Sir Harry was depressed. He’d already drunk too much brandy, and his bowels were fiery warm. If only he could wipe away Isabella’s pale, pensive face from his mind. He hadn’t meant to argue with her over receiving Lord Harry, yet when she herself had spoken so enthusiastically about Lord Monteith, he hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut. She’d said to him in a tight little voice, “I would rather marry him than Sir William Filey,” and he’d yelled at her, “Ah, then do it, Madam. Both are rakehells. Yes, take the younger, why not? He’ll show no more fidelity, you’ll see.”
He gulped down another swig of brandy, and gazed morosely into the glass.
“I’m glad you are come tonight, Harry.”
Sir Harry looked up into the face of Lord Harry and grunted. “You said it was urgent that I come to White’s this evening. What is it you wish to announce your marriage to Isabella?”
Harry looked like hell, she thought. “No, this has nothing to do with Isabella, though there is much I could tell you on that score, would you but listen.”
Sir Harry gave Lord Harry a nasty look then drank more brandy.
“Don’t become foxed, Harry. I have need of you this evening. I need you clearheaded. I need you with me.”
Sir Harry looked up quickly. “What the devil are you talking about? What are you brewing? You sound damned serious and I don’t like it.” Lord Harry turned suddenly, his attention riveted toward the doorway.
He followed Lord Harry’s gaze and quickly placed his brandy glass on the table. In the doorway stood the Marquess of Oberlon and Harry’s brother-in-law, the Earl of March. He felt Lord Harry stiffen beside him.
“Come, Harry, you must not fail me. I can count on you, can’t I?”
“Of course.” Harry rose quickly to stand next to Lord Harry. “Dammit, tell me what’s going on. By God, what have you done?” Even across the room, he sensed the tension from the earl and the marquess. He saw the tight closed look on Lord Harry’s face. He walked beside his friend toward the earl and marquess. As they drew closer, he saw his brother-in-law’s cool gray eyes alight upon him, first in surprise, then in anger. He would have liked to stop dead in his tracks, yet his feet moved forward.
“So you have come.”
The marquess spoke directly to Lord Harry, his words so very simple, yet Harry felt the icy spray of unspoken words fill the air.
“Yes, I am come. I have many failings, your grace, but I submit that cowardice and arrogant cruelty aren’t among them. Perhaps your grace would care to elaborate upon these most interesting flaws of character.”
Sir Harry was too stunned by his friend’s insult to do more than gaze at him openmouthed.
Strangely enough, at least in Sir Harry’s eyes, the Marquess of Oberlon didn’t so much as flick an eyelid at Lord Harry’s outrageous remarks. Indeed, his dark eyes seemed to gleam all the brighter.
Actually, Jason Cavander felt a strange sense of anticipation. He’d known that young Monteith wouldn’t apologize to him. He didn’t know why he was so certain, but he was. He’d hoped at the very least to push the young gentleman into explaining his obvious hatred for him. So, he would just have to push a bit more. He raised a black brow that made him look haughtier than the Prince Regent, and drawled with an obnoxious sneer, “You have but to provide me with suitable circumstances and I would be most willing to explain cowardice and cruelty to you, Monteith. Without a frame of reference, though, I fear I am unable to the task. If you wish to pursue flaws of character, perhaps you can readily enlighten me upon the seduction of other men’s women. It begins to seem that you’re another Sir William Filey in the making. Shall I counsel you to beware of the pox or are you already well schooled on the pitfalls of falling in bed with so many women?”
He’d turned her own arguments against her. He was a master at this, she’d known that he must be. He was a nobleman, a Corinthian, a man who was ruthless, a man who would do whatever was necessary to gain his own ends. Knowing all that, she hadn’t been prepared. She could but try. She raised her chin, trying to achieve that disdain, that cold ridicule that flowed so easily from him, that contempt that told her without words that she was less than a fly on the table, that she was nothing.