Had We Never Loved (6 page)

“Well, I shall do so,” she said outrageously, determined not to be frozen. “But if it does not pain you too much, will you tell me what you thought of China?”

He blinked, and echoed in a rather stunned voice, “China?”

“Yes. In view of your devotion to your grandmama, you must surely have gone there? You would wish to discover something of her culture, which cannot fail to be dear to your heart and—” She broke off, for he had stalked up the steps and now bent over her. His face was very pale, and a nerve throbbed at his temple, while the look in his eyes caused her to draw back instinctively.

“Miss Rossiter,” he said through his teeth. “You are a guest in my house, so I cannot box your ears as you deserve. It pleases you to use my mixed blood to taunt me. But I warn you—do not dare to—”

“Ah, so here you are, Lord Haughty-Snort. Good day, Mistress Gwendolyn. Breathing fire and smoke over you, is he?”

Falcon shut his eyes, and groaned.

“Hello, Jamie,” called Gwendolyn, not sorry for this interruption. “He cannot help it, you know.”

Lieutenant James Morris was a good-natured young gentleman who had fought with Gideon Rossiter in the War of the Austrian Succession. They had become friends while recuperating from wounds, and early in the spring had been sent home to England on the same ship. Still on inactive status, Morris wore civilian dress, and with his round boyish face and guileless expression, looked much too young to be the veteran of several desperate battles. He bowed to Gwendolyn, then dabbed a kerchief at his brow. “Beastly close this afternoon, ain't it, ma'am? Your servant, Falcon.”

“God forbid!” Falcon enquired, “Come to discuss the weather, have you? I felt sure you must have good reason for paying a call. Or is it perhaps that you are ready to arrange—er, matters?”

Gwendolyn had been trying to make Apollo turn over, but at this she said in an irked way, “No, are you going to talk about duels again? Lud, but one would think you'd had sufficient of fighting in the Low Countries, Jamie. To say nothing of all the terrible things that happened after you and Gideon came home!”

“Not the least of which,” growled Falcon, “was that I was mistaken for a highwayman and mercilessly shot down.”

Morris said mildly, “It wasn't mercilesss, old boy. I didn't know you at the time.”

Gwendolyn smothered a grin.

Falcon murmured, “What a very peculiar fellow I must be, to object when a blithering idiot puts a hole in my arm.”

“Now, be honest,” said Gwendolyn. “You know very well 'twas an innocent mistake. When Jamie and my brother came upon the hold-up and you rode at them with a pistol in your hand, how were they to know you were escorting Naomi's coach, and not one of the rank riders?”

“Miss Rossiter, I see no reason to discuss the matter with a female.”

“I can see why. There was no cause for you to fight my brother—”

“Your brother and I engaged in a perfectly respectable duel—which you most improperly interrupted by dancing on my sword.”

“I did no such thing! I merely trod on your sword when you dropped it, to try and stop you from slaying poor Gideon!”

“I had no intention of killing Gideon. I seldom put a period to the gentlemen I fight. Though”—he glared at Morris—“your friend may well drive me to it.”

“He is your friend too, however you may pretend to dislike him.” Under his breath, Falcon directed an exasperated and profane remark to the heavens, which Gwendolyn ignored as she went on, “At least, he is your comrade, because when Gideon was in trouble you both helped him. And gentlemen who fight together should not afterwards fight among themselves.”

“Besides,” put in Morris, “considering you are involved in a duel a week, Lord Haughty-Snort, I'd think you'd know that our seconds will arrange such details.” He saw Gwendolyn's head turn towards him, and went on quickly, “If you must know it, I came—”

“To slither around my sister,” interposed Falcon. “Damme, but I've warned you before. You are not the man for Katrina.”

“I don't see that,” said Morris doggedly. “I may not be her richest beau, but I ain't pockets to let. My family's not contemptible, I think. Miss Katrina is of age. And besides, you're not the head of your family, Mr. Neville Falcon is.” He glanced to the side and said with a grin, “More company to depress your spirits, poor fella. Well met, Tio!”

Glendenning, wearing riding dress, was walking from the house. He waved cheerily, and Falcon's expression lightened very slightly.

Having shaken hands with the men, the viscount dropped to one knee and kissed Gwendolyn's fingers. She scanned his face and asked shrewdly, “Shall I go away, Tio?”

He smiled. “What, and rob us of your lovely presence?”

