Кейси Майклс – Lords of Notoriety: The Ruthless Lord Rule / The Toplofty Lord Thorpe (страница 3)

Mary thrust her full lower lip forward into a pout. “Lord Tristan Rule, Uncle Henry, and he is not a suitor. He’s a nuisance!”

“Tristan?” Sir Henry repeated, puzzled. “I’ve never known him to be in the petticoat line. My congratulations, my dear, he’s a fine young man.”

Mary leaped to her feet and glared at her beloved guardian. “If you have any affection for that fine young man, you will steer him swiftly away from my direction before I skewer him with my parasol! I cannot stand the creature!”

And with that, Mary quit the room, stopping only to snatch up a few fragrant scones, leaving Rachel to explain Lord Rule’s recent behavior to Sir Henry.

TRISTAN RULE REACHED DOWN a hand to assist his opponent to his feet. “Sorry, George. It seems my tiresome temper has gotten the better of me again.”

“On the contrary,” Lord Byron replied, gingerly rubbing his aching jaw, “it was my fault entirely. I should have known better than to cast aspersions on our esteemed War Office while sparring with Ruthless Rule. Besides, I thought I had a better chin than I seem to possess. Just remember, Tris, the pen is mightier than the sword. I’ll simply have to scribble a canto or two someday about our esteemed military gentlemen.” Stepping out between the ropes held apart by his friend, Byron called out ruefully, “Tom, my good man, you’d better look to your laurels now that Ruthless Rule is stepping into the ring. I do believe he would make even you a fair competitor. Now toss me that towel and help me totter over to find a glass of wine, if you please.”

Dexter Rutherford, who had been holding a towel at the ready for his idol, Lord Tristan Rule, dashed to the side of the ring, a look of slavish adoration on his young face. “What a leveler you served him, Tris!” he exclaimed, rubbing his hero’s bare shoulders with more enthusiasm than expertise. “The great man himself, dropped by a single blow. What science, what speed, what—”

“What loss of control,” Tristan ended crossly, effectively wiping the grin from Dexter’s face. “We were only sparring, you bloodthirsty infant. George wasn’t expecting that bit of home-brewed I served up to him. Thank goodness he’s a gentleman.” Taking the towel from his shoulders, Rule rubbed it briskly across his face and neck. “It’s this deuced inaction, I feel like a coiled wire ready to spring. I can see that this peace everyone is so delirious about is going to take a bit of getting used to.”

Tom Cribb, the retired “Champion Boxer of all England,” approached the pair, a nearly full glass of wine held in front of him. “With Lord Byron’s compliments, my lord. And may I say it was an honor to watch you in there. If you ever have a mind to go a few rounds, I wouldn’t say no to you. Your right hand reminds me a bit of Ikey Pigg’s, and I considered him a very worthy opponent in his day.”

“Ikey Pigg!” Dexter cried scoffingly. “Molyneaux, more like, and it took you thirty rounds or more to best him too. Ikey Pigg?” Dexter shook his head. “Damned insult if you ask me.”

“Nobody did, sprig,” came a voice from behind the young man. “I’d say my good-byes now, if I were you, before Tom here takes it into his head to squash you like a bug.”

Dexter whirled to greet his cousin. “Julian! Did you see him? It was nothing next to marvelous, I tell you. One moment Lord Byron was standing there, his fives at the ready, and the next he was rump down on the mat, with Lord Rule standing above him, breathing fire.”

“Sorry we missed it,” Julian Rutherford, Earl of Thorpe, mourned falsely as he joined the group. “Yet somehow I feel that we shall all be able to relive the moment ad nauseam over dinner this evening if Dex here has anything to say in the matter.” Julian turned to address Lord Rule as Tom Cribb drifted away to talk to some of his other patrons. “You haven’t forgotten Lucy’s invitation, have you? I’ll have the devil to pay if I tell her I’ve seen you here without reminding you that your presence is required at table.”

“Not to mention what Jennie will do to me,” Kit Wilde, Earl of Bourne, put in as he too joined the small group, barely concealing a smile as he thought of his wife. “Your cousins are both rare handfuls in their separate ways, Tris, as you must know.”

“Will your aunt Rachel and her charge also be present?” Tris asked, slipping his arms into the shirt Dexter was holding up for him.

