He threw an arm over his eyes and wished for sleep. If he could just shut his brain off. It was like watching a mad Italian opera, with an ever-growing cast of people and problems dashing across the stage.
“Focus. You need to focus.”
He set his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes. Then, remembering the exercise which Lavinia had taught him, he dug his fingers in under his ribs. Being nervous made his breathing shallow. Lavinia had continually reminded him during their lessons that shallow chest-breathing was the Achilles’ heel of all singers.
Her comment about him being special, while being somewhat encouraging, was also a little unsettling. Apart from Eliza, there was no other woman who knew him beyond his Lord Reid Follett ‘war hero, devilish lover’ façade. In the short time that he had known Lavinia, Reid had already begun to sense she had a deeper insight into some parts of himself than even he had.
He had never been one for allowing women to see past the transactional nature of their relationships with him. His encounters with his lovers always began and ended with sex. There was nothing beyond the physical. He had never wanted anything more. And yet . . .
“Oh, for god’s sake, man, stop thinking about her,” he chided himself.
He had to forget everything and everyone, including Lavinia, and focus on the simple act of breathing.
“In and swallow, out and swallow. Feel your diaphragm move,” he whispered.
He worked to push all the other noise in his brain to the background. Keeping the exercise going, he felt himself relax into a rhythm. His mind soon began to settle and clear. His body softened. The sleep which had eluded him for most of the night finally crept in and gently claimed him.
His dream, when it came, was an intoxicating one where Lavinia Jones held him firmly by the cock, all the while stroking him and whispering.
‘In and out. In and out.’
Chapter Twelve
“Have a wee dram of this whisky. It will take the edge off your nerves.”
Callum held the flask out to Reid, who took one look at it and shook his head. He needed a clear head to get through this evening. Alcohol on an empty stomach was never a good idea.
The others had dined earlier, but Reid had not been able to keep anything down. After casting up his accounts several times, he had thrown a dash of cold water over his face and called it quits, retiring to his room to dress.
His thoughtful valet had brought him a cup of weak tea and a grateful Reid had sipped it slowly. Dehydration was yet another enemy of the singer’s voice.
Only when he’d sensed his stomach had settled somewhat had he ventured downstairs to the ballroom and met with the others. The sight of the hip flask in Callum’s hand made his already delicate stomach churn.
It was taking every ounce of his resolve to keep his nerves at bay. He hadn’t felt this unsure of himself since the night before they went into the final battle against Napoleon in June of the previous year.
Being nervous on the eve of a bloody battle made sense. Being this out of sorts over a mere singing engagement was ridiculous. His mind knew that, but still his body protested.
Owen, Callum, and Kendal seemed to be, on the surface at least, coping with the whole venture far better than he was. So much for being their leader.
Please let me remember the words and not make a mess of my timing.
Callum offered the flask around to the others, but only Owen accepted it. He held the flask to his lips for the merest of seconds before handing it back. Kendal, who was seated at his beloved piano, waved it away.
“Unlike the rest of you, I have actually performed for people outside of the military. And I know my playing will be held up to close scrutiny this evening, so I need to be at my best. I, for one, could not abide the idea of the Italians thinking my performance was anything less than outstanding,” said Kendal.
Reid’s breath caught in his throat. The Italians.
“What?” he said.
Kendal rose from his seat and, picking up his bright red silk evening cloak, made an overly dramatic display of draping it over his shoulders. His long fair hair settled over the back of the cloak, completing the effect. He was a natural performer. He knew it. And so, did everyone else. The rest of the Noble Lords would be wearing coats, leaving Kendal to embrace the theatrical grandeur of a cloak.
“Didn’t I tell you? They are coming tonight. Apparently, word has gotten out that a group of nobles have started a little musical band. Some clever clogs even spread word of our name and embellished it. The Noble Lords Quartet,” replied Kendal.
Owen snorted. “Good god. Next we will be wearing matching waistcoats. Who on earth added the piece about us being a quartet?”
“Eliza felt she needed a name with a little more spark to it in order to secure us our first booking. Rather than a ragtag of bored nobles playing for the sheer hell of it, she said it would improve our chances of finding an audience if we sounded like we were serious musicians,” said Reid.
“We are serious musicians,” grumbled Kendal.
“She had no right to change our name. I want to be the Noble Lords,” said Owen.
Reid felt another bout of nausea threatening. The last thing he needed at this moment was an argument over the name of the group. He was far more worried about whether their hostess and her guests would take them seriously. If they didn’t, there was every chance that the Noble Lords would die a horrible and very public death. There were enough jealous husbands in London who would no doubt take great pleasure in knowing that Reid and his friends had failed. He could just imagine the sly grins and barely concealed titters which would greet him every time he set foot in a ballroom for the rest of his life.