“I think you wish to talk gentleman talk. But if you mean to discuss duels, I shall sit here and listen to every word you say.”

Morris said solemnly, “A watched pot never boils.”

“Oh, Gad!” exclaimed Falcon. “Now see what you've done! He's at it again!”

“If you must know, madam, I came to talk about my brother,” said Glendenning, laughing.

Gwendolyn lifted her hands. “Help me up then, if you please. I expect Katrina is waiting for me.” Glendenning lifted her to her feet, and with a flourish Morris presented her cane. She thanked him prettily, and passed the brush to Falcon. “Here. You finish him.”

Watching her limp away, Glendenning murmured, “What a darling she is.”

“Sunny little thing,” agreed Morris. “Pity she's—” He stopped, and his face reddened.

“Crippled?” Falcon said derisively, “Why choke over the word? She don't.”

Irritated, Morris said, “Oh, brush your hound.”

“I've no least intention of doing so.” Falcon heaved the brush at him. “You do it. You're the one with the alleged heart of gold.”

“Jove, Falcon!” exclaimed Morris. “That's the first nice thing you ever said to me!”

“I am feverish,” muttered Falcon, feeling his brow anxiously. “I'd best go and lie down upon my bed!”

Morris grinned and threw the brush back to him. “Take this with you. You know damned well that brute would have my arm off did I dare touch him.”

“Oh, yes.” Catching the brush, Falcon glanced at Glendenning, who had sat down on one of the benches and was watching them with faint amusement. “What's to do, oh mighty peer? We have been bereft of your nobility and wisdom for several days.”

“Had you need of either?”

Resuming the business of grooming Apollo, who had begun to eye Morris and show his teeth, Falcon replied, “I have managed somehow to survive.”

Morris said thoughtfully, “My great uncle managed to survive till he was nine and ninety. Most foolish old duck I ever knew.”

“Glendenning,” said Falcon, “will you please tell us if the arrangements are made, and then take him away with you? He is lechering after Katrina again, and I'll not have it! I—er, presume you
did
come to tell us that you and Rossiter have set the date?”

“Well, I did, yes. But I told Miss Rossiter I had come to talk about my brother, so I'll keep my word and get that over first, if you don't mind. I do not seem able to come up with Templeby. Crenshore told me he'd seen him with Piers Cranford, so I went to Muse Manor. Michael had already left there, but Cranford dropped the same hint to me that you did, Falcon.”

Falcon shot a quick and faintly guilty glance at Morris.

Morris muttered glumly, “‘Wine sets a wise man singing.'”

Gritting his teeth, Falcon flung his hands over his ears. “Tell me when he's done!”

The viscount asked, “So you knew also, did you Jamie?”

“Heard he was making a cake of himself.” Morris shrugged. “He's not a cloth-head y'know, and I would've blabbed to you, if I heard he'd gone in too deep. Though, mind you, I ain't cut from the same cloth as Lord Haughty-Snort. Don't like blabbing.”

“Idiot,” said Falcon succinctly. “About the duel, Glendenning?”

“Oh. Well, I'd a letter from Rossiter. Says he and his bride will be back in England on the twenty-fourth, and that we can schedule your meeting for Monday, the twenty-seventh, if agreeable. Have either of you objections?”

“Perfectly agreeable with me,” said Morris.

Falcon nodded. “What about Cranford?”

“Piers is willing,” answered the viscount. “Said he'd come and overnight with me on Sunday. I'll have to call on Kadenworthy, though.”

Morris, whose thoughts had wandered, said, “I—er, suppose nothing more has been heard of our friend the Squire, and his merry reptiles?”

Glendenning frowned. “The League of Jewelled Men? I've not heard aught. Nor do I expect to.”

“Why not?” argued Falcon, brushing Apollo's hair the wrong way. “We upset their applecart. I'd say they're not likely to forgive and forget.”

Hesitating, Glendenning said, “True. If they're as devious as Rossiter suspects, they'll be hatching some nasty scheme again. But not yet, I'd think.”

“Unless we've shut the barn door after the horse has fled,” muttered Morris.

They both looked at him. Falcon said irately, “Deuce take it, if you have something to say don't go from Land's End to John o' Groats to say it!”

“Well, whatever I say, you'll make fun. But—that Albertson business did not seem just right to me.”

