Mad About the Earl by Christina Brooke

will not exercise your talents upon Rosamund’s fiancé.”
    “No, indeed,” said Rosamund, adding a hint of steel to her own smile. “You may safely leave him to my tender mercies.”
    By the time she was finished with him, Griffin would beg her to marry him on bended knee. And it would all be for the best in the end, for she meant to be the most excellent wife any man could wish for.
    But first she would punish him a little. It was no less than he deserved for leaving her on the shelf so long.
    Suddenly, exhilaration swept over her, drowning out her nervous panic. A bubble of laughter expanded in her chest.
    Griffin was coming for her.
    At last!
    *   *   *
     
    Later that day, the Westruther gentlemen were gathered on a matter of business in Montford’s library when the discussion turned once again to Rosamund’s betrothed.
    “He had the nerve to ask me to intercede with Rosamund for him,” said Montford pensively. “I’m to command her to the altar, if you please.”
    Xavier snorted. “The man doesn’t know whom he’s dealing with.”
    Lydgate’s brow furrowed. “Strange that neither of them has pressed the matter until now.” He shrugged. “Oh, I suppose in Rosamund’s case, it’s understandable that she wouldn’t wish to rush into wedded bliss with a fellow like that. But she hasn’t cried off, either.”
    “A most dutiful little lamb,” murmured Xavier, setting his sherry glass down with a click.
    A lamb to the slaughter was the allusion, of course. No prizes for guessing whom Xavier cast in the role of shepherd. Montford tensed, then cursed himself for reacting to Xavier’s provocation.
    “Let her go, Your Grace,” said Xavier, ruthlessly exploiting his advantage. “You know she’d be happier with Lauderdale.”
    Montford held on to his temper. “No. I don’t know that.”
    Captain Lauderdale was not the man for Rosamund. Even if Montford believed in romantic love—and he didn’t—he would not permit Rosamund to marry her cavalry officer. The very fact she hadn’t so much as mentioned the possibility to him told its own tale.
    Surely if Rosamund believed herself deep in love with another man, she would not have waited for Tregarth all these years? Tregarth’s neglect had given her the perfect excuse to break the engagement. And yet, she had not once sought Montford’s permission to do so.
    As for Tregarth himself, well, the duke knew something of the difficulties the earl had faced since his grandfather died. Montford was willing to overlook the delay that in other circumstances he would deem insulting. Particularly as this rare alliance between a Westruther and a deVere would consolidate the Westruthers’ influence in the southwest.
    “But what has Tregarth been about, to leave her on the shelf for years?” demanded Lydgate.
    “You needn’t look so indignant,” commented Xavier. “You’ve not lifted a finger to help her in all that time.”
    “I haven’t precisely been at leisure these past few years, have I?” said Lydgate silkily. “Unlike some.”
    With a gleam of amusement, Montford scanned Lydgate from the soles of his expensively shod feet to the top of his immaculately styled hair. “Live within your means, and you would have ample leisure to do with as you wish.”
    The butler entered then, announcing, “Lord Tregarth, Your Grace.”
    It was not often Montford was caught by surprise. “So soon?”
    “The man of the hour,” drawled Xavier, rising to his feet.
    Tregarth strode into the room, looking large, belligerent, and decidedly unkempt.
    “Good God!” said Lydgate in accents of horror, looking him up and down. “Did you come directly from your horse barn or did you take a great roll in a cow byre for good measure?”
    Tregarth flicked his glowering gaze Lydgate’s way. “Don’t try my patience, sir.” His attention returned to Montford. “Where’s my bride?”
    Lydgate’s expression of disgust turned to astonishment, then outrage. “You