by Eva Devon
All in all, Roth had thought this seemed a damned good plan and had joined them.
Perhaps he’d been mistaken.
He couldn’t quite remember the previous night’s events.
He knew he’d been at a ball.
He knew he’d seen his dear friend, Lady Imogen.
And he could have sworn he’d threatened some blasted Scot with murder, bow and arrow being the weapon of choice, but it was all terribly murky.
Said murkiness was accompanied by a thump in his skull so painful he’d have thought a miniature plow horse had taken up residence in his brain and was kicking his cranium with undue equine passion.
“Awake are you?”
Roth blinked. He knew that voice.
Wiping a hand over his face, he dared to open his eyes then cursed.
Some servant had been cruel beyond measure and opened the curtains along the west wall, allowing sunlight to fall down on the polished wood floor and his person.
“You’ve fallen behind in your drinking,” the voice said. “I recall a day in which you could outdrink these poor, innocent fellows and then danced a jig until dawn.”
Aston. Notorious, wild, and damned good fun, the Duke of Aston was a recovered pirate who had sown more wild oats than the collective group of rakes and bucks of England for the past century.
“I didn’t know you were in London,” Roth finally managed.
“I could say the same about you, old boy. Thought you were in China or some such, eyeing the opium trade.”
Roth winced. His mouth felt as dry as a desert. “I did. The whole thing is a damned canker sore waiting to destroy China. We should damn well stay out of it.”
“I dabbled in opium myself for a moment,” Aston said, hooking a knee over the arm of his chair. “Couldn’t agree more, old man. Couldn’t agree more. Devil’s own stuff and that’s saying something from me considering I usually find the Devil to be a fine fellow.”
“What the blasted hell are you doing in London?” Roth groused, ill humor ratcheting his voice up.
“Oh, making friends.”
Roth snorted. “Enemies, more like.”
Aston smirked, his jovial unapologetic swagger of a smirk. “They don’t know it yet, poor fools.”
Roth laughed dryly. “You can always be trusted to go rotten in the end.”
“I take umbrage to that. Indeed, I do. I’ve protected your back more than once.”
“And I thank you for it and I even like you for it, mad though it makes me.” Roth pointed at Aston. “But I also know you. You’ve always got one foot in trouble.”
“Right now and, from your especially colorful behavior last night, I’d say the same about you.” Aston waggled his brows. “What’s her name?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Aston let out a bellow of a laugh then brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his shirt. “Can’t fool me. I know a sick dog when I see one.”
Roth shoved himself up into a sitting position then nearly lay back down immediately. Good God, his head.
“What did we drink last night?” Nicholas groaned.
“Brandy.”
“That shouldn’t. . .”
“Then someone thought gin would be a good idea.”
“Gin.” Roth shuddered. God knew what was in the stuff to begin with. He was lucky he didn’t feel entirely pickled, no doubt.
“Come, come.” Aston gesticulated like one does to draw a hound near. “Do tell me all about it. I love a good love story.”
Roth looked away. “She’s left me.”
“They all do in the end, dear fellow. The best love stories are tragedies after all.”
Roth shook his head, determined not to let Aston make a meal of the whole situation. “She was acting as my servant.”
Aston’s eyes bugged. “I beg your pardon?”
“My servant,” Roth said slowly. “You see, Alfred was pretending to be a boy, but he was a she all along you see.”
Aston propped his chin on a fist. “Fascinating.”
“She is.”
“Fascinating?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Oh, Roth. You might as well put a lead ball in your brain if you don’t win her back immediately. The look in your eye and the tone in your voice? The lass has defeated you utterly.”
Roth ground his teeth then replied. “She rather disappointed me if you must know.”
“Poor lass didn’t turn out to be perfect?” Aston said brightly. He then tsked. “That’s another thing they never do. Invariably, they prove that they are human. Just like us.”
Roth shifted uncomfortably. What was Aston trying to say? “Well, this was particularly bad,” he defended.
