Their Wicked Ways (5 page)

“Ye’ll not be wantin’ that
dinner ye ordered then?”

“Don’t be a nodcock, man!  I
sure as hell ain’t leaving without getting my dinner first!”

Chapter Six

Nick was in the process of
putting the finishing touches on his cravat when the butler showed Darcy into
his room.  “Was I expecting you?” he inquired as Darcy dropped into a chair and
glared at him.

“Weren’t you?” Darcy growled,
perturbed at his longtime friend.

Nick spared a glance at him,
then brushed a piece of lint of his lapel.  “Poor delivery. Growling the words
doesn’t have quite the ring to it that words spoken with soft menace would
have.” He looked Darcy over skeptically and returned his attention to his
cravat.  “Did you have trouble along the road?  I’d expected you to be back
before me.  You did say that you’d be leaving in the morning, didn’t you?”

Darcy ground his teeth.  “I
might have had a bit too much to drink last night,” he conceded.

“I wouldn’t doubt it.  You
seemed to be knocking them back pretty steadily when I retired.  How was the
barmaid?  Not particularly to my taste, but I seem to recall you considered her
a ‘cozy arm full’.”

Darcy reddened, opened his
mouth, and then shut it again.

Nick lifted one dark brow but
apparently decided not to comment upon Darcy’s reticence.

“Where are you off to?”

“Lord and Lady Sheffield are
having a small gathering tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Much better.”

Darcy glared at him.  “Any
particular reason?”

“None.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Nick seemed to consider it
for several moments.  “I haven’t a clue,” he said finally. “I’m always so
straightforward with you.  That’ll be all, Billingsly. Unless you’d care to
wash the muck of the road off of you, Darcy?  I presume you came straight
over?”

“No.  I went by my place
first.  But my man’s gone.  Don’t know what in the hell he’s doing, but he
ain’t there.  And the worst of it is he packed up most of my stuff when he
left.”

“Absconded, you think?”

“Damned if I know, but I’ve a
good mind to give him the boot if he does show up.”

“Which I’m certain he
deserves,” Nick agreed.  “A bath for Mr. St. James, Billingsly.  Have you
dined?”

“I suppose you’re dining
out?”

“Hopefully.  See what cook
can round up, Billingsly.”

“Very good, sir,” Billingsly
responded, bowing and departing.

Nick surveyed his reflection
critically and finally decided that he was satisfied.  “I’m off then.  Do make
yourself at home, Darcy,” he murmured, sauntering toward the door.

Darcy had sat forward and was
massaging his throbbing temples.  He waved Nick off without looking up.

Nick paused at the door. 
“Billingsly has a very good potion for a hangover.”

Darcy shuddered.  “I’ve tried
it.  I think I’ll suffer the hangover, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Darcy settled into the
steaming bath nearly an hour later, uttering a groan of pure ecstasy as it
washed over his tired, aching muscles.  “Shall I send these down to the laundry
for you, sir?” Billingsly asked.

Darcy cracked an eye open. 
“Not too much starch.”

Billingsly nodded.  “I’m sure
the laundress knows your preferences, but I’ll be certain to remind her.  I’ve
laid out one of Mr. Cain’s dressing gowns for you.  Will that be all, sir?”

Darcy glanced at Billingsly
speculatively.  “Nick didn’t happen to mention why he was going to Lady
Sheffield’s shindig, did he?”

“Something about seeing an
old friend, I believe.”

“Damn it to hell!” Darcy
ground out, sitting bolt upright.  “Male or Female?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“Bronte?”

“I believe so, sir.  If that
will be all?”

“No, it won’t, damn it!  Find
me something to wear.”

“You’ll be going out, sir?”

“Didn’t I just say so?” Darcy
growled.

“Not precisely, sir.  I’m not
at all certain there’s anything in Mr. Cain’s wardrobe that will fit you quite
as it should.”

Darcy waved that away. 
“Something suitable for Lady Sheffield’s party.”

Billingsly bowed and left.

Grimly, Darcy concentrated on
his bath.  He wasn’t entirely happy with the clothing Billingsly produced, but
as he’d pointed out Nick was shorter.  When he was reasonably satisfied with
the results, he set out for Lord and Lady Sheffield’s.

The ‘little gathering’, not
surprisingly, was a crush and Lady Sheffield’s man was reluctant to allow him
entrance.  Digging some coins from his pocket, he greased the man’s palm and
pushed his way past the guests thronging the stairs to the main salon.

Some thirty minutes later, he
discovered Nick propping up on a column at the edge of the dance floor.  Nick
surveyed him with obvious amusement.  “I thought you were under the weather. 
That suits me far better than it does you, by the way.”

Darcy tugged at the cuffs,
trying unsuccessfully to cover his wrists.  His arms were longer than Nick’s by
a good inch, however, and he finally gave up the effort.  “Thought I might as
well drop in for a bit,” Darcy responded.

Nick folded his arms over his
chest.  “I do believe they just announced the second dinner.”

Darcy grabbed a glass from a
passing waiter.  “I’ll wait for the third call.  Where’s Bronte?”

