her.” Ash picked up his glass and took a distracted sip, but North knew the man was far from indifferent.
As for North, he had to concentrate on breathing. On keeping his heart from giving out. On refraining from screaming at his friend to get to the end of his tale before he, too, went out the front window!
“Yes, he followed her. He was about to give up when the hack stopped. Her carriage was waiting. Her driver started after my lad, but she stopped him, said he was not to harm the boy, then insisted she be allowed to speak with him.”
“Your boy...spoke with her?” North’s voice broke, but his friends pretended not to notice.
She was real—not a figment of his mind, not an apparition conjured by his lonely soul.
“Yes, he spoke with her.”
“What did she say?”
Stan looked him in the eye. “I have no idea.”
“Why? The boy was not killed?” North could honestly think of no other reason for the tale-telling to stop short.
“No. He was not harmed.” Stan smiled.
“Did he suddenly fall mute?” Harcourt asked.
Stan shook his head, then faced North. “Now listen. The boy’s not talking. He will not say a word. He recognized the carriage, but he will not tell me to whom it belonged. I do not know what the woman said to him, but it won him to her side. I am afraid there is no budging him.”
“We can get the boy to talk, if you insist upon it.” Ash’s voice implied so much more than his words.
“You know me well enough not to make such an offer.” North scoffed.
“Do I? I know Ramsay Birmingham, Earl of Northwick. I do not know Mr. Lott so well. Mr. Lott in love is another man altogether. This love of yours has made you...unpredictable.”
“Blarney. The both of you.” Harcourt sighed. “I refuse to believe love can change a man that much. In spite of all that happened in France, we still know each other inside and out. A little infatuation cannot do more damage than that. Especially if an infatuation with someone they have never met. Eh, North?” Harcourt slapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, if anyone has changed since this farce began, it is you, Ash. All that smiling. Laughing like a hyena at the zoo.” He nudged Ash’s knee with his own. “You sure you are not just as smitten as North?”
Ash’s eyes flashed at North for the length of a heartbeat, then flashed back to the drink he coddled between his hands.
What the devil was that?
“ Do not be ridiculous, Harcourt,” said his dark friend. “ I would have to see her first.”
Their eyes met again. This time, Ash did not glace away. And he was smiling.
North lifted his glass to accept the challenge, grateful his hand did not shake when he did so. It was a race then.
He turned to Stanley. “I would still like to speak to the boy, if you do not mind.”
Stan finished off his drink and slapped his empty glass onto the small solid table between them.
“I thought you might. He is outside, waiting in my carriage.”
***
Two men stood before the carriage door bearing the ducal crest of Stanley’s father. North recognized one of them as the viscount’s driver.
“You do not have the boy tied up inside, do you Viscount?” He asked it lightly, but he was worried. For the first time in his life he felt as if he did not know his friends so well after all. In the name of friendship, Ash was willing to torture the boy, or so he’d offered. If kind-hearted Stanley Winters had the poor lad tied up in his carriage, then he would never take another thing for granted. The Marquess of Harcourt might confess to be an imposter and North would not be surprised.
“Is he still inside?” Stanley asked his driver.
“Aye, sir.” The men stepped to the side.
Stan opened the door. A lantern lit the interior. It took a bit of maneuvering, but the four of them managed to fit inside. Stanley and Harcourt sat on one side with the blanket-wrapped boy wedged between them—no telling yet if the lad’s hands were tied. North
As for North, he had to concentrate on breathing. On keeping his heart from giving out. On refraining from screaming at his friend to get to the end of his tale before he, too, went out the front window!
“Yes, he followed her. He was about to give up when the hack stopped. Her carriage was waiting. Her driver started after my lad, but she stopped him, said he was not to harm the boy, then insisted she be allowed to speak with him.”
“Your boy...spoke with her?” North’s voice broke, but his friends pretended not to notice.
She was real—not a figment of his mind, not an apparition conjured by his lonely soul.
“Yes, he spoke with her.”
“What did she say?”
Stan looked him in the eye. “I have no idea.”
“Why? The boy was not killed?” North could honestly think of no other reason for the tale-telling to stop short.
“No. He was not harmed.” Stan smiled.
“Did he suddenly fall mute?” Harcourt asked.
Stan shook his head, then faced North. “Now listen. The boy’s not talking. He will not say a word. He recognized the carriage, but he will not tell me to whom it belonged. I do not know what the woman said to him, but it won him to her side. I am afraid there is no budging him.”
“We can get the boy to talk, if you insist upon it.” Ash’s voice implied so much more than his words.
“You know me well enough not to make such an offer.” North scoffed.
“Do I? I know Ramsay Birmingham, Earl of Northwick. I do not know Mr. Lott so well. Mr. Lott in love is another man altogether. This love of yours has made you...unpredictable.”
“Blarney. The both of you.” Harcourt sighed. “I refuse to believe love can change a man that much. In spite of all that happened in France, we still know each other inside and out. A little infatuation cannot do more damage than that. Especially if an infatuation with someone they have never met. Eh, North?” Harcourt slapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, if anyone has changed since this farce began, it is you, Ash. All that smiling. Laughing like a hyena at the zoo.” He nudged Ash’s knee with his own. “You sure you are not just as smitten as North?”
Ash’s eyes flashed at North for the length of a heartbeat, then flashed back to the drink he coddled between his hands.
What the devil was that?
“ Do not be ridiculous, Harcourt,” said his dark friend. “ I would have to see her first.”
Their eyes met again. This time, Ash did not glace away. And he was smiling.
North lifted his glass to accept the challenge, grateful his hand did not shake when he did so. It was a race then.
He turned to Stanley. “I would still like to speak to the boy, if you do not mind.”
Stan finished off his drink and slapped his empty glass onto the small solid table between them.
“I thought you might. He is outside, waiting in my carriage.”
***
Two men stood before the carriage door bearing the ducal crest of Stanley’s father. North recognized one of them as the viscount’s driver.
“You do not have the boy tied up inside, do you Viscount?” He asked it lightly, but he was worried. For the first time in his life he felt as if he did not know his friends so well after all. In the name of friendship, Ash was willing to torture the boy, or so he’d offered. If kind-hearted Stanley Winters had the poor lad tied up in his carriage, then he would never take another thing for granted. The Marquess of Harcourt might confess to be an imposter and North would not be surprised.
“Is he still inside?” Stanley asked his driver.
“Aye, sir.” The men stepped to the side.
Stan opened the door. A lantern lit the interior. It took a bit of maneuvering, but the four of them managed to fit inside. Stanley and Harcourt sat on one side with the blanket-wrapped boy wedged between them—no telling yet if the lad’s hands were tied. North
Similar Books
