Their Wicked Ways (10 page)

Nick had asked about Bronte,
though, just before he’d gotten that look on his face and asked to speak to him
outside.  Once he remembered that, it didn’t take him more than a second to
figure out the rest.

He glared at the liquid in
his glass, more than half tempted to dress and go over to Nick’s and resume the
conversation.  After a little thought, however, he decided he was too damned
sore.  Besides, he was going to be tied to his rooms for a couple of days as it
was.  God only knew what sort of mischief that pack of horny bastards that were
after Bronte would be up to in the meantime.

Downing the last of his
drink, a smile of satisfaction curled his lips as a thought occurred to him.

He could be reasonably
certain Nick wouldn’t be running with that pack.  He’d managed at least two
well-placed facers.

Chapter Eleven

Sunday’s roast did a better
job on his swollen, bruised face than Darcy had expected.  He wasn’t
particularly pleased with the effect the powder Kingsley produced had,
however.  To his mind, it looked a bit too ghoulish to his taste.  With
resignation, he settled in for another day and night of utter boredom.

By the following day,
however, he decided most of the swelling had gone down.  The bruising still
looked like hell, but he could see out of both eyes.

The powder still looked
ghoulish, but he dabbed a little on anyway, deciding it would at least make him
look better from a distance.  As long as he didn’t get close enough for anyone
to get a really good look at him he didn’t think he would raise any eyebrows.

He was chagrined to discover
Nick leaving as he arrived at Bronte’s house.  Deciding to ignore the
provocation, he nodded politely, strode past him without a word and climbed the
stairs to the stoop.

The butler answered the door
after a few moments.  Three fairly sizable footmen stood just behind him.  “I’m
here to see Lady Dunmore.”

“I’m afraid Lady Dunmore
isn’t at home to visitors at the moment.”

Darcy frowned.  “Just tell
her it’s Mr. St. James.”

“I’ll tell her ladyship that
you called.  Good day, sir.”

Darcy glared blankly at the
door as it was closed in his face.  After a few minutes, when the butler didn’t
return, he knocked again.  The butler looked even stiffer this time.  “Did you
give her my message?”

“Her ladyship is indisposed,
sir.”

The door was shut again.

Darcy was on the point of
pounding on the door for the third time when it occurred to him that maybe
Bronte
was
indisposed.  Shrugging, he turned and went down the steps
once more, deciding he would see if he could find some little trinket to send
her to cheer her up.

Nick was waiting for him when
he reached the sidewalk once more.

They eyed one another
speculatively.

“I see you had no more luck
than I,” Nick said finally.

Darcy glanced toward the
house.  “The butler said she was indisposed.”

“She looked fine the last
time I saw her.”

Darcy glared at him.  “And
when would that be?”

“None of your damned
business.”

While they were measuring
each other with a mean eye, a coach pulled to a stop nearby and Lord Smythe
stepped out.  Straightening his jacket, he nodded to them pleasantly and strode
past them and up the walk.

Darcy and Nick turned to
watch.  The door opened.  Lord Smythe was ushered inside.

Darcy and Nick exchanged a
look.

“I saw three footmen besides
the butler. I think I can take two of them,” Darcy said musingly.

Nick seemed to think it
over.  Pulling his pocket watch out, he checked the time and replaced it.  “I’m
more inclined to have a discussion with Smythe when he comes out.”

Darcy frowned then rubbed his
jaw in thought.  “On her front lawn?”

“Not that kind of discussion,”
Nick said dryly.

“Well, excuse me all to hell,
but it’s just about the only kind of conversations you and I have been having
lately.  I thought maybe you’d decided to eschew verbal conversation all
together.”

Nick studied him in silence
for several moments.  “I seem to recall that it was you who instigated our
first ‘discussion’.”

Precisely fifteen minutes
later, Lord Smythe exited the house and started down the walk.  Nick stepped
into his path.  “I do believe he cut me,” he said coolly.  “What do you think,
Darcy?”

“Oh, it was definitely a cut.
Walked right past you without so much as a howdydo.  I’d be insulted.”

“I believe I am,” Nick
drawled, smoothing the lapel of his jacket and eyeing the other man with a cold
look.

Lord Smythe stopped dead in
his tracks, glancing from Nick to Darcy and back again.  “I beg your pardon?”

“And well you might.  I’ve
got a good mind to call him out myself, Nick.  I’m pretty sure he cut me, too. 
In fact, I know he did.”

Nick slid a glance at Darcy. 
“You’ll have to demand satisfaction later.  I called it first.  Sword?  Or
pistols, Smythe?”

Smythe paled. “Uh … I beg
your pardon, Mr. Cain, Mr. St. James.  No cut was intended, I assure you.  I
had my mind on....”  He studied their stony faces for several moments,
swallowing convulsively.  “A trip,” he said on sudden inspiration.  “I’m about
to leave town and I had my mind on all those last minute details.  I’m sure you
know what I mean.  I only came by to pay my respects to Lady Dunmore and her
mother.  I hadn’t realized I’d given you the cut direct. I assure you that
wasn’t my intention at all.”

Nick considered the
explanation.  “I presume, since you were so preoccupied, that this is to be a
fairly extended trip?”

