Waiting for an Earl Like You

by Alexandra Hawkins

  His cousin headed for the door. “If we are going to fight again, I may have to throw up first.”

  Gideon looked drunk and weary as Thorn felt. “You don’t need me to tend to Chance. Nor do I need you.”

  The muscles in his abdomen rippled as if he had taken a physical blow. “So what are you planning to do? Plant your nose in the cushions and go back to sleep?”

  “Perhaps,” was his brother’s sullen reply. “As I see it, what I do is not your concern.”

  Another crushing blow. It seemed as if everyone was determined to pick a fight with him this evening.

  “Fine. Do what you will,” Thorn said coldly, refusing to show his friends how much his brother’s refusal had stung him.

  “I always do,” Gideon replied, matching his brother’s harsh demeanor.

  A blistering curse from Chance forced Thorn to break eye contact with his twin. “What is wrong? Has Rainbault returned?”

  “Not quite,” his cousin said, quietly shutting the door and turning the key in the lock. “Tempest’s father is speaking to someone at the end of the corridor.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Chance leaned against the door and rubbed the nape of his neck. It was miraculous how quickly a gentleman sobered when his father-in-law was patronizing the same notorious club.

  “Did you know he was a member?” St. Lyon asked.

  His cousin shook his head. “I may have married his daughter, but we are not confidants. He leaves the room whenever Tempest and I call on her mother and sister. If he discovers me at Acropolis, he will assume there is trouble in my marriage and he will do everything to exploit it.”

  Gideon rose from the sofa and joined them near the door. “You have witnesses who can attest that we have done nothing but drink and play cards all evening.”

  “And friends will not lie to protect one another?” Chance groaned. “And while the four of us are explaining our presence at Acropolis to the man who detests me and my family, swearing that I am faithful to his daughter, that is when our lusty friend will join our little group with his collection of handpicked courtesans in his wake. Curse Rainbault and his unruly cock!”

  “Norgrave is married, too. If he accuses you of betraying your marriage vows, then you can make the same charge. He cannot touch you.”

  His cousin scowled at St. Lyon. “You of all people have heard the rumors about Norgrave. The man has no honor and shames his wife by taking mistresses and fathering bastards,” he said, dispassionately observing his friend’s wince. “He would take pleasure in hurting the daughter who betrayed him and calling my own honor into question. My family would not believe him, but there are other members of the ton who will.”

  Thorn knew Chance did not care a pittance about the ton or anyone else’s opinion of him. He was worried about Tempest. She did not deserve to be ridiculed for aligning herself with him or to be used as an instrument of revenge against the Duke of Blackbern and his family. Nor did Chance wish for her to have any doubts about his commitment to her.

  “Be at ease, cousin,” Thorn said, clasping the marquess’s shoulder. “Even if someone has told him that you are here, he will need more than rumors to cause mischief for your family. The feud with your family and Norgrave’s unhappiness with your marriage to his daughter will only prove he is spiteful.”

  A knock at the door caused them all to tense.

  “My lords?” an unknown man queried. “I have a patron with me who desires a brief moment of your time.”

  Thorn silently motioned for Chance to hide in the bedchamber, but the marquess vehemently rejected the suggestion by shaking his head. He soundlessly mouthed something. It could have been an explanation on why the bedchamber was a poor choice or he could have been cursing Rainbault and his carelessness. St. Lyon was in no mood to debate the issue, so he abruptly seized a fistful of his friend’s evening coat and steered him toward the open balcony and a Chinese Coromandel screen large enough to conceal three grown men.

  Chance shrugged off the viscount’s grip and crossed to the dark lacquered folding screen unaided. St. Lyon rejoined Thorn and Gideon and tipped his head toward the shut door. The anger that had heated the viscount’s eyes had cooled with the knowledge that they had a common foe waiting for them to open the door. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Thorn turned the key in the lock and opened the door several inches.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, deliberately roughing his voice to convey his displeasure.