And now Marco and the Italians were going to grace them with their presence. Reid’s stomach turned at the thought.
Breathe, breathe. Fuck. Breathe.
“I shall have a word with Eliza and let her know that we are to be known as the Noble Lords,” said Reid.
His sister would not take the news well, but Owen was right. Only the members of the group had the right to change the name.
Callum took a deep swig from his hip flask and smiled. There was something to be said for spending a good deal of your life in a state of near stupor. Nothing seemed to faze him. Then again, it also meant he could be reckless and stupidly dangerous at times. It did have its drawbacks.
“As you said, Reid, we need to approach this like it is a war. At least we get to tackle the Italians right from the beginning. No point hanging back in the rearguard,” said Callum.
When Callum looked at his flask once more, Kendal reached out and took it from him. He set the flask to his lips and downed a surprisingly large gulp of whisky. He then put the lid back on. Reid silently saluted Kendal as he slipped the flask into his own pocket. One, for not giving it back to Callum, and two, for showing that he was also human and more than a little nervous about tonight.
When the house butler poked his head inside the room and nodded to Reid, signaling that the carriage was waiting for them out in the street, Reid called for the four of them to gather close. They came and stood in a semi-circle with him in the middle. It was time for their leader to give them all a good pep talk. He especially needed one.
“I was going to say something about us remembering the friends we left behind on the battlefield in Belgium and how we owe it to them to defend our territory and continue tupping the women of London, but I thought better of it,” said Reid.
Owen raised an eyebrow. “Good. Because that would be a new low for all of us if you did.”
Callum stirred from his alcohol-addled state. “Yes, it’s the living we have to worry about. We need to wring every last drop of mayhem out of this summer because we won’t have this time again. That means wine, whisky, and wild women,” he said.
With a smile, Kendal produced Callum’s whisky flask from his jacket pocket and handed it to him. “Yes, and since we have a plentiful supply of booze, it’s women w
e need to focus our energy on winning over,” he said.
Reid nodded his agreement. There was no point in offering up noble intentions as to why they were going to stand in front of London society and get paid to perform. Callum was right. Everything they did in the name of the Noble Lords came down to that one thing.
Women.
Reid’s nerve-addled mind corrected him. There was one other thing in the mix. If they could best the Italians, the Noble Lords would reclaim their position as the top dogs in the minds of the wicked women of London society. And for Reid, Owen, Callum, and Kendal, beating the Italians at their own game would be the sweetest victory of all.
Chapter Thirteen
Reid smiled as Owen gently steered Callum away from the nearest footman bearing a tray of drinks as soon as they set foot inside the grand townhouse. There would be time later for Callum to overindulge, but first they had to get through their performance and not make complete fools of themselves.
Reid also had to ensure he did not throw up before then. His stomach had managed to survive the short journey in the carriage, but he was sucking in great gulps of air in order to calm himself.
A suited man, who Reid took to be the head butler, nodded at the instrument cases in Owen and Callum’s hands. Looking down the length of his nose, he asked, “Are you the hired entertainment?”
Callum tittered, while Kendal’s eyes grew wide with horrified indignation. Owen raised his violin case and for a moment, Reid thought he might be about to bludgeon the man with it.
Reid gave the butler his best slow look up and down, before replying, “Lord Follett, Lord Kendal Grant, Sir Callum Sharp, and Lord Morrison. We have been invited to perform here this evening.”
The blush of red which raced to the butler’s cheeks gave Reid a deep sense of satisfaction. Woe betide any household servant who thought to correct him and have the Noble Lords enter through the servants’ entrance. They would experience the unpleasant sharp edge of Kendal’s tongue.
“Is Mrs. Scott here about? We should talk to this evening’s hostess before we play,” he added, making his position clear.
“Very good, my lord. Please follow me.”
Owen and Reid exchanged a knowing look. They were going to have to nip that sort of behavior in the bud right from the beginning. The first sign of any disrespect from household servants and Kendal was going to be let off his leash.
“I knew taking money for playing was a foolish idea,” muttered Reid.
“No, it’s perfect. If we get Eliza to secure us more bookings with hostesses who may have otherwise hired the Italians, then we will get a cut of the funds Marco and his friends were expecting to earn. We have to hurt them in as many ways as possible,” replied Owen.
Owen’s argument made sense. If the Noble Lords got paid for enough performances, the Italians might come to see London as being less lucrative to their purses and leave.
“But I don’t think we should be keeping any of the money that we make. I suggest that all of it gets donated to the war charity funds at the end of the summer. None of us pockets a single farthing of it. That’s why we are the Noble Lords,” added Callum.
