Regency Affairs Part 2: Books 7-12 Of 12. Ann Lethbridge
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just let those damned coins clatter one by one to the floor as if they scorched her. The noise interrupted the pianist, who stopped playing. And the girl stalked off without a backward glance, blonde head held high. Stephen clenched his fists and looked after her. ‘Damn it, I needed to talk to her!’
‘Wrong, Stephen,’ Alec shot back. ‘You need to talk to me.’
‘Not here.’ Stephen sounded quite feverish. ‘For God’s sake, not here, in public!’
This time Alec’s voice was like a whiplash. ‘You make it impossible for me to hold a conversation with you anywhere else. Now, I think you were about to explain to me why you were seen today by the whole of society driving in the park—and you were with her again. Then you come whoring, here. You are—unbelievable.’
‘I had my reasons for coming here! A matter of unexpected business—’
‘Business? Listen, Stephen. Don’t you think it might be a good idea if you suddenly found some unexpected business to take you out of town, for a week, or two, or even longer?’
Stephen moistened dry lips. ‘Are you attempting to threaten me?’
‘If you think I’m merely attempting it, then I’m obviously not making myself clear enough. Let me put it this way. It would be as well for you, brother—it would be very much in your interests—if you disappeared from London for a while.’
‘Damn you! You will not interfere like this!’ Stephen looked round quickly at the avid onlookers who gathered closer. ‘You know, I hold some cards, too, Alec. Push me too far and I’ll play them, I swear!’
Alec gave a lethal half-smile. ‘Then play them, brother mine. Damn well play them. Unlike you, I have nothing whatsoever to lose.’
‘If you think—’
‘For our father’s sake, Stephen,’ broke in Alec warningly, ‘I’ll expect news of your departure in the next day or so.’ He looked around the room and its occupants with scorn. ‘Now, my God, I’m out of here.’
‘Back to your old soldiers,’ muttered Stephen.
Alec swung round on him. ‘My old soldiers smell sweeter than this sewer of a place.’ And he strode off, the crowd parting to make way for him, the door crashing shut after him as he left.
The murmuring rose to excited chatter. All eyes were now fastened on Stephen, who, still flushed with anger, walked quickly towards the ante-room where refreshments were being served, looking, looking all the time. That girl, Stephen swore under his breath. Thanks to his damned brother, that girl, who looked like the other one, had got clean away.
In fact, Rosalie was still there, pressed into a shadowed alcove. She saw that slowly the room was returning to normal. Dr Barnard had arrived and, suspecting there’d been trouble of some kind, he spoke curtly to his wife, who began to play the piano again extremely loudly. Dr Barnard called out that the wine was on the house and a cheer was raised; couples started returning to the dance floor.
But Rosalie’s pulse rate showed no sign of calming.
Something had happened to her when the Captain drew near. It wasn’t just that he was so handsome. It was because he was so different from all these other men. It was as if he was some kind of rebel, walking alone and unarmed into an enemy camp, quite heedless of any consequences. And close up, she’d been able to see even more clearly how his overlong dark hair, his ill-tied neckcloth, the shabby long coat that moulded itself to the powerful muscles of his shoulders and chest, only added to the hint of danger that blazed in those emotion-packed eyes.
He was, quite simply, devastating. And he thought her a whore. Pay her off—or I will.
She shivered. She saw that the man Stephen was now talking in a low voice to some footmen at the door. She didn’t want to see any more of him either, and the sooner she was out of here the better …
‘Ros. Ros? Thank God I’ve found you, girl.’ It was Sal, tugging at her sleeve. ‘Now listen, you’ve done me a favour, so I’ll do you one, right? Dr Barnard, he’s after you. Someone’s said to him you’ve got some connection with a London gossip rag.’
Oh, no. Rosalie caught her breath and tried to laugh. ‘Ridiculous—what on earth makes him think that?’
‘No use trying flummery with this one, gal. Our Danny-boy’s told Dr B. he’s seen you out deliverin’ news sheets. And soon as he’s got everyone back and busy on the dance floor, Dr Barnard is going to be huntin’ for you, see?’
Oh, Lord. Rosalie was already on her way, hurrying through the crowd to the back staircase.
Down to the office first, for that all-important book of clients. Then—she’d be on her way.
Alec was walking steadily down the stairs. His brother would do as he’d said and clear out of town for a while, no doubt of that—Stephen’s knees had actually been shaking. Though whether Stephen’s departure was the solution to a stinking mess or merely a temporary reprieve was another matter altogether.
And Alec was still puzzled as to why Stephen was here. He’d said he had business here—unexpected business. But … with a sweet-faced whore who refused his money almost in disgust?
Alec paused at a branching of the stairs, his brow dark with thought. When, exactly, had Stephen started hating him? Probably the day Alec was born, unfortunately.
‘You. Always you,’ Stephen had hissed just now.
Long ago, on his fifth birthday, Alec had been tearing round the estate on a lively pony—his birthday gift—when it stumbled over a fallen branch on a woodland path. Alec had been thrown, breaking his leg.
He’d imagined he saw Stephen, a little ahead of him between the trees, watching him. And days later, lying bed-bound and drowsy with medicines for the pain, he’d heard their father say to their mother, in Alec’s bedroom, ‘To think that Stephen was capable of such mischief. God help me, but, young though they are, I find myself wishing more and more that Alec were the heir …’
His parents had not seen, as Alec had, his brother lurking outside the half-open door, his eyes venomous with the beginnings of the hatred Alec had noticed just now.
Yes, it was Stephen who’d laid that branch across Alec’s path and their father knew it. So did the groom, who warned Alec, grim-faced, when he was getting used to riding again after his leg healed, You watch out for that brother of yours, Master Alec, sir.
As he grew up, Alec had never cared that Stephen was the heir rather than himself. But he knew that Stephen would never forgive him for what their father had said—ever.
He’d barely reached the first-floor landing of the Temple of Beauty when he heard heavy footsteps on the stairs above him. He glanced around. Two of Dr Barnard’s footmen, burly brutes both, were heading downwards also and he stepped aside to let them pass.
They didn’t.
They came directly towards him. Their faces were twisted with an emotion Alec recognised all too easily. The hunger for a fight. Damn it.
The bigger one, a beefy wretch with some missing teeth, went for Alec with his fist, clearly intending a blow straight to the gut. But Alec caught the man a swinging punch to the jaw that made his victim stagger and fall with his hand to his mouth. More of his teeth gone, hopefully. In virtually the same moment Alec whipped back his elbow into the stomach of the other brute, driving the wind from his lungs so that he bent double and had to gasp for air.
If they wanted a mill, they’d got it. But Alec knew this would be Stephen’s doing. And now—hell, now was going to be difficult, because three more of Dr Barnard’s henchmen were coming from the other direction, speeding up as they saw their two felled comrades struggling to their feet …
Not playing fair, Stephen. But then, you never did. With a bit of luck Alec knew he could fling a couple of