“Mary Lawrence?” Julian asked rhetorically, winking slyly at Kit, who was hiding a grin behind his hand. “So it’s true, what Lucy and Jennie say? I warn you, they’ve as much as made a match of it between you.”

Tris looked blank, as indeed he was at a loss to understand what Lord Thorpe was talking about. “Make a match of it? With Mary Lawrence? What in blazes put a fool notion like that into their maggoty heads?”

“Not just them, Tris,” Dexter supplied with all the innocence his ignorance of the world provided him. “Saw it in the betting book at Boodle’s. At least three wagers on when the announcement will make the Morning Chronicle.”

Tris snorted. “The Morning Chronicle—as if anyone would believe anything James Perry has to say in that paper of his. Why, I read one of his ‘stories’ just the other day that told of Prinny being applauded as he passed through the streets. As if being hissed at and having your coach pelted with cabbages can be called acclamation. Give me the Times, thank you. At least John Walter could be trusted to keep the war news straight.” Then, belatedly getting down off his high ropes, he gave a bit of thought to just what Dexter had said. “Betting on me at Boodle’s, are they? Who, damn it? Give me names, boy, and I’ll call the bastards out, damned if I won’t!”

“That’s it, Tris, keep a cool head, just like you’re known to do,” Lord Bourne jibed, placing an arm around the other man’s shoulders. “Besides, you have no one to blame but yourself, the way you act whenever the chit enters a room. Can’t remember being so dashed silly about Jennie, even when she was leading me around like a puppy longing for a pat on the head.”

Rule retied his cravat with more intensity than flair, his dark eyes flashing in a way that made Dexter decidedly nervous. “I only stand up with the girl for a single dance in an evening. I don’t see where that should serve to set the world to hearing wedding bells.”

Now it was time for Kit to wink at Julian. “I see your point, Tris. How like society to jump headlong to the wrong conclusion. Just because you show up everywhere Miss Lawrence happens to be as regularly as the sun rises every morning and claim her for a dance before retiring to a pillar and staring a hole in her back for the remainder of the evening. Imagine Lucy and Jennie, for instance, being so rash as to put any credence in the silly coincidence that you always quit the room just as soon as Miss Lawrence retires, or the fact that more than one young buck has reportedly withdrawn from the lists of those seeking the lady’s favors due to the belief that you would call them out if they so much as looked in her direction.” Lord Bourne shook his head sadly. “How sorely our motives are misinterpreted. What, precisely, then are your motives, Tris, if you aren’t smitten?”

Rule answered with some questions of his own. “Who exactly is Mary Lawrence? Where does she come from? Who are her parents? What is she doing in London? Why is she living with Sir Henry Ruffton? My Aunt Rachel may be the girl’s chaperon but she’s as close as an oyster whenever I try to get a few answers out of her. I know about her botched engagement with Sir Henry all those years ago, but could loyalty to an old beau cloud her judgment to the point where she’d allow herself to be involved in…never mind, George is getting ready to leave. I really must offer my apologies to him one more time. Excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll see you later this evening.”

Before either Julian or Kit could gainsay him, Tris was off, his long strides taking him swiftly across the room, the ever-present Dexter scampering to keep up with him.

“What the devil was all that in aid of?” Julian asked his cousin-in-law, who was looking no more enlightened than he. “Rachel told me he was a strange one, alluding to some secret association with the war effort, but I do believe the years of pressure have served to unhinge his mind. Did you ever hear such ridiculousness? Anyone would think he believes Sir Henry to be harboring a lady of ill repute, or a spy, or something. No, can’t be a spy. After all the war’s over, isn’t it?”

Kit was still watching Lord Rule, taking in his naturally belligerent stance and remembering how well the fellow had looked stripped to the waist. No soft London dandy was Tristan Rule. He had the look of a fighting man, even a Peninsula man, unless Kit missed his guess. Yet, for all the rumors about the man, no one could actually say Rule had ever been within a hundred miles of a battle. Strange, moody fellow. But a man of strong convictions for all that. And now he has a bee in his bonnet about Mary Lawrence. Kit turned to look at Julian, a thoughtful twist on his lips. “The war over, you say, Julian? For some of us, maybe. But not for him, it would appear.” He took one last look at the man they called Ruthless Rule as the tall, black-clad figure strode toward the door. “I tell you, Julian, I’d give my matched bays for a glimpse inside Tristan Rule’s head.”