Ashlyn Macnamara (2 page)

“So I’ve been told.” He grinned—winningly, he
hoped—while balling his hand into a fist. He’d learned the trick as a schoolboy. Make the opponent think he’d try to charm his way out of a fight until said opponent succumbed to a false sense of security. That strategy, combined with an innate sense of when to duck, had saved his nose on more than one occasion. “Can’t seem to help myself, though. I have a tendency to natter on when threatened. See? There I go again.”

“Shut your gob and listen. You’ve put my sister in a delicate condition, and I’m here to see you pay.”

“Sister?” In spite of himself, he tossed another glance in Lucy’s direction. “You never once intimated you had any family.” A very large-boned family to judge by her brother’s appearance. Lucy must be an exception. “My dear, you’ve been holding out on me.”

The instant the words were out, something akin to a sledgehammer slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back. Pain exploded from the point of contact and rattled through his body. The floor tilted, and he stumbled back to land in a heap at the foot of the bed.

Right. Lucy could wait. Time to concentrate on the danger at hand.

Ignoring the ringing in his ears, he scrambled to his feet and waded in, but his opponent was clearly in better practice when it came to fisticuffs. Despite his size, Lucy’s brother danced lightly on the balls of his feet, left fist raised to block, while the right hovered menacingly at chin height.

George feinted left before jabbing with his right, but his opponent anticipated the move and weaved out of range. The blow met with mere air, and George staggered once more, off balance, his guard dropping. Another punch whizzed past his ear, but the second jab caught him squarely on the chin.

Stars danced before his eyes, and the room reeled. He stumbled sideways into something soft and yielding.
Lucy steadied him, but he wouldn’t allow her to distract him again. He kept his gaze pinned on his opponent, who stood back for the moment, red in the face, perhaps, but his breathing steady and even.

The arrogant bastard.

With a roar, George lunged.

“Roger!” Lucy screamed.

George ignored the ungrateful wench and went for Roger’s throat. The ape dodged, but George anticipated as much and mirrored the move, grasping his enemy about the waist and hauling him to the floor. He applied his weight to the other man’s belly, planted a hand on his throat, and pulled back his fist.

“George! Stop it! Now!”

Lucy’s terrified cry made him hesitate a moment too long. Roger heaved his bulk and George’s hand slipped. The next thing he knew, the back of his head struck unforgiving oak floorboards. Roger’s weight bore him down and forced the air from his lungs. He gasped but pulled in nothing. Blackness shrouded the edges of his vision.

“Stop,” he croaked. The weight on his chest eased just enough. “What do you want from me?”

“That’s simple enough,” Roger growled. Not even winded, the scoundrel. “You’re to do right by my sister.”

A raw jolt of panic speared his gut. Roger couldn’t possibly insist on a marriage, not when any number of protectors had preceded him in Lucy’s bed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Simple. You got her into trouble. You’re going to get her out. The proper compensation ought to hush things up.”

“That’s blackmail.”

Roger smiled, an evil sort of leer that disrupted the square lines of his face. “That’s good business. And you
might have avoided the matter entirely if you’d kept your prick in your pocket.”

“If
I’d
kept … What about all …”

Roger tightened his grip on George’s throat and gave him a shake. “The others didn’t get caught, now, did they?”

“She can have the house, and I’ll settle a sum on her to see to her upkeep. Beyond that …” He couldn’t admit to his true financial situation. Not with an ape sitting on his chest.

“Beyond that, you’ll cough up a tidy sum. My sister deserves a decent life.”

“C
HIN
up, dear, we’ve almost arrived.”

George suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his mother. Gads, how could the woman beam so after hours of jostling in a carriage through the Kentish countryside, crammed in with his sisters?

He exchanged a glance with Henrietta. “And not a moment too soon,” he said. “I can barely stand the excitement. We’ll go from being packed into this carriage to being packed into a house with entirely too many people.”

How he dreaded the thought of a house party, even if the host was his oldest friend. Worse than a ball, because the blasted things lasted days rather than mere hours. He could only escape to the card room in the evenings, while the rest of the day he’d have to find more creative means of avoiding his mother’s attempts at matchmaking.

