Before the Fire Page 20

  “Yes.”

  “If you’re not laughing, then turn to face me. Both of you.”

  The women inhaled deeply, steadying themselves against the upcoming battle of mirth. Kane faced him first and then Melea, both of them seemingly composed.

  Then the countess made a serious tactical error—she dared to look from her husband’s face up to the white wig sitting atop his head like a nesting place for some species of deranged bird. She burst out laughing. Melea followed in suit.

  George sighed, clapping his hand to his forehead. He felt another megrim coming on.

  Chapter 29

  George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and heir apparent to the Duke of Browning, felt like a ninny. His wife, insufferable wench that she was, managed to look ravishing even with her face painted and her hair powdered the color of fallen snow. He, on the other hand, believed he looked as awkward as he felt.

  This was why he never came to court. He couldn’t stand all the fuss that was made in regard to painting one’s person over like a garish peacock. And that’s precisely how he felt—like an overgrown, six foot five inch peacock with white hair.

  His peahen was even now dancing with the king while he, her lord husband, was forced to stand on the sidelines attempting not to spill his glass of bubbly on Lady Trumdale’s foot tall powdered pink wig. In fact, if the daft woman didn’t get her hair out from under his nose, he was like as not going to spill it apurpose.

  George fished his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and eyed the time. His mother and Blake managed to escape well over an hour ago. He wanted to do the same. George sighed his relief as he took in the time, knowing the king was apt to early hours and would no doubt wish to retire soon. He searched out his wife on the dance floor, watching her laugh uproariously at some comment His Majesty had just made. His peahen appeared to be enjoying herself.

  “There you are Blackmore. Didn’t think I’d find you in this crush.”

  George turned on his heel and came eye to eye with Alex. He frowned. “I don’t want to be here, if the truth be known. No choice in the matter.” He shrugged his shoulders, grinning. “You know the way of it.”

  Alex snorted. “Ah yes, the way of the royal summons.” He cleared his throat as he did a thorough scan of the ballroom. In a voice he hoped was nonchalant, he asked for Melea’s whereabouts. “Did she join you and the countess this evening?”

  “Yes she did. Unhappily so.”

  The marquess raised a curious brow but said nothing. George shook his head and grinned. “She and my wife both had to be forced, manipulated, and otherwise coerced into donning their powdered wigs. They both hate them with a passion.”

  “Can’t say I blame them,” Alex muttered.

  “Nor I.”

  “Ever since Kane pointed out the fact that I look like a man whose seen one hundred earth years when I sport the wig, I haven’t been able to look at one in quite the same light.”

  George laughed, saluting his best friend with his glass of champagne. “Nor I.”

  The earl and the marquess were interrupted a moment later when the countess in question strolled up to their sides. “Greetings Alex!” Kane beamed. “I’ve missed you terribly! Where have you kept yourself these past two weeks?”

  Alex took Kane’s hand and kissed her upturned palm chastely in greeting. “And I have missed you and the old man here as well.” He winked at her mischievously when he heard George’s grunt. “I had some problems with a couple of my estates that I had to attend to at once,” he replied on a serious note. “But that is over now. Tell me,” he inquired smoothly as he peered over the countess’s shoulder, “where is Melea?”

  “Looking for you.”

  Alex arched a brow. “Oh? I’d been given the impression I was the last man on earth she wanted to see.”

  Kane smiled warmly at him. “Impressions can be deceiving,” she answered cryptically.

  Alex grinned. “Let us hope so.”

  “So tell me,” George interrupted, placing his hand on his wife’s arm. “Did you enjoy your dance with the king?”

  “Yes!” Kane nodded her head up and down vigorously. “Insane or not, he’s quite funny, actually. And a great dancer. Wore me out, he did.”

  George smiled lecherously, thinking of all the ways he’d wear his lady wife out this evening. Kane blushed, knowing that familiar smile all too well. “Oh!” she retorted, remembering what it was she wanted to tell her husband. “I forgot to mention what the king told me.”