  The man glanced nervously at Thorn and then at his companion, who Thorn couldn’t see. He was a short portly fellow with small dark eyes and a once-broken nose that had healed crookedly. “Forgive me for intruding, my lord. Is your name Fairlamb?”

  Thorn glanced at St. Lyon, who was positioned behind the door. “I was under the impression that names are not offered or shared in this establishment,” he answered, the servant’s nose reddening as his meaning was clear.

  “N-Naturally,” the other man stammered. “The Acropolis prides itself on discretion. There has been a bit of confusion on the size of your party, Your Grace. We were not expecting another guest to join you.”

  So the servant thought he was Rainbault. Thorn decided not to correct the man. “I am not expecting anyone else. You have my permission to turn him away.”

  “That would be rather awkward since I am a longstanding member of this club,” the Marquess of Norgrave drawled as he stepped into view. Recognition widened the older man’s eyes as he stared at Thorn. His familial ties to the Rookes made him an enemy. “You fool, this is not the duke. Good evening, Lord Kempthorn. This is most unexpected. I had not heard you were joining Rainbault this evening. It is rare that you do. I have heard several ladies speculate if you live the chaste life of a monk, dedicating yourself to intellectual pursuits rather than those of the flesh.”

  Thorn glanced at the servant before he responded to the marquess. “His Grace will be touched that you have taken an interest in his private affairs. I, however, do not, so I have little interest in satisfying your curiosity.”

  “A shame,” the marquess said with feigned disappointment. “I view myself as something of a mentor, and I would relish the opportunity soaking some of that starch out of your inflexible scruples. It is truly quite liberating.”

  “I will accept your word on it.”

  He was quietly contemplating Rainbault’s demise. It was no secret that his friend was on friendly terms with Norgrave and, much to Chance’s frustration, His Grace had never taken sides on the feud between the Rookes and the Brants.

  “Rainbault values his alliance with me and my supporters,” the marquess explained.

  Norgrave spoke with an air of confidence that had a ring of truth. A tiny seed of doubt took root in Thorn’s chest as he silently wondered if their friend was amusing himself by offering his friendship to both families. To maintain the delicate balance, had Rainbault sent word that Chance would be present this evening?

  No, such a betrayal was utter rubbish and only proved he had had too much wine this evening.

  “You seem surprised. My friendship with His Grace can be traced back to when he first arrived in England as a child,” the older gentleman explained. “I went to the king and pleaded on the lad’s behalf that he be offered sanctuary from his enemies.”

  “I have heard the tale from Rainbault’s lips, Norgrave,” Thorn said, not concealing his derision. “Many were sympathetic to the orphaned prince, and six men argued on his behalf. Although not all of the gentlemen were impelled by magnanimity. A few, it is rumored, sought to use the boy to improve favor with the royal court.” Thorn smirked. “I have been told that you might be one of these men.”

  Norgrave pushed the servant aside and stepped closer to the narrow opening. “You are too young to be so jaded, Kempthorn. Or may I call you Thorn?”

  Thorn held the other man’s gaze. “Why? Do you hope to sway me with your charming tale of love and fatherly devotion to an orphaned boy?”

 
Norgrave’s light blue eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Perhaps your disposition could be improved on if you chose new friends. I could be persuaded to make a few introductions on your behalf. After all, through my daughter’s marriage to your cousin, you are distant family.”

  Kinship to Norgrave? It was too appalling to contemplate even in jest. “I believe I will respectfully decline your generous offer and keep my current friends.”

  “A man can never have enough, in my humble opinion,” the marquess said, his shrewd gaze taking the measure of everything in front of him, including the fact that Thorn had not altered his stance. “I would assume we have a few friends in common.”

  “It seems unlikely.”

  “Now you are just being difficult. What about Rainbault? And then there is Chance,” he added.

  The gentleman was playing games. Thorn did not risk glancing behind him, but he prayed his cousin had enough sense to remain hidden and not lose his temper. “You have an odd sense of friendship, Norgrave. I heard you were furious when you learned Chance and Tempest had already married. It ruined your plans for her, did it not? Still, you refused to give up. You tried to tear the couple apart with outrageous lies and if you had succeeded, their marriage would have been annulled and Tempest would be married to some gullible fool you could easily manipulate.”

