Page 143 of Thief of the Ton
He picked up the teacup and grimaced at the spike of pain. A shard of porcelain had sliced through his thumb, and a droplet of blood swelled on his skin.
“Fuck.” He rose to his feet. “Fuck, fuck,fuck!” He threw the cup at the far wall, where it shattered on impact, just as the door opened to reveal the footman, a resigned expression on his face.
“You have a visitor, sir.”
“Tell him to go to hell.”
“Is that whereyou’reresiding, Marlow?” a familiar voice said.
Lord Hythe stood in the doorway.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Peregrine asked.
Hythe glanced at the remnants of crockery beside the door, and the egg on the carpet. Then he addressed the footman. “My good fellow—would you be so kind as to fetch a pot of strong, sweet tea and bring it to the morning room? There’s no need to show me the way.”
The footman glanced at Peregrine, apprehension in his eyes.
“Be assured,” Hythe continued, “that if your master dismisses you, I’ll not only kick his arse, but I’ll find you a position in a more congenial household.”
“Very good, Lord Hythe.”
The traitorous footman scuttled off.
Peregrine opened his mouth to speak, but Hythe raised his hand. “Come along, young man,” he said in the manner of a schoolmaster. “You’ll achieve nothing imbibing brandy.”
“It’s my bloody brandy.”
Hythe let out a sigh. “Whatever you pay that footman, it’s not enough,” he said.
“Why are you come to disturb my breakfast?”
“I have some news, which should be to your advantage.”
“There’s nothing you can say that would possibly be to my advantage.”
“Not even the release without charge of a certain young lady?”
Hope flared, mingled with disbelief.
“The…what?”
Hythe nodded. “I have it on good authority that Miss de Grande is now a free woman.”
“Whose authority?”
“Stiles,” Hythe said. “Miss de Grande is currently residing with Lady Betty Grey, and recovering from her ordeal.”
Peregrine suppressed a cry as a ripple of relief washed through his body. He pitched forward as the world slipped out of focus. Two thin arms caught him, and for a moment, he clung to his guest, weak with relief. Then he straightened himself and brushed his sleeves.
“Forgive me for making such an unseemly outburst, Hythe.”
The older man laughed. “I’d have thought much less of you had you weathered the information with dispassion. I always believed you’d grow up to be a better man than your father. I’m happy to be proved right.”
He took Peregrine’s arm and marched him to the parlor, where a maid was setting down a tea tray. She bobbed a curtsey.
“Thank you,” Peregrine said. “Please tell…” He made a random gesture in the air. What was that footman’s name?
“Simon?” the maid prompted.