  “What was that?”

  She leaned in closer to George and Alex, lowering her voice to a controlled hush. “His Majesty banned Baron Montieth from court for three years as a punishment for offending me.”

  “Really?” George inquired, pleased with the king’s interference.

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent!” Alex patted George on the back, as pleased as the earl was.

  Kane retrieved her fan from her reticule and began airing herself. “I should have realized earlier that Montieth had been banned.”

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders dismissively. “Nothing much. It’s just that the Earl of Trent gave me a warning earlier in the evening when he and I danced. I should have figured out myself what it was about.”

  “A warning?” George retorted.

  Kane shook her head in the affirmative. “Yes. He said his son—Viscount Freemont—was, and I quote, ‘present when Montieth received his reprimand’, and that his heir insisted he, quote, ‘overheard the baron mutter something about exacting his revenge for the slight’.” She lifted her shoulders and sighed. “It didn’t dawn on me what the earl was referring to until the king mentioned Montieth’s banishment.”

  “Interesting,” George mumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at nothing in particular as his mind began furrowing through the information his wife had innocently passed on. The fact that Viscount Freemont had been with Baron Montieth when he was castigated made no sense to him. And it didn’t sit well with him either. There was more to this story than what met the eye. He decided he would have to pay the Earl of Trent’s heir a visit before he and his wife made their way to the country on the morrow.

  Kane, oblivious to the goings on in her husband’s mind, tugged at the sleeve of his waistcoat and smiled. “I want to get some air. This fan doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.”

  He nodded his ascent. “Would you care to join us, Alex?”

  “Certain—”

  “No,” Kane answered for him. She winked at the marquess, imploring him to look behind himself.

  He did. “Ah,” Alex grinned. “There’s my little shrew now.” He located her near the refreshment table, chatting it up with Lady Brimmel. The marquess turned back to the earl and countess and inclined his head politely. “If you will excuse me?”

  George chuckled. “But of course.”

  “Come on, George,” Kane giggled. “We know when we’re not wanted.” She dragged her husband off toward the balcony doors.

  Alex strolled toward Melea leisurely like a panther waiting to pounce. He could easily surmise that she was growing bored listening to Lady Brimmel prattle on about something or another. He felt a momentary sense of sympathy for his little harridan, realizing all too well how much the viscountess enjoyed hearing her own voice, grating though it was.

  When he met up with his quarry, Alex arched a challenging eyebrow down to the Warrior Woman. He inclined his head toward Lady Brimmel. “Good evening, my lady.”

  “My lord,” Lady Brimmel replied, batting her gauche eyelashes up to him.

  “If you will excuse the two of us,” Alex pompously announced, “I believe Melea has agreed to join me for a walk in the royal gardens.” He grinned down at her, waiting for her to naysay him.

  Melea wanted to smack the powdered wig off of the impossibly handsome and arrogant humanoid’s head. If she declined his offer, she would be stuck listen
ing to boring Lady Brimmel rattle on about her refined sensibilities—whatever in the galaxies those were. But if she agreed to walk with him, which she very much wanted to do, she was afraid one thing would lead to another and…

  By Nero’s moons. The things that walk might lead to!

  Throwing caution to the wind, Melea inclined her head to the marquess. “Yes. I believe I did.” She placed her hand on his arm and allowed Alex to lead her through the fray and toward the balcony doors.

  “At last I have you to myself, my little shrew,” Alex breathed near her ear as they walked through the doors and into the night air. “Now whatever will I do with you?” he whispered thickly.

  Melea gulped. She could think of a dozen things off the top of her head, none of them pure, all of them more enticingly wicked than the last. “I, uh, I—”

  Alex squeezed her arm, effectively silencing her. “I find that your words rarely please me, my tempting little harridan. So do us both a favor and don’t speak.” He picked up his pace, all but dragging her behind a secluded bush.

