than appropriate to a man his age. “I refuse to lose another brother to the plague. We must stand strong against the bastions of female domination.”
James merely laughed. “We shall see.”
Garret didn’t care for the sound of that. But the subject was done. They approached the rest of the hunting party and the sound of the beaters echoed over the field. In a few moments, every attempt to shoot all the birds from the sky in some perverse rain would begin.
Glancing at his brother, James, Garret couldn’t help but wonder how exactly he could set him off Harriet. There was no way in hell he would allow such a marriage to take place.
And it had nothing to do with the fact that, once, he had been so sure the woman was his. No. It was because she was not to be trusted.
James was so bloody nice. He had no idea what he was getting involved in. She’d destroy him.
She was cruel, conniving, and completely without virtue.
Well, that last bit wasn’t really such a horrid thing. Not when he thought about how last eve they had come so close to touching. It was remarkable really that, even though they had stood so close and she had drank directly from his glass, they had not touched.
“John!” James bellowed, looking about the field. “I have no idea where that dolt has gotten to.”
“Coming!” a voice shouted from behind them.
There the wastrel was, accompanied by two other men. Knowing John, it wasn’t entirely certain that they were gentleman, even though they were dressed as such.
John strode across the field, his russet hair somehow managing to shine in the early morning fog. The bounder really was impossible.
“Do forgive,” he called. “My friends just arrived in the town and I couldn’t leave them behind.”
As the three men, all as good looking as Grecian statues, neared, John turned to Mr. Trent who gaped quite openly, his white hair askew.
“It is horrible of me,” John waxed pleasantly, “but could you possibly make room in the party for them? Lords Conrade and Barrly.”
Mr. Trent’s white-haired head bobbed back and forth between the two men whose hunting kit, no doubt, cost as much as Mr. Trent’s entire wardrobe. Wealthy as he may be, Trent still hadn’t quite gotten the gist of the way the truly idle clothed themselves. “Lords. . . Of course,” Trent said quickly, his voice full of jovial welcome. “Of course. It is always a pleasure to have such distinguished company about.”
Lord Conrade inclined his dark head ever so slightly, his wine red coat stiff and perfect about his own overbred stance. “A pleasure and an honor to be included. Barrly and I do love a wedding.”
“Who could not?” Barrly asked, lifting a cigar to his ever so slightly wet lips.
Garret eyed the two men with growing suspicion. He’d heard of both young men. All of society probably had. Lord Conrade was a poet and a soldier. Positively Byronic in his looks.
Barrly was not only known for his blazing red hair, a product of his wild mother, but for his father, one of the wealthiest land owners and most important politicians in the empire. Both young men were reputed for their conquests in the bedroom, their gaming habits, and their ability to kill men at a hundred paces with a pistol.
John had certainly found himself an intriguing crowd. Considering he was a bastard and only in funds as far as James allowed.
James was glancing at the two young men with his own suspicions, but it would hardly do for them to toss out two of the most important gentlemen of the country. Just because of rumors. No matter how likely they were true.
Lord Conrade beamed at Edward. “I hear your bride-to-be is positively stunning.”
Edward, fool that he was about Emmaline, beamed right back. “Oh she is indeed! No one as beautiful in the whole of the world, I dare say.”
“Perhaps you shall meet her this evening, Conrade,” John supplied smoothly, and then turned his gaze pointedly to Mr. Trent.
The older man looked
James merely laughed. “We shall see.”
Garret didn’t care for the sound of that. But the subject was done. They approached the rest of the hunting party and the sound of the beaters echoed over the field. In a few moments, every attempt to shoot all the birds from the sky in some perverse rain would begin.
Glancing at his brother, James, Garret couldn’t help but wonder how exactly he could set him off Harriet. There was no way in hell he would allow such a marriage to take place.
And it had nothing to do with the fact that, once, he had been so sure the woman was his. No. It was because she was not to be trusted.
James was so bloody nice. He had no idea what he was getting involved in. She’d destroy him.
She was cruel, conniving, and completely without virtue.
Well, that last bit wasn’t really such a horrid thing. Not when he thought about how last eve they had come so close to touching. It was remarkable really that, even though they had stood so close and she had drank directly from his glass, they had not touched.
“John!” James bellowed, looking about the field. “I have no idea where that dolt has gotten to.”
“Coming!” a voice shouted from behind them.
There the wastrel was, accompanied by two other men. Knowing John, it wasn’t entirely certain that they were gentleman, even though they were dressed as such.
John strode across the field, his russet hair somehow managing to shine in the early morning fog. The bounder really was impossible.
“Do forgive,” he called. “My friends just arrived in the town and I couldn’t leave them behind.”
As the three men, all as good looking as Grecian statues, neared, John turned to Mr. Trent who gaped quite openly, his white hair askew.
“It is horrible of me,” John waxed pleasantly, “but could you possibly make room in the party for them? Lords Conrade and Barrly.”
Mr. Trent’s white-haired head bobbed back and forth between the two men whose hunting kit, no doubt, cost as much as Mr. Trent’s entire wardrobe. Wealthy as he may be, Trent still hadn’t quite gotten the gist of the way the truly idle clothed themselves. “Lords. . . Of course,” Trent said quickly, his voice full of jovial welcome. “Of course. It is always a pleasure to have such distinguished company about.”
Lord Conrade inclined his dark head ever so slightly, his wine red coat stiff and perfect about his own overbred stance. “A pleasure and an honor to be included. Barrly and I do love a wedding.”
“Who could not?” Barrly asked, lifting a cigar to his ever so slightly wet lips.
Garret eyed the two men with growing suspicion. He’d heard of both young men. All of society probably had. Lord Conrade was a poet and a soldier. Positively Byronic in his looks.
Barrly was not only known for his blazing red hair, a product of his wild mother, but for his father, one of the wealthiest land owners and most important politicians in the empire. Both young men were reputed for their conquests in the bedroom, their gaming habits, and their ability to kill men at a hundred paces with a pistol.
John had certainly found himself an intriguing crowd. Considering he was a bastard and only in funds as far as James allowed.
James was glancing at the two young men with his own suspicions, but it would hardly do for them to toss out two of the most important gentlemen of the country. Just because of rumors. No matter how likely they were true.
Lord Conrade beamed at Edward. “I hear your bride-to-be is positively stunning.”
Edward, fool that he was about Emmaline, beamed right back. “Oh she is indeed! No one as beautiful in the whole of the world, I dare say.”
“Perhaps you shall meet her this evening, Conrade,” John supplied smoothly, and then turned his gaze pointedly to Mr. Trent.
The older man looked
Similar Books
