Lady Triumphs (The Black Rose Trilogy Book 3)

by Renee Bernard

  “You aren’t in it,” Serena gently amended her friend’s speech. “And it is a legitimate worry that the fireworks might take place behind closed doors. But if I know Lord Trent well enough, he loathes direct confrontations. If he is snapping and growling then it speaks volumes of our progress. Sir Tillman will hold his own but he won’t have to endure for much longer.”

  “No?” Pepper became very still, the color in her cheeks deepening. “The season has weeks yet.”

  Serena stood slowly, shaking her head. “Not for the Earl of Trent.”

  “My gracious!” Pepper pressed a hand to her heart. “As fast as that?”

  “Your ladyship?” Quinn inquired from the doorway.

  “Here.” Serena held out the notes. “These can go at first light, Mr. Quinn. They are both for addresses within London proper.”

  Pepper held her tongue until the butler had taken the notes and gone, the door closed behind him. “You’ve been busy. Most women take to their beds after a bit of theatre, or so I understand.”

  “I am not, nor have I ever been, most women.” Serena sighed. “But a few hours of sleep seems a reasonable temptation after the drama of the night.”

  Pepper accompanied her to her room and assisted her, the ritual of preparations so practiced that neither of them spoke. Serena’s thoughts stormed and quieted as she began to measure out each element involved in the days ahead.

  She’d openly flirted with a madman.

  She had practically announced that she harbored a secret passion for him. If Trent were interested, he would make an open declaration of his own very soon. The conflict with Adam could be over anything—from a differing approach to Oakwell’s management, his nephew’s refusal to abandon his professional ties or a disagreement about some marital candidate that Trent was shoving under the man’s nose.

  Or it could be about her.

  In any case, she would know the answer soon.

  “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to Montpellier’s.”

  “If you insist.”

  She kissed Pepper on the cheek to wish her good night, retreating to the sanctuary of her bed to wrestle with her schemes. Except that the expanse of sheets and bedding was a cold and empty place and Serena ached to fill it with the raging heat of Phillip’s touch and comforting presence.

  Not much longer, my love.

  So many promises to keep but not much longer.

  God help me.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The billiards room at the Reform Club was one of the most elegantly appointed in the city and popularly enjoyed by its members. The tables were set to allow plenty of space for the players to demonstrate their skills but also for spectators to relax, placing their bets on each round’s outcome or making conversation on leather bound chairs set along the edges of the hall. Club referees attended each table officiating the contests while wearing white gloves. A light haze from numerous cigars added to the room’s solemnity and masculine aura and as Phillip entered, he took one bracing breath to steel his nerves.

  He’d intended to use the wooden score boards the markers were using to locate his man, but found there was no need. Tillman stood out amidst the others, finishing a game at a table across the saloon. Phillip headed over, his steps unhurried and confident.

  Sir Tillman’s opponent was an older man currently leaning on his cue and theatrically sighing. “What did I do to deserve such a beating?”

  Adam smiled. “As bad as that?”

  “I am routed out like a schoolboy.”

  Adam leaned over the table and finished his stroke.

  The referee stepped forward. “One hundred, gentleman. The game to Sir Tillman.”

  “Another, Mr. Simpson?” Adam asked.

  “No. I’ve had my fill, I’m afraid.” Mr. Simpson was jovial enough at his surrender.

  The timing couldn’t have been better as far as Phillip was concerned.

  “May I take up the challenge in his stead, sir? The tables are all in play and I was hopeful for an opening to sport a match.” Phillip nodded cordially to both men. “Baron Warrick, at your service. Phillip Warrick.”

  “Then you are welcome,” Adam replied. “I am Sir Adam Tillman and this unhappy fellow is Lord Heller.”

  “I am not always unhappy, Sir Warrick,” Peter said his brow tightening. “But how many cannons can one man suffer before he cries off?”

  “As bad as that?” Phillip asked.

  Adam laughed. “That’s what I said only moments ago.”