  Lord Norgrave showed little reaction to Thorn’s accusations. “Would you believe that I was protecting my daughter from the scoundrel who kidnapped and married her?”

  Thorn grunted in disbelief. “No.”

  The marquess sighed. “Then I will not waste my breath trying to convince you that I was vilified by Blackbern and his son. I understand family loyalties. You do not wish to accept that your cousin seduced my daughter and then filled her head with ridiculous accusations to turn her against her family.”

  Thorn remained silent. He had been present the day Chance and Tempest had first met. Once his cousin had learned Norgrave was Tempest’s father, he had tried to keep his distance, knowing that nothing could happen between them. Thorn had watched as love blossomed between them. He also had witnessed the upheaval their marriage had created in the two families. Like his father before him, Chance had become Norgrave’s enemy. In the marquess’s jaded world, people were either gullible pawns or obstacles.

  Thorn wanted Norgrave to understand one important detail. He was standing in front of a six-foot-three-inch obstacle.

  “The last time I spoke to Lady Fairlamb she was in the company of her sister, and both ladies appeared quite happy as they visited with my family.”

  Norgrave leaned closer and sneered. “Stay away from Arabella. I will not lose another daughter to your depraved family. Defy me, and I will demonstrate that I am wholly capable of hurting you in ways you cannot contemplate.” His mouth curved into a fiendish grin. “Talk to your cousin or Blackbern if you do not believe me.”

  His eyes slid away from Thorn’s face and sharpened as they heard the sound of breaking glass coming from inside the room. “Where are your manners, Kempthorn? You have neglected to invite me in for a drink.”

  Without warning, Lord Norgrave struck the door with the palm of his hand with enough strength to widen the opening. Thorn glanced at St. Lyon before he stepped back and allowed the marquess to enter the room.

  The man’s expression darkened as he noted Gideon crouched down picking up the large glass shards that remained of the wine bottle he had knocked off the table and St. Lyon who stood several feet behind Thorn.

  “What’s this?”

  “The demise of a private gathering, Norgrave,” Thorn said, dismissing the servant who lingered at the threshold with a stern look. “I regret I cannot offer you a drink. It appears my friends and I have imbibed every drop while we played cards all evening.”

  “Cards?”

  The three men watched as the marquess strode angrily to the bedchamber and peered inside. The interior was softly lit with oil lamps and a large unused bed. He walked back into the main room.

  “Where is everyone? Where is Fairlamb? My spies tell me that he is here.” Norgrave picked up several of the playing cards on the table and discarded them. His anger and frustration that his son-in-law had outwitted him was palpable.

  “Is Chance here, St. Lyon?” Thorn asked while he stared at the marquess.

  “I do not see him,” was the viscount’s cool reply. “What about you, Netherwood? Any sign of your cousin?”

  “He is not hiding in the sofa cushions,” Gideon said, warming to their game of words. “Has anyone checked the folding screen?”

  Thorn turned and openly glared at his twin. In that moment, he could have strangled Gideon for mentioning the damn screen.

  The one that was presently concealing Chance!

  Noting Thorn’s mute fury, Norgrave cocked his head and with a jaunty swagger in his stride he walked to the black-lacquered folding screen. “An excellent suggestion, Netherwood. Or do the lads still call you Thornless. An unfortunate nickname, but the cruel ones tend to stick.”

  “Never for long,” Gideon murmured silkily.

  Norgrave peered behind the screen and Thorn, Gideon, and St. Lyon held their collective breaths as the older man froze. “Where the devil is he?”

  Relief flowed through Thorn as he exhaled. “You have lousy spies, Norgrave,” he drawled. “Shall I see you to the door? If you are quick, you might catch one and demand your coins back.”