Smythe was sweating by now. 
He wiped his brow with the back of his gloved hand.  “Oh … a couple of weeks?”

Nick and Darcy conferred
silently.

“You did say you were leaving
tomorrow?” Nick asked pensively.

Smythe gaped at him.  “I
believe I did.  Yes.  Tomorrow.”

Nick smiled thinly.  “In that
case, I’m pleased to accept your apology.”

“For myself, I’m thinking
three weeks would be healthier,” Darcy said.

“It could take that long,”
Smythe said nervously.

Darcy grinned.  “Good,
because I’m thinking it’s going to take me at least three weeks to get over
being snubbed on a public street.”

“I didn’t think he’d go for
it,” Darcy said with disgust as he watched Smythe climb into his carriage.

“A pity.”

Darcy shrugged, glancing at
Nick with a touch of satisfaction as Smythe drove off.  “How many more, you
think?”

Nick was staring thoughtfully
at the departing coach.  “I shouldn’t think the ones hanging out for a rich
wife will be too difficult to discourage.  I make it four--last count.”

Darcy frowned.  “You think
there’s any chance Smythe will mention it?”

“One can always hope,” Nick
murmured, turning to look up at Bronte’s house. He smiled faintly when he saw a
curtain twitch upstairs.  He tipped his hat.

Grinning, Darcy bowed.

“Where are your off to then?”
he asked, turning to Nick.

Nick studied him thoughtfully
for several moments.  Finally, his lips tightened in annoyance.  “I’d thought
the club might be the best place to run into some of the others, but it occurs
to me that we might not be welcome at the moment.”

Darcy frowned.  “The boxing
salon’s out, too.”

“In that case, I believe I’ll
return to my rooms and sift through the mail for invitations.”

“I might as well go with
you.”

Nick eyed him speculatively. 
“I suppose you might.”

After perusing the
invitations for a few hours and debating the merits of each, they finally
decided three of them had potential.  Darcy departed for his rooms to look
through his own mail to see if he’d gotten anything that looked more promising
and to change into evening attire.  He’d been pacing the floor for an hour
before Nick arrived in his coach to pick him up.

“I’d begun to think you’d
given me the slip,” Darcy said irritably when he’d settled inside.

Nick merely sent him a cool
glance.  “It didn’t occur to you, I suppose, that to arrive too early is simply
not done?”

“Since when did we care about
that?”

“Since we decided on the hunt
for Bronte,” Nick retorted with determined patience.  “I see no sense in
cooling my heels any longer than necessary.  If we dally too long the hostess
is bound to expect us to sign dance cards and I, for one, am not in the mood to
be twirling some giggling debutante around the room.”

Darcy subsided with a sigh
and settled into the plush cushion of his seat.  “I’d forgotten why we usually
don’t attend this sort of thing.”

Silence fell for several
moments.  Nick broke it.  “How’s your face?”

“You missed my nose this
time.  At least I won’t have another black eye.”

“In that case, perhaps you’ll
want to brush just a little of that powder off.”

Darcy eyed him with a mixture
of annoyance and suspicion, but finally dragged his handkerchief out and rubbed
at his cheek.

“How’s your jaw?”

“It hurts like a
son-of-a-bitch, thank you.  I believe you may have loosened a couple of teeth,”
Nick responded tartly.

The carriage rocked to a halt
at their first destination.  Nick gestured toward the door when the footman had
opened it and let down the steps.  “After you,” he said politely.

Darcy grinned and arched an
eyebrow.  “You’re not going to push me down the stairs, are you?”

Almost reluctantly, an
answering smile lit Nick’s face.  “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

They managed to elude their
determined hostess for almost two hours, but since Bronte didn’t show and they
saw the hostess bearing down on them, they took their leave and moved on to the
next stop.  It was as well they’d started out in a lighthearted frame of mind. 
Neither of them were in a particularly good mood when they gave up at last and
headed for their own apartments.

“If you asked me, I think it’d
be a hell of a lot easier just to park outside her house and wait to see where
she goes.”

Nick smirked.  “Subtlety was
never your strong suit.”

“I suppose you think calling
Smythe out on her front doorstep was subtle?”

“There is a time and place
for subtlety.  That wasn’t one of them.”

Darcy studied him irritably
for several moments.  “What next?”

Nick considered it. 
“Tonight?”

“I think we can consider
tonight a total bust.”

“I agree.”

“The theater?”

Nick uttered a sound of
impatience.  “We might as well.”

* * * *

Bronte let go of the drape
and stepped back guiltily, then ground her teeth in irritation.  She knew very
well that Nick and Darcy hadn’t seen her.  They couldn’t know it had been her
peering down at them.

They thought it was her, though,
so even if it hadn’t been, it might as well have been.  She could well imagine
how pleased they were with themselves!

The last dregs of her sense
of satisfaction vanished.  She had no idea what Nick had said to Lord Smythe,
but she had a feeling she wouldn’t be seeing him again.  Nick and Darcy’s ‘big
brother’ attitude had irritated her when she’d been a child.  Now it really
infuriated her.  She
knew
they’d run off one of her best prospects and
there wasn’t a thing she could do about it!