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Authors: Suzanne Enoch
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his throat. “Do you have any suggestions, then, about how I should answer Clarkson’s demand for your head on a platter?”
“Tell him there’s a queue for that, and I’m likely to be dead long before his turn comes ’round.”
“That might suffice. By the way, I’m going to spend the day at Tattersall’s tomorrow. Care to join me?”
“I have an engagement.” Nor did he have the blunt to purchase any horses. He headed up toward his borrowed rooms to change for dinner.
“You know if something’s afoot you can discuss it with me, Keating.”
He slowed, but didn’t turn around. “Nothing’s afoot, Adam. But thank you. And I’ll attempt to be gone from London before the masses begin calling at your door for my execution.”
Camille’s book of choice kept his interest until well after dark. That Darcy seemed a bit stiff, but he definitely had his eye on the correct Bennett sister. Finally he stretched and sent for Pidgeon to find him something to wear to dinner. In Shropshire he’d ignored invitations—such as they were—until the other area residents stopped sending them. Consequently he hadn’t had much need for proper evening attire, and he was already feeling the lack. As much as it pained him and his purse, he was going to have to purchase some additional clothes.
As he finished tying his cravat, the butler knocked at the half-open bedchamber door. “Mr. Blackwood, you have a caller.”
Keating lowered a brow. “Male, or female?”
“Male.”
That couldn’t be good. “Is he armed?”
The butler blinked. “No, sir. It’s the Marquis of Fenton.”
Taking a deep breath, Keating finished dressing. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very good, sir.”
As a finishing touch he tucked the slim dagger he always carried into his right Hessian boot. Then, with a swift, reluctant glance at the bottle of whiskey sitting on his dressing table, he descended the stairs. Hooper gestured him toward the morning room, then vanished into the depths of the house. Adam had some very discreet servants.
Keating pushed open the morning room door. “Hello, cousin.”
Fenton was dressed for an evening out as well, though they couldn’t possibly be headed for the same club. After all, the marquis had been banned from The Tantalus Club. His cousin turned from inspecting the clock on the mantel. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“Going to dinner.”
“It’s far too late for you to play at being innocent, Keating. You are here to convince Camille Pryce to return to me. Not to make matters worse.”
“I know why I’m here. And I told you to leave the details to me.” He frowned. “What did you hear?”
“That you’re terrorizing Green Park, kissing every virtuous young lady who crosses your path!”
Well, that sounded like something he would have done—six years ago. “With whom was I strolling, anyway?”
“I don’t give a damn who was with you. There are enough people who know of our kinship that I won’t have you rolling in the mud and dragging me down with you.”
“Interesting. For your information, I was out walking with your betrothed. We crossed paths with her former friends, and I stopped them from beginning any additional gossip.” There. It sounded like that was what he’d intended, anyway. And nothing in heaven or hell would convince him to admit that all he’d been thinking of was the hurt, wary look in Camille Pryce’s pretty blue eyes.
Fenton took a step toward him. “You managed to pry her out of that damned club?”
“I did.”
“You should have informed me. I might have stumbled across you by accident, before you transformed into a public menace.”
“I was already a public menace, and I told you to leave this to me. Now go away before someone sees that you’ve been here and you ruin my reputation.”
Clear annoyance on his face, Stephen nodded. “Very well. But promise me you’ll stop doing that. I asked you to be discreet.”
“I am
“Tell him there’s a queue for that, and I’m likely to be dead long before his turn comes ’round.”
“That might suffice. By the way, I’m going to spend the day at Tattersall’s tomorrow. Care to join me?”
“I have an engagement.” Nor did he have the blunt to purchase any horses. He headed up toward his borrowed rooms to change for dinner.
“You know if something’s afoot you can discuss it with me, Keating.”
He slowed, but didn’t turn around. “Nothing’s afoot, Adam. But thank you. And I’ll attempt to be gone from London before the masses begin calling at your door for my execution.”
Camille’s book of choice kept his interest until well after dark. That Darcy seemed a bit stiff, but he definitely had his eye on the correct Bennett sister. Finally he stretched and sent for Pidgeon to find him something to wear to dinner. In Shropshire he’d ignored invitations—such as they were—until the other area residents stopped sending them. Consequently he hadn’t had much need for proper evening attire, and he was already feeling the lack. As much as it pained him and his purse, he was going to have to purchase some additional clothes.
As he finished tying his cravat, the butler knocked at the half-open bedchamber door. “Mr. Blackwood, you have a caller.”
Keating lowered a brow. “Male, or female?”
“Male.”
That couldn’t be good. “Is he armed?”
The butler blinked. “No, sir. It’s the Marquis of Fenton.”
Taking a deep breath, Keating finished dressing. “I’ll be down in a moment.”
“Very good, sir.”
As a finishing touch he tucked the slim dagger he always carried into his right Hessian boot. Then, with a swift, reluctant glance at the bottle of whiskey sitting on his dressing table, he descended the stairs. Hooper gestured him toward the morning room, then vanished into the depths of the house. Adam had some very discreet servants.
Keating pushed open the morning room door. “Hello, cousin.”
Fenton was dressed for an evening out as well, though they couldn’t possibly be headed for the same club. After all, the marquis had been banned from The Tantalus Club. His cousin turned from inspecting the clock on the mantel. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
“Going to dinner.”
“It’s far too late for you to play at being innocent, Keating. You are here to convince Camille Pryce to return to me. Not to make matters worse.”
“I know why I’m here. And I told you to leave the details to me.” He frowned. “What did you hear?”
“That you’re terrorizing Green Park, kissing every virtuous young lady who crosses your path!”
Well, that sounded like something he would have done—six years ago. “With whom was I strolling, anyway?”
“I don’t give a damn who was with you. There are enough people who know of our kinship that I won’t have you rolling in the mud and dragging me down with you.”
“Interesting. For your information, I was out walking with your betrothed. We crossed paths with her former friends, and I stopped them from beginning any additional gossip.” There. It sounded like that was what he’d intended, anyway. And nothing in heaven or hell would convince him to admit that all he’d been thinking of was the hurt, wary look in Camille Pryce’s pretty blue eyes.
Fenton took a step toward him. “You managed to pry her out of that damned club?”
“I did.”
“You should have informed me. I might have stumbled across you by accident, before you transformed into a public menace.”
“I was already a public menace, and I told you to leave this to me. Now go away before someone sees that you’ve been here and you ruin my reputation.”
Clear annoyance on his face, Stephen nodded. “Very well. But promise me you’ll stop doing that. I asked you to be discreet.”
“I am
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