  Lord Heller touched his forehead in salute and left them without much more of a farewell and Adam sighed. “God, it’s not as if we had bet even a farthing on that match!”

  “His pride was worth a bit more to him, I suspect.”

  “And yours?” Adam asked with a smile. “I’d not invite you to a sulk but I wouldn’t mind a fresh opponent if you’re willing to risk it.”

  “The risk is yours.” Phillip selected his cue as the referee reset the table. “I haven’t linked my pride to contests since I was in short pants.”

  “Nor have I.” Adam nodded as he appeared to take new measure of his acquaintance. “Let’s get to it then.”

  They took their places to determine who would play first, stringing at the referee’s signal. Phillip held his breath and then watched in sublime satisfaction as his ball edged out Adam’s return to the baulk line. It was by a scant hair’s breadth but he didn’t care.

  I’m a liar. I’m swimming in pride and jealous rivalry, damn it. Not that billiards is any substitute for much but Hell, I’ll take what I can get.

  “You are the striker, Sir Warrick.” The referee retrieved the balls to put them in place and then stepped back. “Time or points, gentlemen? What limits do you agree to?”

  “Points.” Phillip turned to Tillman. “What do you prefer? Two-fifty?”

  “Yes. Two-hundred and fifty points should go quickly enough.” Adam consented. “Good luck.”

  “And to you.” Phillip turned his attention to the table and began his turn. He was several successful strokes in before he failed to score.

  Adam smoothly stepped forward to take his stroke, and the game proceeded, as each man studied the other, immediately aware that they were an equal match and in for a good game. They primarily ignored the referee beyond a scant notice of their progress, their main focus on their opponent.

  For Phillip, the challenge was keeping his mind in the room and on the present moment. Adam wasn’t making it easy. In another time and place, it rattled Phillip to realize that they would have potentially been good friends. Tillman was his peer in status, age and temperament but it grated against Phillip’s nerves to admire anything about the man.

  Adam’s humor and approach was a sensible foil to his, and they shared the general laments of unmarried titled men in the treacherous waters of society. Phillip avoided giving away any real details of background or history, but Adam was relaxed with his guard down.

  God, if only you had warts or a lisp…I swear I’d be sleeping better at the idea of you dangling for Raven. Then again, how does the love of my life pretending to fawn on a defective ogre make it any better? What a mess!

  “Sir.” The referee cleared his throat to politely regain Phillip’s focus. “You are in-hand.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Phillip shifted to take his next stroke. “I apologize, Sir Tillman. My thoughts wandered.”

  “A malady too common to warrant an apology,” Adam said. “I’m just grateful you haven’t been unkind about my own failings in that area.”

  Phillip straightened. “I’d have never guessed it. Not by your play.” Phillip chalked the leather tip of his cue. “May I ask? I have not met you before at the club. Are you new to London, sir?”

  “Not entirely but to these circles, somewhat. I earned my own way as an engineer much to the horror of family. I kept out of the social waters until recently but duty calls.”

  “That’s a trumpet that’s hard to ignore.”

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p; “I’d complain more but—I’m beginning to accept that rank may have its privileges.” Adam’s gaze took on a faraway aspect, an interior daydream seizing his imagination. “And London is not without its alluring charms.”

  “I detect a man on the brink.” Phillip said, swallowing the awkward heat of his emotions. “Be careful. The Ton is like a machine that can grind up a dreamer.”

  “I don’t think I’m built for long term survival in London society,” Tillman jokingly agreed. “I’m beginning to wonder if there’s time yet to make a run for it.”

  Phillip smiled. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how many matrons already have you on their short lists and if you have somewhere to hide for the rest of the social season where they can’t find you.” Phillip said and then fouled his next shot to concede the turn. “Oh, and it also depends on how fast you can run.”

  “Yorkshire seems to be perceived as the dark side of the moon, so I think I might be safe from pursuit.” Adam laughed. “My uncle has referred to it as the jungles of England no less than six times when making introductions.”

  “Your uncle?” Phillip asked, feigning ignorance.