Mama’s smile wavered not at all. “Sarcasm does not become you. How many times must I say it? You’d do better to put on a bright outlook. I imagine you’d attract a bride if you did that.”

His left eye twitched, as it always did when his mother
brought up the topic of matrimony. “I’ll keep that in mind, should I wish to attract one. What do you recommend? Something like this?”

He pulled an exaggerated face that doubtless exposed his back teeth. God knew his cheeks would ache soon enough if he maintained the expression. It didn’t help matters that he’d tweaked a few bruises in the process.

“Stop this instant,” Mama scolded, but the woman, Lord help her, could never manage to sound stern. “Pity you had to turn up with your face all beaten. Why you men insist on pounding each other is beyond me.”

“It’s sport.” He’d explained the state of his face away with a minor lie about an incident at his boxing club. The truth would only give Mama the vapors.

“Be that as it may, I am certain you will meet your future wife at this party. See if you don’t.”

“Ah yes, and Henny”—he winked at his sister—“will announce her engagement to the head groom at the same time. Why, I think a double wedding at Christmas will be just the thing.”

Mama made a valiant attempt at creasing her brows, but an eruption of laughter quite ruined the effect. “You are completely incorrigible.”

“But endlessly diverting.”

“And if you turned that charm on a few young ladies …”

He held up a hand. “Madam, I believe I’m not the only incorrigible one in this conveyance.”

“Nonsense.” Mama tossed her head, and the feathers on her bonnet scrubbed across his sister Catherine’s face. “I’m simply determined. There’s a difference.”

Single-minded and obsessed were the terms that immediately leapt to George’s tongue, but he swallowed them back. Of course his mother wanted to see him wed. It was what mothers did once their children reached an appropriate age. Unfortunately, his idea of an appropriate
age didn’t agree with hers by at least ten years. For God’s sake, he was only twenty-nine.

He caught Henrietta’s eye. Her mouth twitched into a smirk that spoke volumes.
Better you than me
. But Mama would turn her attention back to her oldest daughter soon enough. No doubt the moment they reached the ballroom where Revelstoke housed his pianoforte. Coupled with what Catherine passed off as singing …

In spite of himself, he winced. He prayed Revelstoke had laid in a good supply of brandy. He was going to need it in vast quantities if Mama insisted on her daughters being part of the entertainment.

The carriage rumbled to a halt at the head of a sweeping drive. The stone bulk of Shoreford House rose gray against a backdrop of blue sky. Shouts hailed from the yard, followed by a heavy
thunk
as the steps were let down. George leapt from his seat, ready to hand his mother and sisters out of the conveyance.

A gentle breeze bore the salt tang of the Channel, mingled with an earthy heaviness that wafted from the stables. The late August sun beat a gentle warmth on the back of his neck.

“I can’t believe you’ve actually come.”

George turned to find Benedict Revelstoke approaching from the main house, a grin across his cheeks. But as he neared the carriage, his gaze glanced over the bruises on George’s face, and he frowned. “I was about to ask how far your mother twisted your arm to convince you to come, but I see she’s resorted to more drastic means of persuasion.”

George clasped his old friend’s hand. “Do me a favor and don’t call attention to it. If I have to put up with any more cold compresses and female twittering, I may as well take to my bed permanently.”

“I don’t know how you’ll avoid it. Once Julia gets a good look at you …”

“I thought I heard my name.” Benedict’s wife appeared just beyond his shoulder, waddling from the house in the wake of a prominent belly. “Gossiping about me behind my back, are you?”

Revelstoke caught her hand and pulled her close. Their fingers entwined as if they couldn’t bear as much as an instant apart. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, and in that brief expanse of time, they disappeared into their own realm where only the pair of them existed. It lasted less than two seconds, but an entire conversation seemed to pass between them.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, George cleared his throat. God help him if he ever became that love-struck.

Julia stepped forward to inspect him more closely. “My goodness, what have you done to your face?”

Revelstoke raised his brows and shrugged.