“Do tell,” Aston encouraged. “I love a scandal.”
“There is little you don’t love.”
“I am a notorious lover. I don’t deny it.”
“She ran away from her parents, left them high and dry with nary a word.” Roth called upon the anger he’d felt at reading that letter. At feeling the horror at what Alfred had done. “My God! She ran off like a spoiled little girl, all because her parents had arranged a good marriage to a reasonable chap.”
Aston nodded but remained silent, as if in deep contemplation of the story unfolding.
“How could she do that to them?” Roth demanded, thinking of her parents’ pain. “How?”
“How, indeed?” Aston agreed. “The little minx. How selfish she was to do what she wanted.”
“Exactly.” Roth blinked. Wait. Aston didn’t sound particularly sincere.
“How terrible that she might want something more than a spot of tea and a waltz about the ballroom.”
Aston’s convivial tone was beginning to sound like mockery.
Roth arched a brow. “She no doubt terrified her parents. Can you imagine the agony she put them through? All to run away?”
“Is she a trivial person?” Aston asked carefully, bobbing his leg back and forth at the knee.
His air was unstudied, yet Roth had a sneaking suspicion that the man was going in for some sort of kill.
“I didn’t think so,” Roth replied.
“You might then wish to ask yourself why she’d take such a monumental step.”
“Oh.” Roth shoved himself up, groaning. “I know.”
Aston waggled his brows again. An annoying habit. “Please do share, so I might equally be dismayed by her horrendous personage.”
“Now. . . Aston. . .”
Aston ignored him and waved his hand in the air. “This trull, this ungrateful child no doubt should be smote. . .”
“Her sister died in childbed,” Roth cut in before he got up and throttled his friend, “and she was insistent that marriage had killed her sister. Her sister was married to a perfectly honorable fellow. Boring, I grant. But Alfred herself admitted there was no abuse. . . No. . .”
“You know, I do think I should hate to be a woman.”
Roth blinked, stumped by the abrupt turn of the conversation. “I beg your pardon.”
Aston shrugged, then bounded up. He headed to a silver tray laden with a coffee pot.
How had he missed the scent of coffee? Was he really that laid low by last night? Yes, and by the conversation. Alfred, no Allegra, had him completely at a loss.
Aston poured two cups then brought one over to Roth. He crouched down, offered the cup, then took a casual drink of his own.
“You see,” Aston said softly. “Everyone has already decided what you’re allowed to want for yourself, if you’re born a girl, and really all that is, is a fellow who doesn’t beat you, gives you a bit of spending money, and, hopefully, doesn’t breed you into an early grave.”
Aston shuddered and took another drink. “If you’re lucky, maybe your husband will allow you to have a few opinions like the duchess, Georgiana of Devonshire. But. . . Really, what is a woman allowed? Not much. But then, perhaps your dear Alfred is sufficiently close to being an aver
age sheep to have not given this much thought.”
Roth eyed his black coffee in the cream-colored, gold-edged cup and his stomach did a riot that had nothing to do with the beverage. Somehow, Aston was making him feel a complete ponce. “But you can’t deny, even for all that, that her immaturity, her cruelty to her parents—”
“Can’t be denied, old man. But if she really does have an intolerable aversion to marriage as you seem to suggest, do list me her alternatives. Or am I mistaken, and that you intend for your Alfred to have no alternatives and just do the honorable thing. Marriage to her parents’ choice and a life of balls, fox hunts, and yes dears, whatever you do say, my dears.”
Roth forced himself to drink the coffee. He needed a clearer head because no matter how he tried, he couldn’t seem to form a solid argument against the duke. What had he intended? That Alfred join a convent? Or did he really expect his glorious Alfred to marry a boring person and become a boring wife, herself? Why yes, that was exactly what he had purported. “Aston, I think I hate you,” Roth gritted.