  “The Earl of Trent. Not that I’m attempting to impress you with…” Adam’s words trailed off at the remarked change in his new friend’s expression. “Are you unwell, Sir Warrick?”

  Phillip set his cue down across the table, immediately halting the game. “I concede the game and should say good night. A pleasure meeting you, Sir Tillman.”

  Adam abandoned his cue over the referee’s shocked looks. “Not without a word of explanation, sir.”

  “G-game to Sir Tillman.” The referee stammered.

  Phillip looked at the wide eyes of the club attendant and then back at Adam. “Would you care to join me for a brandy in the library, Sir Tillman? It is more private there for conversation.”

  “Yes. A brandy sounds promising.”

  The men retreated to the large well-stocked club’s library and found a quiet corner to take their seats.

  “I am intrigued, Sir Warrick.”

  Phillip shook his head. “It’s not much of a complex mystery. More an awkward admission that I am compelled to share. You seem a very decent fellow, Sir Tillman.”

  Adam’s gaze didn’t drop. “Seem? Let’s have it, Sir Warrick. Why does the very mention of my uncle end your night?”

  “I meant to spare you. The Earl of Trent loathes me and I’m certain that if he discovered that you’d voluntarily spent more than two minutes in my presence, he’d choke the life out of you.” Phillip took a casual sip from his brandy. “I have enough on my plate without fearing for your life, sir.”

  “Why does he hate you?”

  “Honestly? When I was twenty-one, I admired a woman he’d bought a bracelet for and in my youthful arrogance, I didn’t think he’d mind. I trespassed like the world’s stupidest puppy walloping through a mud puddle, tail wagging, and never gave one thought to the mess.” Phillip sighed. “I truly believed that male friendship would wink at the mistake but… Lord Trent was not forgiving. He made me pay for it long afterward in ways I never would have anticipated.”

  “My God, how? Did he call you out?” Adam leaned forward, concern etched into his features.

  Phillip waved him off. “The punishment was disproportionate to the crime and I’ll not do more damage by rehashing it now. Let’s just say that no man holds a grudge longer or with a tighter hold than the Earl of Trent. It is ancient history but I make every effort to avoid the man and didn’t realize you were a relation or I would never have approached you for a match. The last thing I desire is the Earl of Trent working himself back up into a frenzy over it and casting back for a fight or fuel for one of his temper tantrums.”

  “It’s been years. Surely the coals have long since died…”

  Phillip shook his head. “With anyone else, that would be true. But I know better and logic need not apply to the inner workings of every man.”

  Adam sat back in his chair. “I did ask you to tell me why. But you are right. Logic is not acquainted with all of us.”

  “Your first loyalty lies with family. I freely admit I trespassed and was in the wrong with your uncle…” Phillip couldn’t help but wince at the wash of remembered pain. “I’d not wish the lesson on any man walking. If by blindly stumbling into you tonight I’ve caused you any trouble, I hope you’ll accept my sincere apologies.”

  “As bad as that?” Adam asked, then smiled at the echoes of Lord Heller.

  Phillip nodded, the humor of it too contagious. “As bad as that.”

  “Well, it’s nothing to do with me and if I see you out and about, I will happily shake your hand, sir,” Adam offered as he finished his brandy.

  It was Phillip’s turn to betray his concerns for his fellow man. “No. As generous as that is, I can’t allow that. Protect yourself. And if not for your own safety, then for mine.”

  “Safety? Uncle Geoffrey can be a handful but I don’t think he’s a real threat to anyone.”

  Oh, God. You’re wrong, man. You are so completely wrong.

  Phillip stood abruptly and Adam followed suit.

  “I’ve said my piece. My conscience is clear. I wish you the very best, Sir Tillman. Good night.”

  “Good night then.” Adam held out his hand. “If this is our last meeting, sir, then I hope you’ll take it.”

  Phillip took his hand to shake it, accepting that no matter what else occurred, he would always respect Adam for the gesture. Their grip held, firm and strong, a meeting of equals despite everything between them.

  “If you ever need an ally, you may look to me, Sir Tillman. I thank you.”

