interrupted, uninterested in Martin’s tirade. It was only for effect, and they both knew it. “I thought so. Something conservative, I think. It will annoy him excessively.”
The valet frowned. “Why would that—”
“I wish to make certain he remembers that I outrank him.” He shrugged out of his nightshirt and tossed it onto the bed. He hated wearing the damned things, and if the blasted weather would warm up, he wouldn’t bother with them. “At least, I do for the moment, anyway.”
After he dressed in a stolid brown coat that looked better suited to a banker than a nobleman, he dropped the diamond pin into his waistcoat pocket and asked Martin to remain in his chambers. “I will be going out directly, and in something less…stiff.”
“You look better in your worst than most do in their best, if I say so myself.”
Jack grinned. “Compliments like that will get you an extra five quid in your pay envelope, Martin.”
The valet bowed his long frame. “They always do, my lord.”
As he made his way downstairs, Jack reflected that his little game seemed to be skittering a bit off the path. Last evening Lilith had been amusing, by God—five times brighter than any other debutante he’d had the misfortune to come across. He loved a challenge, andwhether she intended it or not, Lilith had just raised the stakes. Knowing she had the wits for a battle would make her imminent downfall even more entertaining.
William, though, was another sort entirely. He’d never seen a lad so determined to earn a tarnished reputation since—well, since himself. It was actually quite enlightening to view the proceedings from the far end of the hell he had put himself through when he’d come into the title at seventeen. Of course, he’d been on his own then. William was far luckier. There was no more willing, or proficient, tutor than himself when it came to self-destruction.
Peese stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “My lord,” the butler said, handing over Dolph Remdale’s card, “I informed Mr. Remdale that you hadn’t yet risen, but his reply was unrepeatable.”
“So repeat it.”
Peese grinned. “He said I was to get you and whatever plum-assed baggage you were rutting with out of bed and downstairs immediately.”
“Hm. Did he want to see me or the baggage?”
“He didn’t say, milord, but I assumed it was you.”
With a fleeting smile, Jack examined the calling card. Finely inked and bordered with delicate swirls, its refined effect was spoiled by the sweat-stained, bent edges. Dolph Remdale was obviously not in a good mood. “Thank you, Peese. I will require breakfast in five minutes.”
“In the morning room, my lord?” the butler asked in confusion.
Jack glanced at him. “If you insist.”
Peese squinted, then gave up trying to interpret the remark. “Yes, my lord.” The butler stepped down the hallway and opened the door to the morning room.
The heir presumptive to the Duke of Wenford stoodscowling out the front window. There was one thing for which Jack could be grateful to Lilith Benton: making trouble for the Remdales was something he would gladly do. Lilith was a damned fool to take up with Wenford, title or not. Then again, she’d been a damned fool for insulting the Marquis of Dansbury. For a bright chit, she seemed to make poor choices rather regularly.
Jack paused in the doorway to watch his guest. Antonia St. Gerard had on several occasions referred to Randolph Remdale as London’s blond Adonis. It was widely speculated that the only reason he hadn’t married was that he hadn’t yet come across a woman grand enough to be the Duchess of Wenford once he inherited the title. Jack suspected his continued bachelorhood had more to do with Remdale’s short temper and his unwillingness to share the mirrors in his home on St. George’s Street.
“Good morning, Remdale,” he drawled, strolling into the room. “Should I go through the pretense of asking why
The valet frowned. “Why would that—”
“I wish to make certain he remembers that I outrank him.” He shrugged out of his nightshirt and tossed it onto the bed. He hated wearing the damned things, and if the blasted weather would warm up, he wouldn’t bother with them. “At least, I do for the moment, anyway.”
After he dressed in a stolid brown coat that looked better suited to a banker than a nobleman, he dropped the diamond pin into his waistcoat pocket and asked Martin to remain in his chambers. “I will be going out directly, and in something less…stiff.”
“You look better in your worst than most do in their best, if I say so myself.”
Jack grinned. “Compliments like that will get you an extra five quid in your pay envelope, Martin.”
The valet bowed his long frame. “They always do, my lord.”
As he made his way downstairs, Jack reflected that his little game seemed to be skittering a bit off the path. Last evening Lilith had been amusing, by God—five times brighter than any other debutante he’d had the misfortune to come across. He loved a challenge, andwhether she intended it or not, Lilith had just raised the stakes. Knowing she had the wits for a battle would make her imminent downfall even more entertaining.
William, though, was another sort entirely. He’d never seen a lad so determined to earn a tarnished reputation since—well, since himself. It was actually quite enlightening to view the proceedings from the far end of the hell he had put himself through when he’d come into the title at seventeen. Of course, he’d been on his own then. William was far luckier. There was no more willing, or proficient, tutor than himself when it came to self-destruction.
Peese stood waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. “My lord,” the butler said, handing over Dolph Remdale’s card, “I informed Mr. Remdale that you hadn’t yet risen, but his reply was unrepeatable.”
“So repeat it.”
Peese grinned. “He said I was to get you and whatever plum-assed baggage you were rutting with out of bed and downstairs immediately.”
“Hm. Did he want to see me or the baggage?”
“He didn’t say, milord, but I assumed it was you.”
With a fleeting smile, Jack examined the calling card. Finely inked and bordered with delicate swirls, its refined effect was spoiled by the sweat-stained, bent edges. Dolph Remdale was obviously not in a good mood. “Thank you, Peese. I will require breakfast in five minutes.”
“In the morning room, my lord?” the butler asked in confusion.
Jack glanced at him. “If you insist.”
Peese squinted, then gave up trying to interpret the remark. “Yes, my lord.” The butler stepped down the hallway and opened the door to the morning room.
The heir presumptive to the Duke of Wenford stoodscowling out the front window. There was one thing for which Jack could be grateful to Lilith Benton: making trouble for the Remdales was something he would gladly do. Lilith was a damned fool to take up with Wenford, title or not. Then again, she’d been a damned fool for insulting the Marquis of Dansbury. For a bright chit, she seemed to make poor choices rather regularly.
Jack paused in the doorway to watch his guest. Antonia St. Gerard had on several occasions referred to Randolph Remdale as London’s blond Adonis. It was widely speculated that the only reason he hadn’t married was that he hadn’t yet come across a woman grand enough to be the Duchess of Wenford once he inherited the title. Jack suspected his continued bachelorhood had more to do with Remdale’s short temper and his unwillingness to share the mirrors in his home on St. George’s Street.
“Good morning, Remdale,” he drawled, strolling into the room. “Should I go through the pretense of asking why
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