Falcon said wearily, “Admiral William Albertson is in Newgate for defrauding the government by placing orders for supplies with companies he himself controlled. What in the name of all the gods and little fishes has that to do with a conspiracy to ruin Sir Mark Rossiter? Do not hesitate to dazzle us with your logic, mighty sage. We wait with bated breath.”

Morris flushed, but persisted, “The admiral is one of Britain's greatest heroes. To the last he denied the charges brought against him, but he lost everything. Same as Sir Mark damn near did.”

Falcon turned to Glendenning. “Do you see how faulted is his intellect? One gathers we are now to be suspicious of every scoundrel who is hauled before the courts. We'd as well investigate the man who beats his wife, or cheats at cards!”

“Yes, and there's another of 'em,” said Morris triumphantly, ignoring Falcon's groan. “Look at that wretched Merriam business. Shot himself after being accused of cheating in the Cocoa Tree. Home and estates confiscated and sold for debt. Fishy, was you to ask me.”

“Which, praise the Lord, we've no intention of doing,” said Falcon. “No, for heaven's sake do not dignify his nonsense by looking thoughtful, Tio!”

“I don't know much about Albertson,” said Glendenning. “But I'll own that Lord Merriam was the last man I'd have judged dishonourable. It might not be so far-fetched as you think.” He stood. “After I find Michael, and drop in on Kadenworthy, it could bear looking into. Where is Kade, by the way? In Town?”

Standing also, Falcon said, “My sister heard he was down at Epsom for these new spring races they're holding. His country seat is nearby. Damned nice property.”

Glendenning swore. “He would be in the country! Now I've to go all the way down there! Well, I'd best get started.
Adieu, mes amis.
”

Morris said, “I'd go m'self, dear boy, but it wouldn't be the thing. Do you want us to scour around a trifle? For Templeby, I mean.”

“I'd be grateful,” called Glendenning over his shoulder. “If you find him before I do, keep an eye on him for me, would you?”

Morris waved, and the viscount walked briskly to the stables.

Deep in thought, Falcon and Morris started towards the house, Apollo escorting them, and growling sporadically at Morris' heels.

“The deuce!” said Morris.

Falcon muttered, “I wish to heaven I knew who it was.”

“Eh? Oh—'tis another name for the Devil. I'd've thought you would know that.”

“Not him, you clod! I mean I wish I knew who this damnable Squire is.”

“Why should you be concerned? You hate England. What do you care if a lunatic threatens her?”

“I believe one may find a nation absurd, without hating it. And in case it has slipped your mind, Morris, I've already been dragged into this ugly business.”

Morris frowned, and as they walked on together, stared at the ground in silence.

This atypical behavior wore at Falcon. “I hear rusty wheels turning,” he murmured. “You must be thinking. Honour me by sharing your brilliant conclusions.”

“All right,” said Morris, looking up. “I think we should endeavour to find out who are the members of this League of Jewelled Men. And what the devil they're about.”

Falcon paused to clap his hands. “Bravo! And—a simple question, forgive me it. Have you the least notion where we should commence this masterly scheme?”

“But of course,” said Morris grandly. “In Windsor. You really must make a push to—just now and again—use that pumpkin on the end of your neck, poor fellow!”

CHAPTER III

Surrey was green and neat and lovely, as ever. The viscount reached Mimosa Lodge in late afternoon, and was received with courtesy by Lord Kadenworthy's aunt. Her nephew, she said, was down at the races and would likely not reach home until dark—if at all. “Hector,” sighed the sweet-faced elderly lady, “so often is caught up in all the talk of horses and jockeys and weight and stewards that it is sometimes the wee hours of the morning before they are done, and then he stays with whomever he chances to be. This new business of a race meeting here, has properly caught the public fancy. If you would care to go in search of him you will see for yourself.”

Glendenning had a soft spot for gentle old ladies, and having gratefully accepted a substantial tea, at which his hostess seemed equally grateful for his company, he did go in search of Kadenworthy, and he did see for himself. For the second time in as many days, he walked Flame through a noisy crowd. A different crowd this, in which the elegant and distinguished rubbed shoulders with dashing young Bucks and Corinthians, and were in turn jostled by humbler folk. It was a crowd in which predators roved, their shrewd eyes searching out the easy marks, and many a man carried a small pistol in his belt or in his pocket. Another race was to be run before sunset, and the air rang with the shouts of wagers offered and taken. This was to be an Owners to Ride race, and excitement was high.