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

was having trouble breathing. It was odd and it was exciting. “Yes,” she said. “And, of course, the fact that Damien was, at the last moment, ordered to lead that cavalry charge. Pottson said Damien knew it was on purpose, that he knew he was going to his death. He didn’t want to, but it was his duty, he accepted it.”

Jason shook his head. “I simply can’t imagine that Sir William has the kind of connections in the ministry to direct Damien’s orders like that.”

“Then who, for God’s sake, sent Damien out of the country with such speed? Who could have directed his activities with such a close hand? Who could have sent him on all those dangerous missions, then sent him to certain death at Waterloo?”

“That’s precisely what I intend to find out, Hetty. Now, sweetheart, I must leave. To erase all doubt in our minds respecting Sir William’s involvement with Damien, I shall search out his lordship this afternoon. I wish to converse with him, in private, about his entanglement with Harry’s Isabella.”

“You swear you’ll keep me informed?” she said, rising. “About everything?”

“I swear. No, don’t get close to me,” he said. “I can’t take it. Yes, I’ll be back this afternoon and tell you what I’ve learned.”

He said softly, squeezing her fingers, “Believe me, Hetty, I wish to finish this damned business as quickly as possible. Then, we will speak of the future, our future.”

“And you’ll kiss me as much as I wish?”

“At least. Trust me.”

She watched him stride to the door, his legs long and strong and he was so certain of himself and of his abilities and she supposed that she had to be as well. “Jason,” she called after him, “do take care, else Lord Harry must needs come rescue you.”

He cocked a black brow and was gone.

Chapter Thirty-two

Toward the middle of the afternoon, the Marquess of Oberlon walked into the gaming room at White’s. He hoped that Sir William Filey would be here, he usually was. He had scarce time to begin his search when his attention was caught by a loud commotion and the rising of angry voices. Intrigued, he walked unobtrusively toward a far corner of the salon, where a small knot of gentlemen formed a wide circle.

He drew up short at the sound of Sir William Filey’s voice. “Go lick your wounds in private, Brandon. If you’re not enough of a man to hold the lady’s affections, then go back to the infantry where you belong. Country girls, I understand, like young rustics like you trying to raise their skirts. Don’t come whining to me about it being all my fault.”

Damnation and hellfire, the marquess cursed silently. He could readily have strangled Harry Brandon for interfering in his plans. He moved quickly forward, edging his way through the circle of gentlemen.

Sir Harry Brandon stood facing Sir William, his hands balled into fists and his face red with rage.

“You old lecher,” he shouted, “Isabella is not for the likes of you. She’s young and innocent. You’ve pulled the wool over her eyes with your damned flattery. You’ve bribed that wretched mother of hers, haven’t you? I demand satisfaction, do you hear?”

It struck the marquess that Harry was copying Lord Harry’s behavior. He wanted to be a hero. He was going to force a duel. He stepped quickly forward and grabbed Sir Harry’s arm. Before Sir William could answer Harry’s challenge, he said smoothly, “Hold, Harry. Though I would never disagree your reasons, I must confess that my grievance with Sir William predates your own. I’m sorry, old boy, but surely you must yield to my prior claims.”

“Prior claims? What the devil, your grace?”

Sir William sneered, no other way to put it, but the marquess saw from the corner of his eye that he had backed away a step.

“Yes, Harry, prior claims. As a gentleman, I of course can’t disclose to you just what is involved. Further, I believe your argument with Sir William is a trifle premature. Allow me, I beg, to hold a brief discussion with Sir William. It is my belief that he will wish wholeheartedly to offer you an apology for his actions in this affair.”

“Apology,” Sir William shouted, his face red with rage. “If this young puppy can’t keep the silly wench in line”

“Do shut up, Filey,” the marquess said quietly. “Well, Harry, will you give way to my request?”

Sir Harry stood uncertainly, wondering what the devil he should do. Isabella’s cold refusal of his proposal had left him in such a fury that he wanted nothing more than to blow Sir William’s brains out. That he had not followed Lord Harry’s advice and had, indeed, bawled Isabella out for her common slut’s behavior, had made him all the angrier. She’d just stood there, staring at him, her only words being, ‘I’m not a slut and well you know it. Get out, Sir Harry. I never want to see you again.’ And that had been that. Well, he would show her that he was more the man than was Sir William. He would make her regret her words.

“Harry?”

Sir Harry pulled himself away from his thoughts to meet the marquess’s eyes. “Very well,” he said finally, “but he will be mine when your grace is done with him.”

“You shall have him or an apology, Harry. Does that suit you?”

“Yes.” Sir Harry bowed curtly to the marquess and strode away, leaving a group of very interested gentlemen in his wake. The marquess gazed about him, his brows raised. “If you would now excuse us, Sir William and I have a small problem to solve.” He smiled sweetly at Sir William and said gently, “Come, Filey.”

Sir William deplored this sudden turn of events, yet realized that if he were to refuse the marquess, he would be the butt of humiliating jokes for a very long time. He nodded coldly and followed the marquess from the room.

“I believe we can be assured of privacy here,” the marquess said, drawing