Page 12

“ G od’s blood, you’re a fool!”

“My lord?”

“Nothing further, Fletcher, thank you.” Patrick waved his butler away, his eyes still on the note in his hand.

He’d sent word to the countess last night that he wanted to take her driving today.

They needed to talk, and he needed to apologize for the way he’d spoken to her at the ball two nights ago.

She was a lady, and he’d mistreated her.

The Countess of Monmouth made him lose reason, but that was no excuse.

Running a hand down his face, he tried to ease the lingering pain in his head, which was all that was left of the headache he’d suffered last night.

“I will bring your tea, my lord,” Fletcher said, then quietly shut the door behind him.

Scanning the few lines of her note, Patrick thought he might swap the tea for something stronger.

My son has taken a chill, and it would be unwise to leave him in such a distressed state. Therefore, I must decline your invitation to go driving today, my lord. Patrick read the words once more.

I deserved this from her. He rarely spoke without thought, but he had when he’d all but told her he wanted to take her to his bed.

“Behold the mighty Lord Coulter at his desk.”

Patrick lowered the note and looked at his unexpected guest.

“Is it an apparition? Surely the estimable Viscount Sumner is not standing before me at”—Patrick made a great show of checking the clock that hung above his desk— “eleven o’clock.”

“Shut up, Coulter. My mother has come to town, and you know what that means.” Stephen groaned, sinking into a leather armchair across from the desk. A scruffy white dog followed, leaping nimbly onto Stephen’s lap before turning two circles and settling into a small coil.

“Good morning, Bidders,” Patrick said to the small canine who had his back to him. Clearly, the dog had his master’s manners. “I will have Fletcher make up a room. How long are you to stay with me?”

“Very good of you, and I’m unsure.” Stephen propped his chin on one hand while he stared morosely out the window behind Patrick.

“How many guests has your mother brought with her this time?” Patrick asked, getting to his feet. Picking up the whisky decanter, he poured two glasses. To hell with the hour. If ever two men needed a drink, it was they.

“Seven, and three are sisters, but I fear more will follow,” Stephen replied, taking a large gulp of the whisky Patrick had handed him.

Stephen, unlike Patrick, had a mother who was still alive and seemed—in his friend’s opinion—hell-bent on making her son’s existence one of abject misery.

She often turned up with no warning, a full entourage of people and guests accompanying her, and invaded Stephen’s town house, demanding attention.

She was a larger-than-life, gregarious woman who had a zest for living that sometimes gave her only son palpitations.

“I like your mother,” Patrick said with a fond smile. She was the direct opposite of what his own very formal parents had been. Lady Sumner hugged and kissed Patrick whenever he was in hugging distance. She loved him like he was one of her own children.

“Done!” Stephen said. “She is yours as of this moment.”

Patrick snorted, enjoying the burn of liquor as it traveled down his throat.

“I saw your countess last night at the event you said you’d attend and didn’t.”

“I had a headache.”

“Hell, I’m sorry. It’s been so long since you had one. How do you feel today?” Stephen asked.

He’d seen Patrick through many headaches over the years.

“I’m fine. Tell your story.”

“Actually, I rescued her from the clutches of that pernicious peacock of a cousin of hers,” Stephen said. “I dislike that man intensely. He’s smarmy. For the life of me, I can’t understand why so many women adore him.”

“Rescued?” Patrick questioned.

“He really is a sniveling snot.”

“I think we have established your ability for alliteration,” Patrick said. “How did you rescue the Countess of Monmouth?”

Stephen looked at Patrick for several seconds. There were few people who could read him, and unfortunately, he was one of them.

“It’s so unusual to see that kind of reaction from you. It always surprises me,” Stephen said.

“I asked you a question. I did not react.”

“Oh, you reacted all right,” he said with a smug smile.

“Don’t make me break your nose again, Sumner.”

“I would like to see you try,” Stephen replied.

“I believe my house may be full, sorry,” Patrick added, totally unrepentant. “Seems you will have to reside with your mother and her friends after all.”

“Bastard.” His friend’s word held little malice as he stroked the soft fur of his companion.

“Now we both know that is not true,” Patrick said softly.

“Dutton had her cornered on a terrace. It seems she had gone out there to escape the sweaty masses and find a rare breath of fresh air. I walked out with the same intent, and Dutton had her up against the wall and seemed to be forcing himself upon her.”

“I’ll kill the little weasel,” Patrick hissed. “Rip his limbs from his body and use them to strangle his scrawny, sweaty neck.”

“Now who is alliterating?”

“What?” Patrick barked as he battled his anger.

“Never mind. I went to stop Dutton, but the countess beat me to it and lifted her knee into his groin. With deadly accuracy, I might add,” Stephen said, wincing.

“Good for her,” Patrick approved, pushing aside the thought that he had not behaved honorably to Sophie himself a few nights ago. At least she hadn’t taken a knee to his groin.

“While Dutton was groaning in a very unmanly fashion on the ground, I took the countess’s hand and took her back into the ballroom. I told her I would tell no one of what had just taken place, and then I returned her to Lady Carstairs and Miss Logan, that irritating friend of hers, and left.”

“I will destroy Dutton,” Patrick said, gaining his feet and stalking to the door and back.

“A very strong reaction for someone who professes no interest in the fair countess, Colt,” Stephen said.

“Why is Dutton intent on threatening the countess when he received a title upon her husband’s death, which comes with both wealth and influence?

” Patrick wondered out loud, choosing to ignore Stephen’s comments.

“It makes little sense. I came upon him talking to the countess one day on the street. He was yelling at her about his inheritance and how she had cheated him out of it.” Patrick picked up a piece of discarded paper and hurled it into the fire.

Stephen watched its progress before speaking.

“Obviously, her son is now the earl, which would annoy Dutton, as he believes it’s his birthright.”

“I believe we need to do some digging, my friend,” Patrick said.

“Why?” Stephen inquired, sitting back and sipping his drink. His face was the picture of innocence, but those blue eyes held a wicked twinkle that made Patrick want to punch him.

“Must you always challenge me?” He sighed. “I should have formed a friendship with someone who would constantly agree with my every word.”

“You would have been bored. Were it not for me, you would be surrounded by yes-men who would never question you,” Stephen said.

“I don’t know why,” Patrick said slowly. “I just have a feeling something is off with the Countess of Monmouth.”

“You thought she was the villain before. You don’t now?” Stephen asked.

Patrick ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I don’t know what to think, only that what you saw combined with what happened that day in the street when I came upon her and Dutton means I think he is a real threat to her.”

“And she only has Lady Carstairs watching over her?”

“Something like that,” Patrick said. “That day in the tea shop I thought she seemed scared. Her eyes went to the window constantly. I saw two men there, and I’m sure they were looking at her.”

Stephen whistled. “There is the son that needs protecting also.”

Patrick nodded.

“Well now, I thought this season would be as boring as the last one. It seems I was wrong, especially as the countess has you tied in knots.”

“She does not have me tied in knots,” Patrick gritted out. Stephen’s laugh had him stalking to the door.

“Fletcher!” he bellowed after wrenching it open.

“My lord?” The butler appeared seconds later.

“We are to be plagued by Viscount Sumner and his pesky pet until he grows a backbone and returns to his town house. Please arrange a room for him.”

“Sad but true,” Stephen said in a mournful voice from behind Patrick.