Page 57 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
Even if Lando and Tommy hadn’t been abreast of the truth, there would have been no escaping it, writ large across Gartside’s waxy face. On the cusp of finishing his accusation, Tommy clamped his mouth shut. Clever Sir Richard had done it for him.
“Good heavens, no.” Lando endeavoured to appear aghast. He turned to his cousin. “That is an…no, Sir Richard. I beg you to retract. That is simply…well, it’s—”
“It’s the truth. Isn’t it, Gartside? As t-t-true as I-I’m sitting here!”
Gartside’s voice was barely a whisper. “Yes. I gave the swine two hundred pounds.”
A dense hush followed as the enormity of what he’d done sank a little deeper. Lando counted a minute under his breath, and then another, trying to prevent a faint smile touching the corners of his lips. After a suitable interval, he sat up a little straighter, patiently waiting for all eyes once again to return to him. As he once again took command of the room, a frosty hauteur swept across his still features. It never hurt to remind everyone of his senior rank as the eleventh Earl of Rossingley. When his silvery gaze pierced Gartside, even Sir Richard seemed cowed.
“How jolly…unsporting of you.” Like icicles, his words crystallised in the air, each one clear and precise. “How…ungentlemanly. Your dear father, rest his soul, would be appalled.”
Tilting his head to one side, Lando studied the stunned, broken creature in front of him. Waiting for him to respond, he counted to ten once more. Would he sob like a baby or lash out like a cornered animal? Under Lando’s instruction, there were footmen positioned outside the door.
Eagerly, Tommy leaned forward in his seat. “Hey, do you fellas still duel?”
Lando’s gaze never left Gartside’s. “No longer to the death. More’s the pity.”
Reeling wildly, Gartside took in all three seated men. “Angel’s made fools of you too.” Spittle flew from his lips as his arms flailed. “Have you thought of that? We’ll all of us be destroyed if word of this gets out.”
Tommy laughed. “Not me.” He rubbed his hands in glee. “All I’ve got is a fine old tale to tell back home, even if I can’t add a duel to it.”
“N-n-not me either. I d-d-didn’t give the m-m-man money, d-did I?”
“And nor did I,” added Lando, twisting the knife. “Therefore, just one of us will be ruined, it seems. I believe Lady Butterworth is hosting the first ball of the season tomorrow evening. Were you hoping to attend, Gartside?”
“I…yes, damn you!” Gartside clutched at his hair. “All this is your fault, Rossingley! You and your blasted mills. Should never have listened to you. Any of you.”
“Or you could have simply bid for the venture in the conventional way,” suggested Lando. “Like a gentleman. And then, imposter or not, all of us would have walked away with our finances and our honour intact.”
As pleasant as observing Gartside’s world crashing around his ears was, Lando was very keen to move things along. Somewhere out there, his poor Kit must be at his wits’ end. And more than anything, if he could help it, Lando didn’t want to spend another hour apart from him.
“I suggest you avoid Lady Butterworth’s.” He flicked his eyes up to Sir Richard, struggling to hide his glee. “In fact, I suggest you avoid thetonaltogether for the time being. Your continued presence will…well, it will not end happily for you.”
“Are you threatening me?” Gartside’s eyes had a menacing unruliness to them.
“No. I’m merely pointing out the truth. In a word, your character is besmirched. Beyond repair. And that’s before Cobham discovers tonight’s goings on. You know how he likes to tattle. And he’s not terribly fond of you to begin with, is he?” Lando straightened his cuffs and stood. “I think it’s time I rang for a footman to show you out, don’t you?”
Lando’s hand hovered over the bell. Gartside shook his head, knowing he was beaten. “I will see myself out. Good day.”
Everyone watched him walk to the door with much less alacrity than he’d entered. Lando almost felt sorry for the man until he remembered Kit’s poor sister and the tales of his hungry by-blows sleeping in draughty barns.
“One s-s-second.” Sir Richard leaped from his chair, halting Gartside in his tracks. “You forgot something, Ambrose.” He marched up to where Gartside stood, eyeing him coldly.
“Did I? What?”
“This.”
Before Gartside saw it coming or had time to duck, Sir Richard swung his arm back, clenched his fist, and socked him on the jaw. It was a blow so masterful they could probably feel its aftereffects all the way to Piccadilly. Looking for all the world as though he might do it again, Sir Richard rubbed his knuckles with satisfaction.
“That’s f-f-for Eton. You bastard.”
Not much shocked Tommy Squire. Sir Richard, however, had succeeded, Lando observed. As Gartside staggered from the room, Tommy rose to his feet.
“I do believe I’ve had enough excitement for one evening, gentlemen. It’s been…well…” He extended a bracing handshake to Sir Richard. “Here’s to hoping I never find myself on your bad side, my good sir.”
Turning to Lando, Tommy threw him a private wink, then swept a low bow. “I’m heading back across the pond first thing in the morning. So, I’ll wish you both a very good evening, gentlemen. Lord Rossingley? It will be a pleasure to continue doing business with you.”
After he’d gone, Lando poured himself and Sir Richard a thimble of port, then collapsed back in his chair, no longer trusting his legs. “All those afternoons at Jackson’s have paid off, Richard.” With a quick grin, he downed his drink in one gulp then blew out a sigh of relief. “My, oh, my. It’s been quite the afternoon.”