  Just then Rainbault walked into the Bird Room with a comely woman gripping each of his arms plus two more women following behind them, and they had brought refreshments. The blonde was cradling bottles of wine in the front of her gathered skirt and the other held a tray of food. “Excellent, all of you are awake. I thought I would have to arrange—” He paused when he recognized the marquess. “Norgrave, what are you doing here? Have you stumbled into the wrong room?”

  Thorn walked up to greet Rainbault. With his back to the marquess, the warning in his gaze was obvious. “I suspect your old mentor has had too many pots of ale. He mistakenly thought Chance was dallying with whores at the Acropolis.”

  The duke laughed, and gently pushed the two women toward the bedchamber. “You must be drunk, Norgrave. You have been a member of this club for decades. When have you ever encountered Fairlamb here? If Blackbern’s son was a frequent visitor, you would have used the information to blackmail him and that would have displeased me.”

  Norgrave did not seem to hear the duke. “I was told—”

  Rainbault’s expression hardened. “Go back to your rented rooms or find your way home. This is a private gathering. I know you understand and will respect the rules.”

  The marquess shook his head as if to clear it. “Of course … of course.”

  Thorn followed him to the door. “I see no reason to mention your visit or your suspicions. Chance is less forgiving than I am when his honor is impugned. Nor would I wish to humiliate Lady Norgrave.”

  “A pity since it is my favorite pastime,” Norgrave said with a gleam in his eye. “I pray Rainbault hasn’t taken it into his head that you and your brother are prime candidates for the Acropolis. I deduced years ago that neither one of you were worthy to be a member.”

  “It is a disappointment I struggle to live with each day,” Thorn mocked.

  Norgrave nodded at the viscount. “St. Lyon, on the other hand … well, the apple does not fall far from the tree, eh?” he said enigmatically and winked at the other man.

  St. Lyon stiffened.

  Thorn shut the door in the marquess’s face and gave the key in the lock a vicious twist.

  He turned around and was in the mood to punch Rainbault for his carelessness. The duke was speaking quietly to the other two women as he guided them to the bedchamber door to join the others and closed it.

  Viewing his friend’s thunderous expression, Rainbault said, “Are you planning to beat an apology out of me, Thorn? In my defense, I was not expecting Norgrave to make an appearance this evening. He has not visited th
e club in months. Rumor has it, he has been distracted by his latest mistress.”

  “I will let Chance deal with you,” he said, heading to the folding screen. “Tell me, Gideon. What possessed you to encourage Norgrave to look behind the bloody screen? Christ, you are an arse!”

  His brother was stirred, anger goading him forward. “Ignoring an obvious hiding place would have made him suspicious. He was so certain he would find Chance, he would have checked it with or without my assistance,” Gideon replied, joining his brother.

  “Next time, keep your mouth shut!” Norgrave wasn’t lying. No one was behind the screen. He tugged at the nearest curtain and released it. He scowled at his brother. “So where is he?”

  Rainbault and St. Lyon also moved closer.

  “Chance slipped out the window,” the viscount volunteered.

  Thorn gaped at his companions. “In his inebriated condition, Chance will break his neck if he falls.” He opened the window and squinted into the darkness below. The putrid scent of sewage and rotten food filled his nostrils. “Chance?” he called out, resisting the urge to raise his voice.

  Norgrave could be listening at the door.

  All four of them had crammed their heads through the opening of the window and waited for their friend to reply. After a tense minute, the men heard, “Is he gone?”

  Thorn’s shoulders sagged with relief. “How did you find your way to the street? Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

  “So little faith,” was Chance’s indignant response. “How do you think I managed it? I climbed down, though the last part was tricky since I couldn’t see the street. I might have reconsidered Gideon’s plan if I had gotten a good look at the distance and my precarious perches.”

  “Stay there. I am coming down,” Thorn ordered stepping away from the window. The duke, St. Lyon, and Gideon mimicked his actions.

  From below, they faintly overheard, “Hurry. There are rats scurrying in the weeds and garbage. Not to mention, it smells like a damn chamber pot down here.”

  Thorn looked at his brother and felt the urge to apologize for yelling at him. “This was your plan?”