Dangerous in Diamonds (20 page)

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Authors: Madeline Hunter

Tags: #Historical romance, #Fiction

BOOK: Dangerous in Diamonds
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“You can leave at any time now, Hawkeswell. I did not invite your company.”
“And miss this? Although if this business you are about is lengthy, I may have to depart before the final act. I have a meeting at the White Swan this afternoon.”
“If you must know, I have several errands to attend to, and they will undoubtedly bore you as much as I expect them to bore me.”
Hawkeswell said nothing. His silence became so resonant that Castleford looked over at him. Hawkeswell was watching him with a confused expression.
“Errands?” Hawkeswell finally said.
“Appointments with tailors and such.”
“You never have appointments at tailors’ shops. Tailors have appointments in your dressing room. You have three valets when one is plenty for most men, just so you do not have to be bothered with anything resembling an
errand
.”
All that was true, but he had to do something with all this time burdening him.
“I think the only appointment you should have today is with a physician,” Hawkeswell said. “Or one of your soiled doves, so some regularity returns to your habits and you relinquish this farce of temporary reform.”
“It is a hell of a thing if a man cannot ride his horse before noon without having a friend insult him by assigning virtue to his character when none exists.”
“I accused you of no virtue. I said it was a farce of feigned virtue. Do you deny that your unusual behavior is directly the result of being unable to conquer Mrs. Joyes without such excess? That once you do conquer her, you will return to your whoring and drinking?” Hawkeswell scolded. “Why not just give up, admit there is one woman in the world who finds you beyond the pale instead of intriguing, and go back to enjoying your life?”
Why not indeed? Castleford chose to ignore the questions, but it was not as if he had not asked them of himself.
He had no intention of giving Hawkeswell any reason to gloat about the lack of progress with Mrs. Joyes. Quite the opposite. So he made his first stop Phillip’s jewelry shop.
Hawkeswell trailed him inside, which meant Hawkeswell had the fun of seeing the proprietor fluster, flush, and almost faint at the sight of one of his most august patrons crossing his shop’s threshold for the first time in the history of his patronage.
Hawkeswell hovered at his shoulder while the ear bobs were unveiled. They impressed Hawkeswell, which meant they were sure to impress Mrs. Joyes.
“Perfect,” Castleford said. “Be sure to add an appropriate amount for the speed with which you completed setting them.”
Phillip began to wrap the handsome box. Castleford lounged in his chair. Hawkeswell gazed over with a scowl.
“Are those for Mrs. Joyes? They must be worth a small fortune.”
“A goodly size fortune, actually.”
“She may be insulted. She may think you are trying to buy her.”
“Women are never completely insulted by diamonds. A little, perhaps, if it is a woman such as Mrs. Joyes, but my experience is that they overcome their suspicious interpretations with unseemly speed.” He accepted the little package from Phillip. “Besides, she has already accepted them, so she cannot be insulted now.”
That impressed Hawkeswell even more. So much that when they left the shop, Hawkeswell did not go his own separate way.
“Do you plan to follow me to the tailor too?” Castleford said.
“Weston may have apoplexy when you walk in, and need assistance. Do you even know where to find him?”
Of course he did. His head valet had provided the address, after all.
 
 
C
astleford completed his errands by two o’clock. The show over, Hawkeswell finally departed to go to his meeting at the White Swan. Castleford was left to wonder what the hell he was going to do between now and five o’clock, when he would meet with Daphne.
He could go to one of his clubs, but of late everyone was in high temper about the inevitability of insurrection in the north by month’s end. He doubted he could listen to that nonsense for long without telling them all that they were idiots. That would probably start an argument, which could lead to insults, which might result in a challenge.
The way life was going these days, he would probably lose a duel for the first time in his life and be shot in the balls no less, thus making all these disruptions to his habits in the interests of seducing Mrs. Joyes a tragic waste.
Instead of visiting a club, he could return home and work on his manuscript, he supposed. Except she was ruining that too, wasn’t she?
Recently, when he wrote, he found himself resorting to the kinds of euphemisms and poetic allusions in his prose that might not embarrass a woman like Mrs. Joyes too badly, if she picked up the guide by accident and read it.
The results, evident once he took an objective, critical look at the chapter in progress, had been boring, ambiguous, and horribly fourth-rate, when the whole goal was to be daring, frank, and refreshingly clever.
It now read as if the real author—the fun, bad one, who knew well of what he wrote—had died halfway through composing the guide, and his virginal vicar of a cousin had taken up the pen in his stead after the burial, in the hopes of bluffing through to the end and making a few pounds.
He finally decided that following Hawkeswell to the White Swan was the least boring of the boring choices he had, which alone reminded him why he did not live like normal men most times. However, if Hawkeswell could interfere in his morning, he could interfere in Hawkeswell’s afternoon.
Along the way, he plotted the final chapter in a book titled “The Seduction of Daphne Joyes by the Decadent Duke of Castleford (A History of London Life, complete with appendices, glossary, and maps chosen to enhance the reader’s edification).” He fully expected to bring the story to its conclusion this evening.
Entering the White Swan, he spied Hawkeswell sitting alone. Hawkeswell laughed when he walked over.
“What in hell are you doing here, Castleford?”
“Planning to drink some ale. What are you doing here alone? I thought you had a meeting.”
“Latham should be arriving soon enough. There is a matched pair in the stable here that he is thinking to buy, magnificent cattle from the talk, and he asked my opinion on them and—”
“Damnation. Are you good friends with Latham now? He is an unbearable ass. Have you no pride at all?”
Hawkeswell looked taken aback. “We stumbled upon each other yesterday. In talking he mentioned the horses and remembered I have an excellent eye for them, so I agreed to give my opinion.” His astonishment gave way to annoyance. “Why am I explaining myself? Hell, I am friends with you, aren’t I? That is proof that I am not too particular. One ass is as good as another, it seems to me.”
This talk of horses piqued Castleford’s curiosity. He ignored Hawkeswell’s bluster and got to his feet. “This pair is in the stable?” Without waiting for an answer, he headed toward the door.
He might have found something fun to do this afternoon.
 
