Page 7 of The Duke of Kisses
David regarded him with a dash of skepticism. “I needn’t stay?”
Anthony shook his head, then fixed him with a mischievous stare. “But you may want to. You’ll presumably be on the hunt for a countess, and there are plenty of charming and attractive young ladies.”
Yes, he would marry, but he wasn’t on the hunt. Furthermore, he couldn’t seem to stop thinking of the young woman he’d met at Christmastide. But Frances was a housemaid, and dwelling on her alluring wit and delectable lips did him no good. Perhaps this ball would be just the thing for him to fully inhabit this role of earl that he’d seemed reluctant to accept. It was past time, his father would say.
“All right. I’ll go.”
Anthony’s gaze lit, but it wasn’t focused on David. His attention was fixed over his shoulder, causing David to turn his head. “What splendid timing,” Anthony said.
Another gentleman approached their table. He was a bit taller and leaner than Anthony, his hair darker, and his face longer. This had to be the Earl of Ware.
“Felix, come meet our new friend, St. Ives.”
St. Ives wasn’t a name he was used to being called. He’d been Viscount Woodhurst forever. The past seven months had been an adjustment, and he still wasn’t fully where he needed to be. Wherever that was.
David started to rise, but Ware waved him back down. “No need to get up,” he said. “Pleasure to meet you, St. Ives.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” David indicated the empty chair to his left. “Care to join us for a few minutes?”
“Indeed. My fortification is on its way.” Ware deposited his slender frame into the chair.
“He means brandy,” Anthony said. “But I’m sure you deduced that.”
A footman brought a glass to the table, and Ware raised his tumbler in toast. “To our new friend, the Earl of St. Ives. May you find whatever your heart desires here in London, and may your debauchery be both clandestine and satisfying.”
Ware laughed and tapped his tumbler against Anthony’s, then turned to do the same to David. “Welcome.”
David took a drink as he pondered the toast. Debauchery? “Er, what is it you do here in town?”
“I think you frightened him,” Anthony said. “Ignore Felix. He likes to be provocative.”
“No, Iamprovocative. There’s a difference.”
Anthony rolled his eyes but smiled at the same time. “He’s also harmless. To us, anyway. Do not, however, get on his bad side.”
“Duly noted.” David took another sip of brandy before setting his glass back on the table. “What else do I need to know? I’ll be taking my seat in the Lords day after tomorrow and going to court next week.”
“Ah, the pomp and circumstance,” Anthony said. “Court isn’t terribly taxing, and it must be done. As for your seat in the Lords, I will leave that to Ware since I have yet to take mine and won’t for many years to come.”
Anthony’s father was still alive, and perhaps young and fit as David’s had been. The grief he carried pushed him to say that Anthony couldn’t rely onanything, but he wouldn’t darken the mood. Instead, he turned to Ware. “Any advice?”
“None.” Ware’s mouth stretched into a brief but somewhat humorless smile before he took a drink of brandy. His green eyes seemed a bit cool, but he turned his head quickly, looking over his shoulder, so that David couldn’t be sure if he’d seen any emotion at all. When he turned back around, he leaned forward a bit and lowered his voice. “Rumor has it young Hornsby plans to call out Royston for breaking his sister’s heart.”
“Good Christ,” Anthony said. “I would defend my sister’s honor to the death, but you can’t fault a man for not wanting to court a young lady.”
David looked between them. “What’s the issue?”
Ware angled himself toward David. “After dancing with Mr. Bernard Royston on two occasions, Miss Dahlia Hornsby developed an infatuation for said gentleman. When a courtship was not forthcoming, she is said to have been devastated. Her brother, Barnard—do not confuse him withBernard—Hornsby, pledged to defend her honor.”
“But her honor wasn’t besmirched. Or am I missing something?” David expected London to have rules that he hadn’t encountered before, but this made no sense.
“No, you have the right of it,” Anthony said. He fixed his gaze on Ware. “Is Hornsby here? Is that why you turned to look?”
“I thought I heard that he was, and I’d hate to miss the scene if there is to be one.”
Anthony slid an amused glance toward David. “Felix could organize the event and ensure a vast audience—if Hornsby wanted one.”
“Will he actually call Royston out, and will Royston accept the challenge?” David had heard of men dueling for nonsensical reasons, but surely someone would inject some much-needed reason with these gentlemen. “Have they no one to talk sense into them?”
