. ‘The word is out that you took Irwin for everything he’s got. The man’s all done up.’
‘Irwin?’ Sloane lifted a brow. Irwin had been the owner of the town house, the man who’d been desperate for cash. ‘Your information is sadly amiss. I do believe my funds came to the man’s rescue.’
David spoke up. ‘That is true, Grandfather. Irwin lost a fortune at Madame Bisou’s hazard table. Wasn’t Uncle Cyprian at all.’
The Earl of Dorton wheeled on his grandson. ‘And what do you know about that establishment?’ He raised his voice. ‘I’ll not have you frittering away your allowance on cards and women. I can cut your monies in half, you know.’
Sloane felt a tremble inside, as if he were still the child who had so often received such a rebuke. ‘Keep your voice down, sir.’ He spoke with a low, steady tone. ‘You make a spectacle of yourself.’
His father erupted. ‘I make a spectacle of myself?’ His voice grew louder.
Sloane leaned towards him across the table. ‘Cease this at once, or leave this table.’ Something in his eyes must have convinced the Earl, because the old man clamped his mouth shut.
Sloane leaned back and took a lazy sip of his brandy. ‘That is better.’
The Earl looked about to explode. ‘You are not welcome here, Cyprian,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Go back to whatever dung-heap you emerged from.’
Sloane’s every muscle tensed. He’d not realised his father’s barbs could still injure him. He’d be damned if he’d show it. ‘As you have so graphically informed me, I was conceived upon and reared upon Dorton land, and I have no desire to return to it.’
‘See here, Cyprian—’ Rawley began, but Sloane quelled him with one glance.
‘Good gracious,’ cried David. ‘Can we not converse in a civil manner? It would bring credit to us all if we presented the appearance of congenial relations.’
David’s rebuke had effect. Both the Earl and his son leaned back and sipped their drinks.
His father began again, in quieter tones. ‘What are your intentions toward the Cowdlin chit? Cowdlin’s a friend of mine and I demand to know.’
Sloane bristled at his father demanding anything of him. He was about to retort in kind when he caught the pleading expression on his nephew’s face.
He answered as mildly as he could contrive. ‘I have made no offer for Lady Hannah at present, but Cowdlin will not oppose my suit. He approves of my fortune, if not of me.’
‘Hmmph,’ muttered the Earl. ‘Then he is a bigger fool than I thought.’
‘Oh, I am certain he is indeed,’ agreed Sloane with equanimity.
The Earl of Dorton leaned forward again. ‘You do not belong here, Cyprian. You do not belong among the quality. Go back to whatever cellar or… or gaming hell you came from, and leave decent people alone.’
‘Grandfather!’ David whispered in a shocked tone.
Sloane felt his body flinch, just as it used to when he was a boy. ‘I do belong here,
For a moment his father looked like an old man, but the moment was fleeting.
When he stood, he looked as formidable as ever. ‘I will not have you here, boy, do you hear me?’ His voice was equally as strong. ‘I will not have you here.’
With another flick of his fingers, the Earl signalled his son and grandson to leave with him. Sloane stood as well, making sure his father felt his eyes boring into him. As all three walked away, the Earl in the lead, David turned back and gave Sloane a look of sympathy.
* * *
‘They are gone?’ Mrs Rice looked up from her desk in a room above her glove shop.
The man, solid and stocky, brushed off the sleeves of his brown coat. ‘We have searched all the rooms and they are nowhere to be found.’
‘I sent them to the shops. Did no one see them return?’ Mrs Rice laid down her quill pen, displeasure seeping into her voice.
‘No one, ma’am.’ He shifted from one foot to the other. ‘The other girls think they ran off. There’s some belongings missing.’
‘Things of mine?’ Her voice rose. ‘I will not tolerate it if they have stolen from me.’
‘Worthless trinkets, ma’am,’ he responded. ‘Their own trifles, the girls say.’
Mrs Rice stared vacantly. ‘It does sound like they have run away.’ She waved her hand at him dismissively. ‘Well, search for them, Trigg. Bring them back. I will not have my girls coming and going at a whim. It vexes me.’
‘As you wish, ma’am.’ He turned and left.
Mrs Rice slammed her palm down on the desk and rose from her seat. With two girls short, she might have to turn men away this night. That was not good for business. She could kick herself for not having moved faster to bring that maid into the house before her mistress came calling. The termagant. That one had enough tongue for two sets of teeth, with all her talk about needing a tutor. A tutor for what?
At first Mrs Rice thought the lady was asking for lessons on how to set up a molly shop of her own, but that was too ridiculous for words. She’d since decided that a long Meg like that one probably wanted to learn how to get a man for herself.
It was a good thing, because she would not have made a good madam or a good molly. She’d talk the gentlemen right off the bed to run screaming down the street.