“Good, means you’re seeing sense. Now, where is this vicious little fool?”
“Now look here!”
“Have I gone too far?” Aston grinned. “Where is she?”
Roth bit a stinging reply. “At her parents’ here in London. My coachmen sent reports to both my London residence and my country seat as I do have a habit of not staying in one place for long.”
Aston winced. “You sent her right into the lion’s den, didn’t you?”
“Well, she wouldn’t allow me to accompany her.”
“Allow?” Aston arched one brow then snorted.
“She’s quite stubborn and independent.”
“Yes, and you sent her back to nanny, mummy, and papa to be scolded like a moppet who stole an extra slice of cake.”
“That is hardly what she did. She. . .”
Aston’s face softened. “What, old man? She didn’t appreciate her parents? She didn’t show them the love that you would have shown yours if they had but lived?”
Roth’s throat tightened. “I would give anything to have them back.”
Aston was silent for a long moment then said gently. “Course you would. But I think in all this you’ve gotten your parents confused with her parents. Not everyone has loving ones, Nick, old boy. After all, if her parents loved her like yours loved you, would she have had to run away from an unwanted marriage to begin with?”
“Damnation.” Roth plunked the coffee cup down and forced himself to stand. There was really only one thing to be done. Aston had verbally slapped him to such a degree his entire body throbbed with his own mistaken arrogance. How the Devil had he made such a mess of things?
Well, he had to make them right.
He started for the hall.
“Nick.”
Roth paused, hating to waste any moment that kept him away from doing the right thing, the thing he wanted to do in any case. He was going to go and face her parents and defend his marvelous Alfred. No one would make her do anything she didn’t wish. He’d damn well see to that.
“Yes,” Roth barked at Aston, having no patience now that he’d set off.
Aston’s lips twitched. “You might want to have a bath.”
Roth frowned then caught sight of himself in one of the towering mirrors along the opposite wall. His usually impeccable clothes were a mess. In fact, he had no idea where his coat or cravat were and his hair was a wild mass of darkness about his stubbled face.
He gave Aston a slight bow.
“Now go get the girl!” Aston bellowed.
The bellow sent up a stirring of the dukes sprawled on the floor. They’d soon be up and groaning and slinking back to their wives.
Nicholas smiled. Perhaps, he’d be able to sort this all out in the end. Perhaps, now that he wasn’t acting like a complete tosser, he and Alfred might be able to make amends. Yes. A jaunt lifted his step. Things were looking remarkably bright, despite a few bottles of gin. After all, he was going to see his Alfred again. What could be better than that?
Chapter 15
Nicholas sat in the Earl of Portmund’s study, holding a glass of brandy in his hand wondering how one exactly said, Dear sir, I have seduced your daughter and wish to remedy the situation as well as make amends to her for my asinine behavior.
At present, it seemed fairly impossible. Worse than impossible, the earl clearly had no idea why he’d come to visit which led Nicholas to think that Alfred had the good forethought to exit his ducal coach a goodly distance from her abode lest people see her descending and link her name to his.
But what made that difficult was that the earl was clearly delighted to have him as a guest. After all, dukes were sought out company.
Still, the Earl of Portmund seemed on edge as he played host.
Roth, who generally attempted to not act as if every room he was in belonged to him, couldn’t shake his discomfort and crossed to the fireplace. Something seemed amiss in this house. He stared into the flames completely oblivious to the earl’s slightly vacuous compliments.
Generally, he and the Earl of Portmund didn’t see eye to eye socially or politically. They were in opposite parties but he’d never heard a bad thing about the man. Likely, Allegra was perfectly fine. Aston had done the right thing in pointing out his error in judgement, but he didn’t need to be concerned.
Finally, Roth snapped his gaze to the older man, realizing that the earl was still rattling away on some subject that Roth had no inkling of. “I must stop you.”
The earl stuttered and then smiled a wide, overly pleasant smile. “Your Grace will come to the point of the honor of your call? Or did you merely wish to share a brandy?”