 
“D
amnation, here he comes,” Hawkeswell muttered.
Castleford looked into the tavern’s yard, where Latham was dismounting from his horse. Then he turned away and stroked the nose of one of the huge white geldings that he had just bought. They really were magnificent and worth every pound of their considerable price.
“If you actually care a farthing for your friendship with that scoundrel, and I don’t know why you would, tell him you have been threatening me with bodily harm if I did it, but I would not listen. I will not gainsay you.”
Hawkeswell sighed deeply. “I realize that the two of you have nothing in common anymore and are no longer friends, but to deliberately anger him—Latham, there you are! I fear we are too late.”
Latham came over. Castleford barely acknowledged him. Latham saw the horses and his face reddened. He glared at Hawkeswell accusingly.
“Hawkeswell chanced upon me here, just as I was striking the deal,” Castleford said. “I read the
Times
advertisements too, Latham. You had to know you would have competition for horses like these.”
Latham gave the horses a good look. Standing aside, Hawkeswell did not see what Castleford did. Latham’s expression momentarily turned its most dangerous, and with a glancing sneer he sent true hatred in Castleford’s direction.
In the next moment, he appeared calm and amiable again. He smiled at Hawkeswell. “I should have moved on them faster, I can see. But if any man were to beat me to them, just as well it is Tristan here.”
What an accursed thing to say. It took some of the fun out of the victory. Not all of it, but some.
“Let us all have some ale,” Latham offered. “It is hot enough for at least a pint, I’d say.”
A glare from Hawkeswell induced Castleford to reluctantly join them as they set off in the direction of the tavern.
 
 
T
hinking the hour had not turned out nearly as well as he had planned, Castleford sat in the tavern in a daze of languor.
To say that small talk filled the next ten minutes was to give the conversation too much credit.
It took a moment, then, to gather his faculties when Latham turned that false affability in his direction. “You are being much discussed these days, Tristan.”
“Latham, I told you not to call me by my Christian name. No one does anymore, not even Hawkeswell here, unless we are both thoroughly foxed.”
“Or thoroughly furious,” Hawkeswell offered with a laugh. “Have you heard good gossip, Latham? I often miss the best bits because I am his friend.”
“It is said he has found iron in the south, to add to his mines in the north.” Latham watched him carefully, looking for a reaction.
“Oh, that old rumor,” Hawkeswell said, disappointed. “Iron now, is it?”
“I have found nothing. No iron or anything else.”
“It is said this is very recent. On land you recently came by.”
“You know how old women talk, Latham. It has been established by experts that there are no iron reserves in the south.” Castleford let his voice communicate his boredom with the topic.
After a bit more small talk, Hawkeswell excused himself and left. Castleford rose to follow him.
“Is it my father’s land?” Latham demanded, spearing him with a look of suspicion. “This discovery of yours, is it on that gift he left you? I can’t think of any other property that you recently acquired.”
“You have no idea what I acquire and when. You must stop listening to every whisper passed in the clubs, Latham.”
Latham’s eyes narrowed. “You are looking very smug,
Tristan
. I have it right, don’t I, damn it.”
“That is not smugness you see. It is ennui claiming me,
Gerome
. I have always found paragons of virtue tedious, especially when they are actually treasonous rapists.”
“Damnation, you are the one who is tedious. You only hammer on that business in France because you are jealous now. No one has asked to consult with
you
about the state of the realm.”
“They already know my advice. Be sure the people do not go hungry, and all will be well. It is such a simple, sure idea that even primitive people see the logic of it. Yet we have once again made sure that men will watch their children starve, then expect them to be happy and peaceable while they do. If you have any influence at all, address that immorality, and I may not think you a total scoundrel.”
“I am thinking that I would rather address the immorality of the notorious Duke of Castleford. Perhaps just for fun I will make you a public symbol of depravity in my next essay.”
“Please do. It will be the finest jewel in my crown.”
“You joke, but you like power as much as any man. You will not be such a wit about it if I paint you to be so sordid that you are pushed to the edges of all that matters.” Latham warmed to the threat, finding it more amusing with each word.
Castleford placed his palms on the table. He leaned forward so this fool would know there was no wit at all in what followed. “Do your worst. But before you wage war with
me
, do not forget that towers of rectitude that are made of straw can be easily burned to the ground.”
He went off to arrange to have the new pair of horses brought to his stable. Latham tailed him out to the yard.
“Oh, I forgot to mention that I saw the lovely Mrs. Joyes yesterday,” Latham said from his saddle once he had mounted. “I called on her, and we reminisced about old times. I reminded her how she was a little flirt back then. Hard to believe, isn’t it? She has learned to hide that side of her character well.”
Castleford walked on, giving the ass no response. He would not let the man see his anger at that parting shot and at learning that Latham had boldly called on Daphne. And that she had received him.
Someone needed to shoot down Latham’s ascendant balloon, he decided. As it happened, the Duke of Castleford found himself of late with endless free hours available, and he needed a good diversion.

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