Pottson fumbled with the latch, suddenly sweating with premonition. He pulled vigorously on the knob. He could practically hear another curse forming on the visitor’s tongue. No sooner had he unfastened the latch than the door burst open and a large, black-cloaked man strode past him into the room.
Lord Oberlon took in every empty corner of the small, cozy drawing room in an instant. He whirled about to the small, plump man who stood, mouth agape, in the open doorway.
“I presume you are Monteith’s man. Fetch the wretched young puppy this instant. I would have speech with him.”
Pottson knew without being told that he was face to face with the Marquess of Oberlon. Miss Hetty had succeeded.
He licked his tongue over his suddenly dry mouth and stammered, “I I am sorry, your grace, but Lord Harry isn’t here.”
“Your grace, huh? So, my good man, you know who I am. I should have expected as much.”
“Yes, your grace. You must believe me, Lord Harry won’t be back for hours. I don’t know where he is, but he’s with his friends so it will be very late before he returns.”
“Somehow I disbelieve you.” Lord Oberlon turned abruptly from the trembling Pottson down the small corridor to Lord Harry’s bedchamber.
It struck Pottson forcibly in the few moments he stood alone in the drawing room that making all sorts of plans and plots in no way came close to the dreadful reality he now faced. Obviously, his grace had discovered that his mistress had flaunted herself with Lord Harry and was now in the blackest of rages. Gawd, Pottson thought, his legs beginning to tremble beneath him, the marquess was fit to kill.
He searched about frantically in his mind for some way of protecting Miss Hetty. Of all evenings when she might return early, it was this evening. “That disgusting cockfight,” she’d said grimly. “I pray only that I won’t heave all over those pitiful birds.”
Pottson looked up helplessly as the marquess strode back into the room. “What in God’s name is this?” he shouted. He waved Miss Hetty’s gown in front of Pottson’s horrified eyes.
It’s all over now, Pottson thought, not without a feeling of relief. How stupid of him not to have hung up her gown. What an ironic way for all of Miss Hetty’s plans to come to an end. She would skin him alive. “It’s a dress, your grace,” he said, and waited. There was nothing else he could do. Just wait.
“Do you think me blind as well as stupid? Of course it’s a dress. It’s a lady’s gown. It’s obvious that your master is a dissolute young rakehell. Damn, his gall knows no bounds. Because I’m a gentleman, I didn’t search through the closet. If I had, I would have found a trembling naked young maiden awaiting Monteith’s return.”
Pottson thought the world had suddenly taken a faulty turn. He shook his head stupidly.
“You protect him, do you, my good fool? You may now tell me where I can find the perfidious young puppy, else I shall break your skinny neck.” The marquess flung down the gown and walked purposefully toward Pottson.
“I don’t know where Lord Harry is this evening.” Pottson drew himself up to his full diminutive height. “He’s with his friends, that’s all I know.”
Jason Cavander looked fully for the first time into the ashen-hued face of the terrified valet. Damn, the little man had pluck. He didn’t deserve to be beaten for his master’s sins. He reined in his black rage and forced himself to survey the situation rationally. It wouldn’t solve a thing were he to throttle the hapless valet. That the man was loyal to his master, well, he had to admire that, even if his master was a rotten little sod.
Perhaps it was just as well that he hadn’t found Monteith at home, for he admitted to himself, the consequences of his anger might have produced very unpleasant results. He felt like killing the young man, slowly, with great relish.
“Very well,” the marquess said finally. “You will tell your master that the Marquess of Oberlon is desirous of seeing him. If Monteith is not a coward, I shall expect him at White’s tomorrow evening. There, you may tell him, he will apologize to me, in full company.” The marquis paused a moment, then added with deadly preciseness, “If he doesn’t choose to make full apology, or if his bravado extends only to the bedroom, you may expect me to call again. Is that clear?”