Tender Rebel
Page 32

"If he can crawl out."
"Where's your faith, man? Malorys always win in the end." And here James grinned. "Besides, she's already weakening, if you haven't noticed. Can't keep her eyes from searching the room for him either. If ever there was a woman smitten, it's Lady Roslynn."
"She just doesn't know it, I suppose?"
"Quite so."
"And what are you two grinning about?" Regina asked as she and Nicholas joined them.
James gave her a brief hug. "The foibles of man, sweet. We can be such asses sometimes."
"Speak for yourself, old man," Nicholas retorted.
"I was excluding myself, actually," James replied, a quirk to his lips as his eyes moved over his nephew by marriage. "But then you're a prime example, Montieth."
"Famous.'.' Regina sighed in exasperation, glaring at both before she ignored them to hook her arm through Conrad's. "Connie, would you rescue me with a dance? I'm tired of getting splattered with the blood from their slashes."
"Love to, squirt." Connie grinned.
James snorted as he watched them twirl away. "She puts it rather plain, don't she?"
"You don't know the half of it," Nicholas grumbled, more to himself. "Try sleeping on the sofa when you have a wife annoyed with you."
James couldn't help it. He burst out laughing. "Good God, you too? That's rich, lad. Damn me if it ain't.
And what have you done to merit—"
"I haven't forgiven you, that's what." Nicholas scowled at this amusement at his expense. "And well she knows it. Every time you and I have words, she lays into me later. When the devil are you leaving London, anyway?"
"My, but that's becoming a source of keen interest." James continued to chuckle. "If it'll keep you on the sofa, dear boy, I may never leave."
"You're all heart, Malory."
"I like to think so. If it's any consolation, I forgave you a long time ago."
"How magnanimous, when you were at fault to begin with. All I did was best you on the high seas—"
"And land me in gaol," James replied, no longer quite so amused.
"Hah! That was after you landed me in my bed to recover from your thrashing, nearly making me miss my own wedding."
"Which you had to be dragged to," James pointed out sourly.
"That's a bloody lie!"
"Is it? Well, you can't deny my brothers had to do a little arm twisting to get you there. Would that I'd been here at the time—"
"But you were, old man—skulking around alleys trying to waylay me."
"Skulking? Skulking!" James blustered.
Nicholas groaned. "Now you've done it with your bloody shouting."
James followed the direction of his gaze to see that Regina was no longer dancing. She was standing in the middle of the dance floor watching them and looking none too pleased, with Connie next to her, trying to look as if he hadn't heard their raised voices too.
"I believe I could use another drink," James said abruptly, grinning. "Enjoy your sofa, lad." And he deserted Nicholas for the refreshment table. Passing Anthony on the way, he couldn't resist commenting,
"You and Montieth ought to compare notes, dear boy. He suffers from the same complaint as you, don't you know."
"Does he?" Anthony scanned the room until his eyes lit on Nicholas. Dryly, he added, "If he does, he's obviously discovered how to correct it."
James chuckled, seeing Nicholas kissing his wife with flagrant disregard for the audience they were attracting. "Damn me if he hasn't got something there.Regan can't very well rail at him if she can't get her lips free."
But Anthony wasn't there to hear this comment. He had heard once again, and one time too many, Roslynn's throaty laugh at some sally her present partner had made. Weaving his way through the dancers until he came to the pair, he tapped Justin Warton on the shoulder none too gently, bringing them to a sudden halt.
"Is something amiss, Malory?" Lord Warton asked cautiously, sensing the underlying menace in Anthony's stance and expression.
"Not at all." Anthony smiled tightly, but his arm shot out to catch Roslynn as she started to edge away.
"Just retrieving what's mine." And with a curt nod, he whirled his wife into the waltz that was still in progress. "Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?"
"I was," Roslynn retorted, keeping her eyes averted from his.
The only indication that the insinuation had struck home was a slight tightening of his fingers on her waist.
"Shall we leave, then?"
"No," she said too quickly.
"But if you're having no fun…"
"I'm—having—fun," she gritted out.
He smiled down at her, watching her eyes dart about the room, anywhere but up at him. He drew her closer, and saw the pulse beat quicken at her throat, and wondered what she would do if he followed Montieth's strategy.
He asked her. "What would you do, sweetheart, were I to end this dance with a kiss?"
"What?"
He had her eyes locked fast to his now. "That sends you into a panic, does it? Why is that?"
"I'm no' panicked, mon."
"Ah, and there's the brogue, a sure sign—"
"Will you shush!" she hissed, his teasing alarming her so, she missed a step in the dance.
Anthony grinned delightedly and decided to let her off the hook for now. Starting something in a ballroom was not only in bad taste but would get him nowhere.
Noting the fortune in diamonds that sparkled on her with each turn into the light, he said in an impersonal tone, "What does a man give a woman who has everything?"
"Something that canna be bought," Roslynn replied absently, for she was still thinking about whatmight happen when this dance ended.
"His heart, perhaps?"
"Perhaps—no—I mean—" she stammered to a halt, glaring up at him, her tone bitter as she continued.
"I'm no' wantingyourheart, mon, no' anymore."
One hand disturbed the curls along her temple. "But what if it's already yours?" he asked softly.
For a moment, Roslynn lost herself in the vivid blue of his eyes. She actually drifted closer to him, was about to offer him her lips, heedless of the crowded room and what was between them. But she came to her senses with a gasp and drew back, glaring at him again.
Furious at herself, she said, "If your heart's mine, then it's mine to do with as I choose, and I'd be choosing to cut it into wee pieces afore I give it back."
"Heartless wench."
"Not so." She smiled wryly, amusing him though she didn't know it. "My heart's right where it's supposed to be, and that's where it'll be staying."