George made sure his mother was well occupied in directing the servants with the baggage before responding. “Came out on the wrong end of a rather vigorous discussion, but never fear. It looks worse than it is.”

“I shall ask Cook to make you a poultice to draw out the bruising.”

He shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’m sure she’s got enough to oversee with a houseful of guests for the next week.”

“It’s no trouble at all. She acquires a special blend of herbs from a woman in the village. One of our yearlings got himself into a scrape a while back, but the herbs worked their magic, and he’s back as good as new. Outstrips the rest of them from one end of the pasture to the other, and barely blows at all.”

“You want to dose me with a remedy that you use on livestock? I think I’ll pass, thank you. Only do me the service of not mentioning your ideas to my mother.”

With a laugh, Julia excused herself and trundled off
to greet the Upperton sisters. Soon the air filled with high-pitched chatter.

George tilted his head in the direction of the main house. “You look disgustingly happy.”

Revelstoke shook his head. “Ever the one for a flowery turn of phrase, I see.” He took a few steps in the direction of the house. “Are you planning on telling me what you’re really doing here?”

“I’m attending this house party at your invitation. Why else would I have come except to pass a few days rusticating here with your guests? Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.”

Revelstoke cast him a sidelong look. “Pull the other one. From all appearances, you’ve got yourself into some scrape or other, so you’ve either come here to hide or you want me to get you out of it.”

“Don’t you have some horseflesh you’d like to show off?” George waved a hand in the direction of the stables. “A new broodmare? Perhaps one that’s produced the next champion at Ascot?”

Revelstoke clapped him on the shoulder. “That bad, is it? Perhaps you’d rather we have a drink in my study while the ladies settle in. And if you’ve got any particular sins you’d like to confess, I’ll have a listen.”

“I never held much with religion. Too many diversions count against you, you know. But if the vicar offered brandy to his parishioners, he might find he had a more faithful flock.” They tramped up the front steps in the wake of two footmen juggling a trunk. The sight reminded him of his sisters and their mother’s advice to pack their entire wardrobe. “I say, who have you invited to this gathering?”

“Entirely too many, but Julia thought we ought to show a bit of hospitality. If I can interest a few of the men in acquiring some horseflesh while they’re here, it may all be worth it. She’s invited her sister, of course,
and my brother, and since we’ll be entertaining an earl and a marquess, naturally half of polite society saw fit to beg an invitation whether we wished to see them or not.”

George suppressed a groan. “That means my mother will insist on putting my sisters on display. Tell me your pianoforte’s out of tune. They might actually sound decent for once.”

“As a matter of fact, Julia just had someone look at it.”

“Better order another case of brandy, one I can reserve for my own personal use.”

Revelstoke closed the door to his study and strode to a side table where a cut crystal decanter stood full of rich amber liquid. He poured two healthy measures and handed George a glass. George stared into the swirling depths and considered downing the alcohol in one go. No, best not to over-imbibe or else he might confess more than necessary.

Revelstoke clinked glasses and raised his drink. “Come now. What’s brought you here and in this state?”

“Seems my mistress forgot to tell me a thing or two. Like the fact she has a brother who doesn’t quite appreciate his sister being a kept woman.”

“It’s not as if you’re the man who ruined her.” Revelstoke raised a brow. “Are you?”

“Of course not, and you shouldn’t even have to ask. I draw the line at leading innocents astray.” He stared out the window to the greenery beyond the crosshatch of the mullions. Along a whitewashed fence, mares grazed surrounded by their cavorting foals. “I’m not Lucy’s first protector, and I certainly won’t be her last.”

“Then why would her brother have a problem with you in particular?”

George sipped at his brandy to play for time. “I didn’t come here to discuss my problems with my mistress.”

The look Revelstoke gave him clearly communicated his skepticism. “Then why are you here?”

“I can’t visit an old school chum, especially considering you never come into Town?” He set his glass on a burnished oak table. “Why, you practically forced me to make the trek out to this godforsaken corner of Kent.”

“The last thing I’d expect of you is to attend something so respectable as a house party, especially considering chances are quite high your sisters will torture us with their musical talent. So what is it?”