“Behind the wall of men over
there.”

Darcy followed the direction
of his gaze.  “Haven’t been able to get within a mile of her, eh?”

“Not thus far, but then I’m
not particularly fond of running with a pack.”

“Has she glanced your way yet?”

“Twice,” Nick said on a note
of satisfaction.

“Meaning?”

Nick glanced at him.  “She’s
not completely disinterested.”

“I see Moreland. That makes
it an even half dozen hanging out for a rich wife.  Four looking for their
second.  Rossman, the old satyr, certainly isn’t likely to be much
competition.  What in the hell does he think he’s doing, anyway?  He must be
sixty.”

“Basking, I should think. 
She hasn’t given him the cold shoulder yet,” Nick responded coolly. “You might
want to note the fact that Lord Connally and Lord Smythe are drooling down her
neckline as we speak.  Young Lord Sheffield scampered off a bit ago… to find
refreshment, I should think.”

Darcy straightened and glared. 
“Damn it to hell!”

“Precisely.”

Darcy scanned the throng of
guests across from them. After a few moments, he saw what he’d been looking
for.  “I believe I’ll try a better vantage point,” he said lazily.

Nick sent him a speculative
glance.  “I believe I’ll take a turn on the balcony and burn a cheroot.”

* * * *

Inside, Bronte was seething
though she thought she’d concealed it rather well. Her irritation was focused
primarily on herself.  She’d been surrounded by flatteringly attentive and
reasonably attractive men almost from the moment she’d arrived at the party,
and yet the very moment Nick Cain strolled into the room and she caught sight
of him, her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest.

She’d done her level best to
ignore him thereafter, but with the best will in the world, she hadn’t been
able to refrain from glancing across the room to see if he’d noticed her.

He had.  He was staring
straight at her and, despite the distance, warmth suffused her as their gazes
locked for a measure of heartbeats.

Resolutely, she refused to
look in his direction again after he’d caught her the second time.  That
resolve lasted every bit of thirty minutes.  When her gaze flickered in that
direction for the third time, she saw without a great deal of surprise, that
Darcy was leaning against the column next to him.  Her heart rate trebled.  She
was afraid for several moments that she would have to excuse herself, for she
felt uncomfortably warm and just the tiniest bit lightheaded.

She didn’t try to ignore them
after that.  She shifted in her seat so that she could observe the two of them
without appearing to do so.

She’d give a lot to know what
they were up to.  Not for one moment did she believe that they were seriously
pursuing her.  She wished that her conceit was such that she could think so,
but while she was aware that her looks had greatly improved, she knew very well
that she was no beauty.

Nick and Darcy were not only
two of the most eligible bachelors in England, they also happened to be the
most handsome … and not just by her account.  As far back as she could remember
they’d had women throwing themselves at them at every opportunity, hoping to
snag themselves a rich, good-looking husband.

She doubted that had changed
much in the years since she’d been away.

To her consternation, she saw
Nick push away from the column and stroll off toward the doors that led to the
balcony.

As disturbing as it was to
find that Nick had no interest in joining the court she’d managed to gather
around herself, it was far more unsettling to see Darcy striding purposefully
toward her.

That wasn’t nearly as
disconcerting, however, as the chagrin that suffused her when Darcy strode
directly past her without once glancing her way and bowed over the hand of Miss
Weatherington, who was holding court to her right.

She was just wondering if she
dared shift enough to see what was going on when Lord Sheffield returned with
her refreshment. As he approached her from that direction, it was perfectly
reasonable that she turn in that direction.

The moment she lifted her
gaze, smiling her thanks at Lord Sheffield, Darcy St. James’ lazy grin filled
her view.  Her smile froze and it was only with a tremendous effort that she
managed to complete the action she’d begun.  She was too nonplussed to maintain
her charade of being completely unaware of Darcy’s presence, however.  Even as
she took the offered drink, her eyes strayed to the unfolding drama beside her
and she watched as Darcy swooped in and deftly removed Miss Lucinda
Weatherington from her court of admirers, escorting her to the dance floor.

“I believe this is our dance,
Lady Dunmore.”

Bronte looked up at Lord
Connolly, smiling reflexively, determinedly focusing on the man smiling down at
her, though she was far more attuned to the one strolling past with Lucinda
Weatherington on his arm.

She looked down at the glass
Lord Sheffield had only just handed her, from which she hadn’t taken the first
sip.  Mr. Moreland immediately offered to hold it for her.  Thanking him, she
handed him the glass and allowed Lord Connolly to lead her onto the floor,
wondering why it was that he didn’t seem nearly as attractive to her now as he had
when they had first been introduced.  He was a handsome man, tall, well
proportioned, but somehow his fairness, which she had admired earlier, seemed
washed out.

She didn’t know whether to be
glad or sorry that the dance was a waltz.  On the one hand, she didn’t have to
concern herself with the fact that she must meet up with Darcy in the movements
of the dance if it had been a country dance.  On the other, she was just as
keenly aware that Darcy was nearby, dancing far too familiarly with Lucinda Weatherington
and flirting outrageously with her--and she allowing it, the shameless hussy.