Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter (read this if .txt) 📕

She excused herself shortly from the dining room, giving her father a hurried hug, and slipped out of the house to make her way to Lord Harry’s lodgings. She forced herself to be lighter of heart, for, even if Sir Archibald happened to approach Lord Oberlon, she was fairly certain that the damned marquess had found Henrietta Rolland such a repellent creature that he would never accept such an invitation to dine.

As she slipped into breeches, frilled shirt, and hessians, she quickly reviewed her schedule for the remainder of the day. First she would be meeting Sir Harry at Manton’s. Now that would be a most interesting experience. Lord Harry would start the worm of jealousy gnawing in Sir Harry’s breast. With any luck at all, that should make Sir Harry realize that Isabella was ripe for the plucking in more than one orchard.

Oh yes, Hetty thought as she bade Pottson a good afternoon, he must take a note to Melissande, inquiring if the fair lady would deign to ride again in the park with Lord Monteith.

At the thought of how she would be spending her evening, she grimaced in distaste. Impossible to extricate herself from going with Harry and Scuddy to that wretched cockfight.

Still, it was with a light step that Hetty strolled to meet Sir Harry at Manton’s, her face down against the winter wind.

As for the marquess, he neither felt light of step nor light of heart. Indeed, he was frozen with cold deadly anger as he listened to his friend, the earl of March.

“So, Julien, I’m now fast bidding to become a laughingstock of London, am I not?” His voice sounded so very calm that no one save his closest friends would have realized that his grace was ready to kill with his bare hands.

“Most likely,” the earl said.

“Now you will believe me that the young whelp wishes death by my hands?”

The earl paused an instant, seemingly intent upon removing a fleck of dust from his coat sleeve. “It’s all very strange,” the earl said at last. “I do agree that young Monteith wants something. Whether it’s death at your hands well, I must believe that a bit extreme.”

The marquess didn’t say anything. The earl sat forward in his chair. “You know, Jason, Kate immediately agreed with our conclusions that there is something driving the boy to behave in such an outrageous manner. You are certain that you have never before heard his name, that you can think of no insult ever made to him? Come, think, Jason.”

“Damn it, no, Julien. We’ve asked ourselves these questions, even before this latest exploit. I tell you, I know nothing about Monteith save that I intend to beat him to a bloody pulp, then kick his hide into a ditch.”

“Tell me, Jason, do you care so much about Melissande? I recall only the other day your telling me that you were rapidly becoming bored with her.”

“I’m not a fool, Julien,” the marquess said quietly. “It hardly matters what I think of her now. She is, after all, still under my protection.” He rose and strolled to the fireplace, his dark eyes resting a moment on the glowing coals. He turned to face the earl, digging his hands into his breeches pockets. “It’s now a question of honor, Julien. Surely you see that I can’t ignore this insult.”

The earl sighed and nodded slowly. “No, of course you can’t ignore it, and yet”

“And yet, you don’t want to see me kill the boy,” the marquess finished, gazing searchingly at the earl.

“Don’t think I’m becoming lost to all sense of honor, Jason. Yet again, I must concur with Kate’s opinion. There is something deuced unusual about Monteith, as if he were a complex puzzle whose pieces simply didn’t fit together. I ask only that you do not act rashly. Surely, if the lad continues in his outrageous behavior, you will have no choice but to call him out.”

“Strange you say Monteith is like a puzzle whose pieces do not fit together.”

“I thought it apt, Jason. Why?”

“It’s of no importance.” The marquess shrugged. “Damnation but this is an impossible situation. Were it a snake like Filey, I wouldn’t feel the slightest hesitation, indeed I’d welcome such a chance. But hellfire, Julien, as you say, Monteith is just a boy. The difference in our ages eight years at least and in our experience why, I would look little less than a murderer were I to call him out.”

“That’s true,” the earl said. “I think though, that if you remain, shall we say, impervious to the boy’s taunts, it is he who will call you out. Think on it, Jason. Now, I must be off. George informed me on my way out that Kate was preparing to direct the carpenters in the refurbishing of the nursery wing. If I know her, she will be climbing about the rafters with them.” The earl rose and clasped his friend’s hand.

“I’ll take your advice until I can do naught else, Julien. Give my love to Kate.”

The earl turned at the door of the drawing room and gave the marquess a lazy grin. “Are you certain, Jason, that one of your succulent beauties in Italy wasn’t distantly related to any Monteith? Say a virgin who wanted to get you out of your breeches and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no?”

“Damn you, St. Clair.”

After the earl of March had taken his leave, Jason Cavander, in a fit of excess energy, departed to Gentleman Jackson’s boxing salon, where his hapless opponent in the ring took on the features of a fair, blue-eyed youth with a mouth that was filled with more insults than a bordello was filled with randy men.

Chapter Twenty-one

“You what?” Sir Harry Brandon dropped his pistol into its case and turned in stunned surprise to Lord Harry.

“You really should be more careful with your guns, Harry. Thank God it wasn’t loaded. You might have shot your toe off or worse yet, my