With that, she jerked loose of his hold and flounced off in the direction of his elder brothers. In their presence was the only place she felt safe from Anthony's bold taunts and the supposedly innocent touches of his caressing hands.
Chapter Thirty-four
George gave the door knocker a few sharp raps, then stood back, whistling a jaunty tune as he waited.
It was Dobson who answered.
"You've just missed him, my lord, by five minutes," Dobson informed him before George even started his business.
"The devil, and here I thought I had time to spare," George replied, but he was undaunted. "Right you are, then. He'll be easy enough to find."
George remounted his bay stallion and headed for Hyde Park. He knew the paths Anthony favored, those well away from Rotten Row, where the ladies turned out. He had joined him several times on his morning rides, but then those times had been after a night of carousing, when neither of them had yet to go to bed. Never had he actually gotten up at this ungodly hour to ride or do anything else, for that matter—until recently.
George continued to whistle, his spirits so high he could have been floating along. His habits had changed in the past three days, drastically, but he couldn't have been happier. Early to bed, early to rise, and each day spent with Franny. No, he couldn't be happier, and he owed it all to Anthony. But he had yet to have an opportunity to thank his friend, which was why he had thought to ride with him this morning.
Entering the park, he picked up his pace to catch up with Anthony, but it was a while before he finally spotted him a good distance ahead, and that only because Anthony had stopped at the start of the long run that he usually used for his all-out gallop. George raised his arm, but before he could shout to be heard, a shot was fired.
He heard it, he just didn't believe it. He saw Anthony's horse rear up so far that nearly both rider and horse tumbled over backward, but he still didn't believe it. Anthony did tumble over. The horse found his footing, but he was obviously spooked, shying away, tossing his head, backing into a bush that further spooked him. And a redheaded gent about twenty yards away from Anthony mounted a horse concealed in the brush and took off at an instant gallop.
Anthony had yet to rise, and although it had all happened in the space of only a few seconds, the pieces finally came together in George's mind with heart-stopping clarity. And then Anthony sat up, running a hand through his hair, and the biood rushed back into George's ashen face. He glanced between the fleeing redhead and Anthony pushing himself to his feet, apparently not wounded at all, and made his decision. He turned his horse to follow the redhead.
Anthony had just handed his mount over to the waiting footman to return him to the stable when George cantered up behind him. Bloody hell. He was in no mood for George and his "everything going right"
ebullience. Not that Anthony begrudged him his good fortune. He just didn't need to be reminded how opposite was his own state of affairs.
"So you made it home under your own steam," George remarked, grinning at the instant scowl that darkened Anthony's features. "No broken bones, then?"
"I take it you witnessed my unseating? Nice of you to lend a hand in retrieving that bloody nag of mine."
George chuckled at the deliberate sarcasm. "Thought you might rather have this, old man." He tossed a scrap of paper at Anthony.
Anthony's brow rose just a smidgen as he read the address, which meant nothing to him. "Doctor? Or butcher?" he snarled.
George laughed outright, knowing very well he wouldn't consign his favorite mount to the butcher's block. "Neither. You'll find the red-haired chap who used you for target practice there. Strange fellow.
He didn't even wait around to see if you were down and out for the count. Probably thinks he's a crack shot."
Anthony's eyes were gleaming now. "So you followed him to this address?"
"After I saw you dragging your bruised bones off the ground, of course."
"Of course." Anthony finally smiled. "My thanks, George. His trail was cold by the time I'd mounted up again."
"He the one you've been looking for?"
"I'd say it's a safe bet."
"You going to pay him a call?"
"You may depend upon it."
George wasn't too sure he liked the cold sparkle in his friend's eyes. "Need some company?"
"Not this time, old man," Anthony replied. "This meeting's long overdue."
Roslynn opened the door to the study but was brought up short to find Anthony seated behind his desk, cleaning a pair of dueling pistols. She hadn't heard him return from his morning ride. She had purposely stayed in her room until she heard him leave, not wanting to face him after having made a fool of herself last night.
Anthony had been so amused when she dragged Jeremy home with them from the ball, against the lad's protests too. He knew exactly why she didn't trust herself alone with him, even for such a short ride. But James had left the ball early with his friend, Conrad Sharp. Jeremy was her only buffer. It had been inconceivable for her to think of being alone with Anthony after the way he had taunted her all evening.
Now here she was alone with him, having come to exchange one book for another from his small library.
But he hadn't glanced up when she entered. Perhaps if she left quietly…
"Did you want something, my dear?"
He still hadn't glanced up. Roslynn gritted her teeth. "Nothing that can't wait."
Anthony finally gave her his attention, his eyes flitting to the book she was grasping so tightly in her hands. "Ah, the companion of spinsters and widows. There's nothing like a good book to while away an evening when you've nothing else to do, is there?"
She felt like throwing the book at him. Would he always allude to their estrangement every time they encountered each other? Couldn't he back off long enough for her to come to terms with his unfaithfulness? He acted as ifshewere the guilty party.
Her hackles rose with the unfairness of it, and she attacked. "Preparing for a duel, my lord? I've heard it's one of your more favorite pastimes. Which unfortunate husband is it to be this time?"
"Husband?" Anthony smiled tightly. "Not at all, sweetheart. I thought I'd challenge you. Perhaps if I let
you draw some of my blood, you might be moved to sympathy, and our little war can end."
Her mouth dropped open for at least five seconds before she snapped it shut. "Be serious!"
He shrugged. "Your dear cousin has decided that if he can get rid of your current husband, he will have another chance at you."
"No!" Roslynn gasped, her eyes flaring wide. "I never considered—"