  When they reached their destination, Melea whipped herself around and scowled up at the marquess, her hands fisted on her hips. “My words rarely please you?”

  Alex leaned in closer to the Warrior Woman. He traced the outline of her jaw with his large hand. “’Tis what I said,” he breathed.

  Melea gulped—again. “W-Why?”

  Alex chuckled, shaking his head in mirth. “As if I need answer that. When you’re not avoiding me altogether,” he instructed her as he traced his index finger over the contour of her lips, “you’re either harping at me or offending me.”

  Melea closed her eyes against the pleasure. She didn’t want to mount a non-inoculated male. Okay, she did want to mount him, she mentally corrected herself, but it was too much to risk. “I see,” she whispered hoarsely.

  As if her mouth had a mind of its own, she parted her lips slightly and drew the tip of Alex’s finger to her tongue. She suckled it slowly, wantonly, as she opened her tawny eyes and gazed into the marquess’s green ones.

  Alex sucked in his breath. He shuttered with need. “You, my little shrew,” he growled as he used his other hand to grab the back of her head, “have just sealed your fate.”

  He removed his finger from the Warrior Woman’s mouth and replaced it with his tongue.

  * * * * *

  George tucked his wife in for the night with the explanation that he needed to visit his clubs and would join her in their bed later that evening. He implored her not to wait up for him, insisting that the babe needed the rest.

  Twenty minutes later, the Earl of Blackmore emerged from his carriage in front of White’s. He pounded up the steps and made his way inside, wasting no time to acknowledge the “hullos” he’d been sent en route.

  He readily located Viscount Freemont, the heir apparent of the Earl of Trent, sitting alone and drinking port in his customary chair. He approached him slowly, strategically. “James.”

  Lord Freemont looked up, slightly startled to see his old university rival standing before him. He recovered quickly, inclining his head in recognition. “George.”

  “I desire to have a word with you.”

  Viscount Freemont raised an imperious brow. “I can’t imagine what you and I should have to say to one another.”

  George reclined into the seat next to James’. “Plenty, the way I see it.”

  James waved his hand arrogantly through the air. “Say your piece then, man.”

  The earl had never been one to dance around a subject. He came straight to the point. “Stay away from my wife.”

  Lord Freemont shifted his weight in the chair. The corners of his mouth turned up in humorless mirth. “That’s the countess’s choice. Not yours,” he added challengingly.

  George told himself it wasn’t worth spending the rest of his life in Newgate to kill the arrogant beast. His wife would never forgive him. Still, his hands clenched unconsciously into fists as if preparing for battle. “Kane is not Nina,” he iterated succinctly. “She would never betray me.”

  The viscount snorted, shaking his head in disbelief at the earl’s audacity. “As if Nina would have either.”

  “Oh but she did. Many times I might add. And with you, no doubt.”

  James’ head shot up at those words. He gritted his teeth in irritation. “I never once touched Lady Nina. And how dare you malign her good name!” He downed the rest of his port in one swallow. “She was good and pure and would have become my wife if I’d already succeeded my father before her season ended!”

  George crossed his arms over his chest. He glared at the viscount. “So it was you,” he stated softy.

  Lord Freemont shook his head, not comprehending the question. “Me?”

  The earl nodded. “It was you who took her virginity before she came to the marriage bed.”

  “How dare you imply such a thing, let alone accuse me of it outright!”

  George arched a formidable brow. “Then you deny it?”

  “Of course I deny it!” James slammed his empty glass down onto the tabletop. “I wanted to marry the lady, not ruin her.” Then the earl’s words sank in. “She was not…not virgin?” he asked incredulously.

  George shook his head in the negative.

  Viscount Freemont laughed without amusement. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “I simply don’t believe it.”

  “What don’t you believe?”

  James shook his head as if to clear it. “All these years I’ve hated you for taking what I thought should have been mine.” He frowned. “I never realized all her lies about wanting me were just that, lies.”

