merits of either, I take it."
Eastlyn's half smile was disarmingly self-effacing. "Called me to task for wagering."
"I see." The colonel raised one hand to his chin, massaging it thoughtfully to rub out his growing amusement.
"Drinking, too," East added.
Blackwood cleared his throat. "Is that right?"
"She pointed out that I was a murderer."
The colonel was immediately sober. "A murderer? What would make her level that charge at your head?"
"She has apparently heard about the Hagan affair. We know it is a very old business, but there is always someone willing to repeat it. Her cousin perhaps." Eastlyn shrugged. "It hardly matters. I did shoot the man."
"You did not kill him."
East said nothing, plowing his hair back with his fingertips instead. A small puff of air parted his lips, the passing of a weary sigh.
"Ah," Blackwood said. "You did not clarify that point. You allowed her to think just the opposite."
"It seemed important to her. I endeavor not to disappoint."
The colonel wheeled himself to the sideboard where he poured himself two fingers of whiskey. "You are an odd one, East," he said over his shoulder. "After all these years, you are still something of an enigma."
"It is not by design."
"Isn't it?"
Eastlyn realized he should have known the colonel would not permit him so easy an exit. "Perhaps it is," he said finally. "But it is also true that you know me better than most."
"As well as the Compass Club?"
East considered that and decided the colonel was in the right of it. "Yes. Every bit as well as they do."
"Then it follows that you are still a puzzle to them."
"I suppose I am, though they are kind enough not to refine upon it in front of me."
The colonel laughed shortly and wheeled himself around. He sipped his whiskey. "Your point is taken."
It did not seem odd to him that it was as if he had known Eastlyn and his friends for a lifetime. This was not the case at all; indeed, the years of his acquaintance with each member of the Compass Club were varied. It was Brendan Hampton, now the Earl of Northam, who had made the introductions. Blackwood had first heard of the Compass Club when young Hampton, then a second son with no expectation of inheriting the title, served under his command in India. The stories his lieutenant told of his Hambrick days were harmless enough, mischief really, of schoolboy tricks and intrigues, and yet there was some bit of cleverness in the schemes of these particular boys that stayed with him. Later, when illness forced him to leave his post in India, he returned to London and accepted a position in the Foreign Secretary's office at Wellesley's request. In very short order he had cause to elicit North's special talents as a soldier and strategist. When it was a sailor's specific skills he required, he asked North about Matthew Forrester, Viscount Southerton. Evan Marchman, West to the others in the group, came to his attention next, and finally it was the tinker, Gabriel Richard Whitney, now the Marquess of Eastlyn, whose expertise was required to make an unusual and sensitive repair between a certain Austrian archduke and a former mistress of the Prince Regent.
It was not always possible, the colonel had learned, to achieve even a fragile peace with customary diplomacy. Eastlyn often had an imaginative way of striking a balance.
"Balance," the colonel said, plucking the thought from his head to test it aloud.
Eastlyn frowned, wondering if he had briefly fallen asleep. It seemed he was having difficulty following Blackwood's conversation of late. "Pardon, sir?"
"Balance," he repeated, more firmly this time. "It occurs to me that you have lost yours." The creases at the corners of his dark eyes became more pronounced as he made a thorough examination of Eastlyn's person. There was a deepening of the slight downward curve of his mouth.
Having little choice, East waited for the colonel to finish his assessment. It was not the first time Eastlyn had been virtually held
Eastlyn's half smile was disarmingly self-effacing. "Called me to task for wagering."
"I see." The colonel raised one hand to his chin, massaging it thoughtfully to rub out his growing amusement.
"Drinking, too," East added.
Blackwood cleared his throat. "Is that right?"
"She pointed out that I was a murderer."
The colonel was immediately sober. "A murderer? What would make her level that charge at your head?"
"She has apparently heard about the Hagan affair. We know it is a very old business, but there is always someone willing to repeat it. Her cousin perhaps." Eastlyn shrugged. "It hardly matters. I did shoot the man."
"You did not kill him."
East said nothing, plowing his hair back with his fingertips instead. A small puff of air parted his lips, the passing of a weary sigh.
"Ah," Blackwood said. "You did not clarify that point. You allowed her to think just the opposite."
"It seemed important to her. I endeavor not to disappoint."
The colonel wheeled himself to the sideboard where he poured himself two fingers of whiskey. "You are an odd one, East," he said over his shoulder. "After all these years, you are still something of an enigma."
"It is not by design."
"Isn't it?"
Eastlyn realized he should have known the colonel would not permit him so easy an exit. "Perhaps it is," he said finally. "But it is also true that you know me better than most."
"As well as the Compass Club?"
East considered that and decided the colonel was in the right of it. "Yes. Every bit as well as they do."
"Then it follows that you are still a puzzle to them."
"I suppose I am, though they are kind enough not to refine upon it in front of me."
The colonel laughed shortly and wheeled himself around. He sipped his whiskey. "Your point is taken."
It did not seem odd to him that it was as if he had known Eastlyn and his friends for a lifetime. This was not the case at all; indeed, the years of his acquaintance with each member of the Compass Club were varied. It was Brendan Hampton, now the Earl of Northam, who had made the introductions. Blackwood had first heard of the Compass Club when young Hampton, then a second son with no expectation of inheriting the title, served under his command in India. The stories his lieutenant told of his Hambrick days were harmless enough, mischief really, of schoolboy tricks and intrigues, and yet there was some bit of cleverness in the schemes of these particular boys that stayed with him. Later, when illness forced him to leave his post in India, he returned to London and accepted a position in the Foreign Secretary's office at Wellesley's request. In very short order he had cause to elicit North's special talents as a soldier and strategist. When it was a sailor's specific skills he required, he asked North about Matthew Forrester, Viscount Southerton. Evan Marchman, West to the others in the group, came to his attention next, and finally it was the tinker, Gabriel Richard Whitney, now the Marquess of Eastlyn, whose expertise was required to make an unusual and sensitive repair between a certain Austrian archduke and a former mistress of the Prince Regent.
It was not always possible, the colonel had learned, to achieve even a fragile peace with customary diplomacy. Eastlyn often had an imaginative way of striking a balance.
"Balance," the colonel said, plucking the thought from his head to test it aloud.
Eastlyn frowned, wondering if he had briefly fallen asleep. It seemed he was having difficulty following Blackwood's conversation of late. "Pardon, sir?"
"Balance," he repeated, more firmly this time. "It occurs to me that you have lost yours." The creases at the corners of his dark eyes became more pronounced as he made a thorough examination of Eastlyn's person. There was a deepening of the slight downward curve of his mouth.
Having little choice, East waited for the colonel to finish his assessment. It was not the first time Eastlyn had been virtually held
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