Page 83 of Never Beguile a Duke

“I’ve been told,” Roxburghe said, sliding an arm over Silas’ shoulders, “that I have quite a pleasing temperament.”

“By your lovely fiancée, I’m certain.” Silas allowed Roxburghe to guide him toward the dining room. “And while I respect her opinion, in this instance, I think her incorrect. However, if you wish to pose the question to others, I’d be willing to revise my statement.”

“Would you care to wager on the outcome?” Pausing outside the dining room, Roxburghe held Silas fast.

“There’s nothing I want or need from you.” Silas shoved Roxburghe’s arm off and stepped beneath the door frame.

“You were more fun when you weren’t in love.” Roxburghe’s quip hit Silas in the back of the head.

Silas spun and stalked forward. “I’ll thank you not to spread unfounded rumors.”

Snickering, Roxburghe crossed his arms over his chest. “Prove me wrong.”

“I may not be as strong as Mansfield or as quick as Lennox, but I will strike you.” Silas raised his fists.

A soft chuckle drew their attention, and they glanced toward the library entrance, finding Warwick hovering in the doorway.

“I’ll lend you my cane, Beaufort,” Warwick said as he limped toward them. “It’s better than both Mansfield and Lennox combined.”

Roxburghe moved aside as Warwick joined them. “Why are you taking Beaufort’s position without listening to mine?”

“Because it annoys you.”

“Should we ask Warwick?” Silas said, a wide grin splitting his face. “Surely, you value his judgment.”

His gaze sliding over Warwick, Roxburghe frowned. “He will speak toward the negative to further vex me.”

“I most certainly would.” Warwick thumped the floor with the tip of his cane. “What’s the subject?”

“Roxburghe’s pleasing temperament.”

Warwick nearly fell over laughing.

When he finally regained his composure and wiped the tears from his eyes, he cleared his throat and said, “A question of that delicate nature should be posed to the gentler guests in attendance.”

“Because your answer would offend Roxburghe?” Silas raised his eyebrows.

“Because you both knew my response prior to asking the query,” Warwick replied and hobbled toward the dining room.

“No question regarding Warwick’s nature,” Roxburghe hissed loud enough for Warwick to hear.

Eyes thinning to slits, he shot a dark glower at Roxburghe. “Remind me why I agreed to endure this madness.”

Silas almost felt bad for Warwick.

Almost.

“Ten thousand pounds,” Silas replied, then snapped his fingers. “With Roxburghe and Lennox losing the wager, your winnings are closer to seventeen now.”

“Actually,” Roxburghe said, an evil grin tugging the corners of his mouth upward, “your portion is twenty-five.”

“Twenty-five thousand?” Warwick gasped, lowering his voice and moving back into the corridor. “Is Mansfield nurturing an affection for someone?”

Roxburghe shook his head. “Beaufort is.”

“Miss Fernsby-Webb?” Warwick asked, tilting his head.

Silas growled at them. “How did everyone know but me?”