“You’ve the right of it. I’m here with a purpose.”
“Is there some matter I might help you with?” the earl asked as he joined Roth by the fire.
Here it was. Roth said as easily as he could, “Your daughter.”
The earl had just taken a swallow of brandy and he began to cough copiously. He coughed until his eyes watered and Nicholas feared the man would never catch his breath. So, with no other recourse, he pounded Portmund on the back.
At last, the earl wheezed and blinked rapidly. “My daughter, Your Grace?”
“Lady Allegra.” Roth dropped his hand from Portmund’s back and squared his own shoulders. It was an extremely odd thing he was about to say, but say it, he would. “I should like to see her this evening if at all possible.”
“That is a rather. . .”
“Improper request,” Roth finished. “I already know. But you see, I know a good deal about her.”
The earl’s wrinkled face began to harden. In fact, his eyes narrowed.
His whole demeanor began to remind Nicholas of an animal who’d been shoved into a corner by a larger predator which wasn’t the sentiment at all that Nicholas had hoped to foster in Allegra’s father.
“I mean to bring no scandal to your door, Lord Portmund,” Nicholas assured. Scandal was death to a man like Portmund who had never stepped a toe out of society’s line. It was miraculous he’d managed to produce a daughter like Allegra.
“I’m glad to hear it but you’ve never been presented to my daughter, Your Grace,” the earl said tightly. “At least, not to my knowledge.”
“Indeed I have not and yet, I know her quite well.” Roth paused. There was no way to soften this. So, he forged on, “You see, she has been on my estate since her disappearance from your household.”
The earl gaped at him.
“I discovered her.” Trying to convey some lightness to what would usually be a catastrophic conversation, he smiled fondly at the recollection of his first sight of Allegra. “She was in disguise as a stable boy, you see—”
“It’s not necessary for you to explain, Your Grace,” the earl bit out.
Unaccustomed to being interrupted, Roth cleared his throat. The earl was distressed. Clearly.
“But it is,” Roth returned calml
y.
“No, it is not.” Portmund’s mouth tightened before he managed a look of sorrow. “My unfortunate daughter has ruined herself and I am sorry that she has entangled you in her illness.”
“She didn’t entangle me,” Roth corrected. “One might say I entangled her and. . .” One of the earl’s word reverberated in Nicholas’ thoughts. “Did you say illness?”
“Yes.” The earl gave a tight nod. “My daughter is quite ill.”
“My God. When did this happen?” When he’d last seen Alfred, she’d been the picture of health, aside from the heartbreak and betrayal in her eyes. Had she befallen some ague on her return?
“It is a long-standing illness, Your Grace, and explains why she was behaving so scandalously in your presence. She told us nothing of it. Dressing as a boy is simply symptomatic of her condition.”
A niggling sense of deep unease sent the hair on the back of Nicholas’ neck standing. He cradled his brandy snifter carefully, wondering what had befallen his Alfred since he had more or less abandoned her.
Aston’s castigation was appearing more and more warranted.
“Condition?” Nicholas challenged.
“It is a family matter.”
“Yet, I find I must insist,” Nicholas gritted. “Given my recent interactions with her.”
The earl turned away, his coattails swinging about his legs. “She is mad.”
Nicholas’ ears rang with the word. In fact, the ringing dared him to believe he had completely misheard Allegra’s father. “I beg your pardon. Did you say—”
“Mad,” Portmund said with surprising firmness. “Yes. I did. Ever since her sister died, she’s declined. Finally, after this recent act we’ve had to take matters seriously.”
Cold rage settled in Nicholas’ gut. Not at this arse of a man who was so cavalierly throwing his daughter aside to save his own family’s skin, but at himself. How could he have been so naive? How could he have betrayed his Alfred to the likes of this?
“And what does that entail?” Nicholas asked very quietly lest he throttle the earl.