An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) by Suzanne Downes

ever she is driven to leave you, it will, in all probability, be due to just such a scene as this.  Is that what you really want to happen?”
    “Of course not!  God knows I try to control my temper, but when the red mist comes down – do you think I wanted to hit the boy?  Do you think I am in any way proud of myself?  He is my own flesh and blood.  I will have to take her away.  If it were not for this damned wedding, we would not be here in London at all.”  He sank wearily into his seat, his head dropped forward into his hands, the knuckles of his punishing right scuffed and bleeding from contact with Trentham’s teeth, “God, I wish we had never come back!”
    “You will break Cara’s heart if you do not attend our wedding,” said Gil severely.  Much as he sympathized with Peter’s very evident turmoil, he could not help feeling that all that was required was a little more self-control – both on the part of the husband and the nephew.  “Leave the matter in my hands.  I shall speak to Trentham.  He will not trouble you or Luisa for the remainder of your stay, take my oath on that.”
    Peter nodded wearily; it was as though he had lost all his strength when his passion subsided, leaving him empty and without a will of his own, “Do whatever you think best, Gil.  If any man alive can make Trentham see sense, I’ll wager it is you.  His father ceased to have any influence over him years ago.  He was always too soft with the boy.  A spell in the army would have given him a little backbone – and an inkling of the honour which dictates that you do not try to steal another man’s wife.”
    Underwood swiftly intercepted at this point, suggesting that it was perhaps time they rescued the club members from the Wablers and retired, to rearm, for dinner.
    It happened they had no need to search out the ex-soldiers, for they had been told by a young and easily impressed waiter that there were fisticuffs in the smoking room.  They arrived at that moment, breathless, drunker than before, and unspeakably disappointed to have missed the fight.  They were not in least consoled to be assured quietly by Underwood that it had been a tame affair, with only one blow struck and a bloody lip the only casualty.  It was universally acknowledged that Peter was a lucky dog to have the lovely little pocket Venus as his spouse and they would all have gladly piled in on the side of Trentham, though he was not much liked because of his youthful arrogance and the fact that his father supplied him with an allowance which made an army pension seem like utter penury.
    There were still mumbles of discontent when they re-met at the dinner table; a situation not much helped when all the ladies could talk of were hats and muffs, reticules and pelisses, gloves and shoes, and, worst of all, scents, powders and creams.   They were unspeakably bored and therefore unutterably rude.  It did them no good, for the ladies, in high good humour, merely thought of them as naughty little boys and treated them with good-natured contempt.  As a result they wolfed dinner and were gone out carousing before the ladies had even retired to the saloon to take their tea.
    Over port and brandy, Peter, who appeared to have sobered, though his eyes were shot through with red streaks and his hair still wet from being plunged under the yard-pump, spoke to his remaining male companions, “I behaved abominably this afternoon, gentlemen, and I should be immensely grateful if Luisa were to remain in ignorance of the fact.”
    Underwood responded for them all when he answered, “My dear fellow, if we all had to relate an occasion when love had led us into folly, we would be here all night.  Pray think no more about it.”
     
    *
     
    There were several conversations in the vicinity of Westland Square that evening to which Underwood would never be privy – and he probably would not have wished to be so.  He found displays of deep emotion incredibly