by Suzi Love
"Woman? What woman? Is she someone I know?" Cayle reached across and slouched against the opposite jamb, knife twirling.
Bennett flinched, and moved his umbrella into an offensive position. "Just a whore. Her name's not important." He flinched when the knife met him on eye level. "Damn you, Sherwyn. You'll cut me."
He chuckled. "No, no, no, Bennett. Not that I'm loathe to pierce your loathsome hide, mind you, but the maids get upset when I spill blood across the Italian tiles."
"Now see here, Sherwyn. You've no right to mock me. We've not even been in contact since you left England. Haven't spoken since that night." Bennett's sneering look made Cayle itch to lean closer with the blade. He'd avoided this cowardly sneak at school, and detested the namby-pamby man as an adult. Bennett leaned in and smirked. "You caused quite a scandal by seducing Lady Sybila on Hetherington's desk."
Cayle clenched his teeth, bit down on his habitual retort. No point defending himself against that charge now, not after his father died believing the lies. Hopefully, his younger brothers now knew the truth, and their opinion mattered, and no one else's.
Lord Mitchell used his elbow to forcibly shift Bennett aside. Pity. A few red drops to scrub off white tiles didn't compare to the satisfaction of pricking Bennett's self-opinionated bubble. Mitchell's mouth turned up at the edges. A peace-making smile?
More the grin of a rabid dog. "Please, excuse Lord Bennett. Overeager to locate our lost friend. We were to be entertained by a ... female acquaintance tonight."
"I take it you mean a light-skirt."
Mitchell's laugh was forced, grating. "Well, yes. A trifle embarrassing really. This agreeable ladybird promised all sorts of delights if we could offer a warm and dry gathering place nearby." He laughed, self-consciously, and again forced. "My fault. Muddled the directions. You know how it is when you've overdone the wine with dinner. Head and stomach rebel."
Cayle, his eyes pinned on Bennett, nodded at Mitchell. Jenner's ironic words of wisdom echoed in his head. 'Gentlemen who seek mindlessness by over imbibing frequently suffer embarrassing afflictions of their anatomy the next day.'
"-- agreed to meet at our friend's house." Mitchell gestured vaguely. "Down the square. Blow me down if Bennett doesn't sight the silly girl entering the wrong townhouse."
"It was this house." Bennett dipped his umbrella, wielded it like a battering ram.
Cayle scowled and stood his ground. "No, not this house."
"B-but I saw her. She slipped inside. Through someone's open door."
So, they weren't positive which door she'd entered. Excellent. Plus, Bennett's habitual cowardice could be played upon.
"Brown cloak. Brown hat," Mitchell said, using his hands to indicate the woman's size. His tone of voice had sped from conspiratorial to annoyed, in a matter of moments.
"I-I was certain she came through this door," Bennett said.
Better and better. If he was to shield the hiding woman, so near he could smell her floral bouquet, he needed to sound convincing over Bennett's confusion.
"Gentlemen. I too may have over imbibed on the brandy this evening, but not so much that I wouldn't notice a harlot walking through my door. A delightful one at that."
"Where's your butler?" Bennett said. "Perhaps he let her in by mistake."
Cayle drew himself upright to stare down at Bennett using his most ducal scowl, and was delighted when his adversary looked away first. "My butler makes no mistakes. Besides which, he's retired for the night. Only me here, and I'm for my bed." He grasped the door handle but Bennett, in a rush of bravado, thrust a booted foot into the opening. Cayle snorted, shifted his knife forward to touch Bennett a few inches above his trouser-clad knee. "Step back, or I won't be held responsible if it slips."
Bennett sucked in a loud breath. "You wouldn't dare."
He laughed. "Ha! Remember, I'm now Sherwyn. I'd dare anything."
He shoved the door closed though he resisted the temptation to slam it in their faces. He listened with his ear to the door until he heard their footsteps on the pavement. He spun around and bumped into the woman who stood directly behind him, oblivious to the water dripping from her lank hair and forming a puddle at her feet.
"Are they gone?" Her breath caught a little on the question.
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