  They parted and Phillip didn’t look back as he left the club and headed down the broad stairs out onto the street.

  **

  Adam returned to the brownstone manse on Portman Square, lost in thought.

  “Will you need anything else tonight, sir?” the butler asked after taking his coat and hat.

  “Where is my uncle?”

  “Just returned from the theatre. I believe he is upstairs in his study.”

  “The theatre?” Adam turned back to give Mr.Walters his full attention. “I forgot the name of the play he’d said he wished to see. What was it again?”

  “Fletcher’s newest, sir. Something about a Dealing in Duchesses or other.”

  “Yes, that was it.” Adam forced himself to smile. “I think I’ll join him for a brandy before I retire, Walters. Thank you.”

  Adam took the stairs two at a time, reason barely edging out his fury. He strode into the study, unsurprised to find Lord Trent still in his evening clothes, lounging with a glass in his hand and staring at the fire in the fireplace.

  “Ah, you’re home early!” Trent barely looked up. “Unseasonably cold tonight after that blasted rain today so I’m enjoying a touch of home and hearth. Care to join me?”

  Adam poured a small splash of brandy in a cut crystal glass. “How was the play?”

  Trent rolled his eyes. “You aren’t going to pout about it, are you?”

  “You told me that you had plans to see an ailing friend and that I should amuse myself somewhere.” Adam crossed to take the chair across from the man. “Why would you lie?”

  “Can’t a man desire a night off from babysitting?” Uncle Geoffrey sat up a touch straighter, vaguely defensive. “The play was wretched and I spared you hours of boredom so be sure to remember to thank me at some point.”

  “And how was Lady Wellcott? Did you see her there?”

  It was a guess. A childish guess but he made it all the same and was rewarded with the guilty smirk on his uncle’s face.

  “I ran into her and her horrible chaperone by sheer chance as Providence would have it.” Geoffrey took a sip from his brandy. “Lady Wellcott flourishes and thrives, especially when she can bask in the glow of my attention without your tree-like shadow blocking her view.”

  Shit.

/>   “How lovely for her.” Adam leaned forward, his gaze narrowing to make sure the flickering firelight wasn’t playing tricks on his vision. “What happened to your nose?”

  Lord Trent’s hand flew to cover his nose, his color deepening in fury. “Nothing! Nothing of consequence!”

  Adam smiled. He’d taken a blow of some kind across the bridge and if Adam were a gambling man, it was likely from Lady Serena Wellcott putting him in his place.

  Thank God.

  Adam leaned back and stretched out his legs, deliberately making a show of his own contentment. “Well, if it’s nothing…”

  “I had a glorious time.”

  “How very nice for you.” Adam took a sip from his glass and watched the fire.

  Geoffrey shifted in his chair, fighting a sulk. “Actually, I am not exaggerating. It was quite an enlightening evening.”

  “Hmm.” Adam’s reaction was that of a man being told a stranger’s shoe size or preference for butter or jam. If he wanted to get to the bottom of things and achieve his goals, he knew better than to beg for details. Adam allowed the quiet crackle of the fire to work its magic.

  “What are you thinking of over there? I say I have an enlightening evening in the company of the most beautiful woman in England and you—you say ‘hmm’?!”

  “I would rather not tell you what I’m thinking since you are already angered over God knows what over there when any other man would be giggling with glee if your claim were true.” Adam shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of his drink. “You are a puzzle, sir.”

  “You’ll tell me. I’ll have it!”

  “Very well.” Adam set his glass down. “I was thinking that Lady Wellcott has never struck me as a woman who would be interested in a man who lacked self-confidence. Oh, well, women are a mystery!”

  “What? I care nothing for the woman’s interests but I have no shortage of confidence.”

  Adam smiled and shook his head. “Of course, you don’t. That’s why you lied about your plans and made sure I wasn’t in attendance. You’ve gotten it stuck in your head that you cannot take me in a head-to-head rivalry and that if I am there, you have not a sliver of sunlight’s chance in Hades with the lady.”