Page 12 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
“I will. But first I must apologise profusely. In the midst of my anger, I spoke some unkind and untrue words regarding my uncle. Captain Prosser fought a hard battle against the wasting disease and died in pain but with dignity and great courage. He was an example to us all, and I should not have spoken ill of him.”
“We have both behaved in a fashion of which to be ashamed,” admitted Lando in as close to an apology as he could manage. “One’s mood should never dictate one’s manners. But come, let us dine, I have other things to discuss.”
“Why did Charles rarely mention you?” he began after taking his seat at the head of the table.
Under the instruction of the first footman, his guest made himself comfortable at the other end, rendering him as near as dammit in the next county. The sixteen empty chairs betwixt them were impervious to Lando’s directness. Angel, however, allowed his rather generous mouth to curve into another polite smile.
“When our father passed, our uncle took it upon himself to take responsibility for my sister—she had barely turned fourteen—allowing me to concentrate my attentions on making my way.”
He lifted a spoonful of beef consommé to his lips. Lando tried to ignore the bob of his Adam’s apple by taking a (much daintier) spoonful himself. “And,” continued Angel, “two years ago, I found her a position suitable for both her modest station and her retiring temperament as a companion for the dowager Lady Gartside.” Consternation drew a line between his brows. If anything, it added to his jagged handsomeness. “So, I wholly blame myself for her current predicament and am at a loss as how to proceed further.”
Having already devised a simple solution for Miss Angel’s future, namely as a second governess for his sister’s hellish devil spawn, Lando was not to be sidetracked. He put down his spoon, abandoning his consommé, preferring to save what little space his flat belly accommodated for pudding.
“How did you support her?” he questioned in his most imperious tone.
“Oh, by various means.” Angel’s enigmatic smile began with a slight twitch of his top lip before engaging the bottom one, then stretched wide to reveal even, healthy teeth. Two delicious dimples rounded it off.
No, reflected Lando, he was not dead at all underneath the white linen tablecloth. Far from it.
“Expand on those various means,” he demanded.
“Initially, I was a secretary in the employ of Sir Brandon Gower. An elderly gentleman of the Kentish Gowers and, sadly, no longer with us.”
“I did not have the fortune of making his acquaintance.” Lando filed the name away for Robert to check.
“He preferred the company of his bees and his walled garden to society, rarely leaving Kent.”
“And then?”
His companion’s eyes cast down to his soup bowl. “I’d rather not say, my lord. Not all my endeavours befit a gentleman. Especially a gentleman requesting the assistance of a member of the nobility.”
Lando pursued his lips. “Which is precisely why you should own up to them. Or were you planning on lying in addition to blackmail?” He sipped at the last of his claret, then indicated his empty goblet to the first footman, who leaped forward. “Or, perhaps after dinner, you plan to fleece me at cards. Or pilfer my sleeve buttons. Though, as Mr Pritchard, my valet, will attest, they are the devil’s work to take off.” Another sip. “And I never allow myself heavy losses at the card table.”
“You know of my crimes,” said Angel, flatly.
“I do,” acknowledged Lando. “Very little escapes me.”
Fewer things were more satisfying than being underestimated. Perhaps this would be the last time Angel made that mistake. He hoped so because Angel’s shady past served Lando’s purposes remarkably. In fact, as he applauded himself with another swallow of claret, Lando couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt so alive. He smiled prettily.
“You haven’t finished your consommé, my dear Mr Angel. Is my cook’s recipe not to your liking?”
“It’s…it’s… The soup is excellent, my lord.”
“Then I shall pass your compliments to her. Now, where were we?” Lando dabbed at his mouth. “Ah, yes. You were regaling me with your various endeavours. Specifically, your endeavours to be economical with the truth.”
“I can’t deny it,” admitted the other, finding his voice at last. “Though our impromptu, intimate rendezvous at the inn’s stables should have reminded me of the futility of it.”
At mention of the episode, Lando’s thoughts took wing on a scandalous flight of fancy. “Are you good at what you do? Are you…skilled with your hands?”
“Yes.” Angel’s eyes were modestly downcast. “Regrettably, I am. I’ve had a good deal of practice.”
Lando acknowledged that with an incline of his head. “And?”
“And I find myself in the invidious position of admitting to my own nefarious doings whilst expecting you to help me exact revenge on a person committing his own manner of sins.”
Lando toyed with his bread, determinedly averting his gaze from Angel’s remarkably well-shaped hands and absolutely not imagining them roaming anywhere on his person. “Rest assured, I do not lump your misdeeds and Gartside’s in the same bracket. Do you use your…skilled hands to impose your person on ladies unable to defend themselves and brag about it afterwards?”
“No, of course not!”