  George harrumphed. “I doubt ‘twas a lie. The woman wanted all men.”

  The viscount made a deep sighing sound. His light brown eyes grazed the earl as he mulled over something of import in his mind. He made his decision. “Then I suppose I truly do owe you an apology and mayhap your wife as well.” He inclined his head to the earl. “Please tell her as much.”

  George nodded. He studied the viscount curiously. “We were friends once, you and I. Rivals always, but still good friends. I’m sorry to learn it was because of Nina that we no longer are.”

  James closed his eyes against the small stab of pain he couldn’t help but to feel at that recalling. “So am I,” he whispered. “More than I can say.”

  George clapped him on the shoulder. “Do not concern yourself o’er much. She was a hell of a liar, Nina.”

  “I’m sorry, George.” The guilt he now felt for trying to take the current Countess of Blackmore to bed as revenge, as unsuccessful as it might have been, was intolerable. “For everything.”

  The earl nodded knowingly. “I believe you, James.”

  The two gentlemen grew pensive in their silence as a servant hurried over to offer Lord Blackmore a glass of port. When he departed, James broke the silence. “Did my father warn you about Montieth?”

  George sipped from his drink then set it aside. “That, actually, is why I sought you out tonight. I didn’t know you and the baron were on friendly terms.”

  “We’re not.”

  “Then how was it you came to be with him when he was banished from George’s court?”

  James brushed the icy undertone in George’s words aside, knowing the earl had every right to be suspicious of him after trying to seduce Lady Kane. “He wasn’t with me, that I can tell you.” He shrugged, adding an air of triviality to his story. “The king’s emissary met up with Montieth at Tattersall’s. I was only one amongst at least twelve other of the peerage who overheard His Majesty’s proclamation.”

  George nodded, oddly relieved that a man he had once called friend was not in league with the baron. “Your father told my wife that Montieth swore his vengeance against me and mine. Is that true?”

  “Quite true.” James lifted his replenished glass of port to his lips and sipped thoughtfully. “He hates you. I mean really and truly hates you. Have you any idea why?”

>   “Of course.”

  “Oh?”

  “Same reason you did. Lady Nina.”

  Viscount Freemont had the wherewithal to flush at that statement. “I wouldn’t say I ever hated you,” he muttered. “Not like that.”

  George grunted. “Where you were innocent, Montieth was definitely not.”

  James arched a questioning brow. “I don’t understand.”

  The earl sighed. “The baron was definitely Nina’s lover after we were wed. Mayhap even before.” He shrugged his shoulders, no longer particularly caring.

  “Good God!” James exclaimed, wide-eyed. And then another thought came to him. “Do you think he…that is to say do you suppose it’s possible that the baron…” He sighed, uncertain how to broach the topic.

  George sipped from his port. “Killed Nina?” he asked almost casually.

  The viscount nodded.

  “I’m surprised you don’t think I did it. Everyone else does.”

  James scoffed at the earl’s words. “I may have believed you took Nina away from me and I may have considered trying to, shall we say, even up the score a bit, but I never once believed the rumors that Nina met her end at your hands.” He burned the earl with his glare, daring him to say otherwise.

  George actually smiled at his old friend. He was pleased beyond reason that he’d never entertained the notion. “Thank-you, James.”

  The viscount inclined his head, but said nothing.

  “I suppose it’s possible that Montieth killed her.” George gulped down a significant portion of his port, then sighed as he felt the burn of the alcohol course down his throat. “Though we’ll never truly know the answer to that riddle.”

  “A shame, that.”

  “Yes. For all Nina’s faults—and they were considerable, she was still my wife.”

  The earl and the viscount spoke of other inconsequential matters for a few minutes, turning away entirely from the topic of Nina and Montieth. When George finally made his apologies, announcing that he had to leave to prepare for his family’s return to the country on the morrow, James rose to his feet and clapped him on the back. “I would thank you, George.”