Page 84 of The Trouble with Anna

The young men were indeed wobbling, arm in arm, down the street.

Warrick clapped Julian on the back. “The drunken puppies can no longer harm you, my friend. Besides, I’m here to keep you safe.”

Julian straightened as well. He was aware his jaw was tight and his cheeks were dark, though he hoped the blighted alley was even darker. Any show of discomfort on his part would only increase Warrick’s delight. “What devil dragged you back to London? I thought you were heading to the Continent.”

“I’ve been to the Continent and now I’m back. In fact, I was on my way to pay you a call when I saw you duck in here. Naturally, I doubled around to join you.”

“Naturally. I would have done you the courtesy of walking on.”

Warrick laughed. “Yes, but you’ve always had more discipline and I’ve always had more fun. Tell me, how is your young lady? Never say you’re hiding from her.”

“No. In fact, this week she’s avoiding me.”

“Ah! You said she was a woman of great intelligence. I assume there’s some connection between your fiancée and finding you among all this”—he looked around and his nose wrinkled—“splendor?”

“Perhaps.”

“And I was worried I might miss all the fun.” Warrick hesitated, his face pained. “And your sister—how is she?”

“A bloody menace, as usual. I’ll send her your regards, shall I?”

“No need.”

Julian was poised to follow that promising lead when a crack of laughter from the head of the alley distracted him. He flattened himself against the wall again and Warrick joined him, with a raised eyebrow and an expression of naked enjoyment.

Julian gnashed his teeth. He hadn’t felt this ridiculous since he was a boy and Cook had found him, curled up and clutching his stomach, with six portions of rhubarb fool gone missing and a bright pink circle around his mouth.

“Ten to one!” called a merry voice as a group of London bucks began to clatter by. “That’s not what I call sport. I wonder Ramsay hasn’t put a stop to it already.”

“Shouldn’t think he knows!” chimed another. “Marby’s been plenty discreet.”

James Marby, discreet?mouthed Warrick.

Julian ignored him.

“Assuming the race is on, does the chit stand a chance? Stop howling! Her grandfather was Barton and she knows horses. She and Lady Charlotte have been takingyourmoney all Season, Bixby!Though my father says the real brains at Chatham is a chap by the name of John Strongman.”

A fourth voice spoke, low and full of venom. “Ladies keeping betting books, ladies riding races. It’s sick, that’s what it is. Someone needs to pull those trollops over a knee and teach them a lesson!”

Warrick’s laughter faded and he turned to Julian, his face full of questions.

“Steady, Throckton!” said the first buck. “You better shut your mouth before Marby shuts it for you.”

“I’m not afraid of James Marby!”

“Maybe not, but I wager you’re afraid of Lady Charlotte,” said Bixby. “I dare you to go up against her sharp tongue!”

“Afraid of Lady Charlotte?” Throckton yelled back furiously. “I’ll get her on her knees and teach her what to do with her tongue!”

Warrick made not a single sound but all at once his great muscles went tense, like a lion about to pounce. Julian was reminded that his old friend had been a cavalryman and rode seven charges at Waterloo.

“Don’t!” said Julian.

“You’re going to leave that comment standing?” hissed Warrick.

He started forward and Julian grabbed him, holding him back with an iron hand.

Only when the bucks moved on and Julian could no longer hear their raucous shouts in the distance did he release his friend.

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