Reid was both surprised and pleased that Callum had actually come up with a sensible notion. What they were going to do was, in a way, noble. They were defending their territory while raising money for charity. Two birds. One stone.
“Exactly,” he replied.
They headed toward the entrance of the ballroom. Normally when making their appearances at such functions, the ballroom would already be a crush of people, but with tonight being the debut performance of the Noble Lords, the four of them had arrived early. Reid was surprised to find that they were able to move freely through the gathering while they searched for their hostess.
“I think this is the earliest I have ever been to a party. This is the sort of time my grandmother used to make her entrance when she was heading for her dotage,” said Owen.
Kendal laughed. “Yes, that explains the lack of anyone else in here who is under the age of seventy. Which means I had better keep an eye out for my parents. Don’t want to be running into them this evening.”
Reid’s gaze finally settled on a middle-aged woman standing near a large green, red, and gold wall hanging.
“What a magnificent Persian tapestry. Look at that intricate stitching,” said Callum.
Reid nodded at Callum’s easy display of his knowledge of the arts of the Middle East.
“And there is our hostess,” he replied.
Mrs. Scott was speaking with several other guests. A wide smile appeared on her face as Reid and the rest of the group approached.
“Ah. My Noble Lords, what a delight,” she said.
Her gaze went from Reid to Owen, then to Kendal. The only member of the group she did not grace with her happy face was Callum. She reserved a sultry batting of the eyelids for him.
Bloody hell.
Reid had thought he was the only one who had successfully bedded their hostess, but from the stiff looks on both Owen and Kendal’s faces, it was clear they too had walked the well-trodden path to Mrs. Scott’s bed.
Owen he could understand. The man was a known lothario in the ton. Kendal, however, was a different matter. Reid considered him as less than his equal when it came to wooing women. With his almost cherubic face and long hair, he looked much younger than his true age.
Oh, fuck! What if she bedded him after me?
He shook his head. No. That was impossible. He couldn’t comprehend how any woman would lower her standards to such a point after having experienced the magnificence of Reid Follett.
Of course, Kendal must have graced her bed before I did.
He stirred from his musings and made a mental note to give Callum the heads up regarding Mrs. Scott. Though, from the sly smile Callum was giving their hostess, it was probably already too late. She was about to add the final member of the Noble Lords to her significant collection of lovers.
He consoled himself with the thought that if Callum did find favor with Mrs. Scott this evening, then the Noble Lords would have gotten off to a good start.
“Mrs. Scott,” Reid said with a bow.
She dipped into the briefest of curtseys. When she lifted her head, she fixed him with an unsettling haughty stare. Reid received her unspoken message loud and clear. Whomever paid the piper would be calling the tune. She would be the one to decide which of them would be enjoying her favors after this evening’s performance, and from the look of it, he would not be the chosen one.
Reid smiled back. He would be quite content to never again grace Mrs. Scott’s bed.
“Now I have some other friends arriving a little later, so once they are here you gentlemen may play for us. Until then, I suggest you make yourselves useful and mingle with my guests. Since I am paying for your services this evening, I am sure you can find amusing ways to earn your keep,” she said.
Without another word, their hostess turned and walked away. Reid got the message loud and clear. The Noble Lords had been politely but firmly dismissed.
Anger simmered in the back of his brain. Who the hell did she think she was? He had half a mind to go and tell Mrs. Scott that there were plenty of other women in the ton who were better bed sport than she was, but he thought better of it. He had to sing in little under an hour and should be concentrating on his breathing exercises rather than fretting over whether their hostess would choose Callum, Owen, or even Kendal to make her toes curl.
He grabbed a glass of wine from the nearest footman and began to circulate. The Italians had to be here somewhere. He would dearly love to talk to Marco Calvino and gain a better understanding of the man.
Moving through the room, he kept looking left and right, searching.
While Callum and Kendal peeled off and went in other directions, Owen remained by Reid’s side.
“Kendal did say the Italians were going to be here tonight?” said Owen. He too was looking for their nemeses.
&nbs
p; “Yes, so they should be here,” replied Reid.
“I shall head off to the terrace and garden and see if they are loitering outside,” said Owen.
Reid turned and headed once more into the ballroom. A familiar face framed by dark brown hair greeted his arrival. It was one of Reid’s former lovers.
“Reid, darling, I hear you are going to sing tonight. How delightful,” she purred.
He had seen the woman leaving a party earlier the previous week on the arm of one of Marco’s group. In the past, she had left a party more than once with Reid and taken him home.
“Yes. I hope we do well. It was very kind of Mrs. Scott to hire us to play for her guests,” he replied.
“Don’t tell me she is paying you? I didn’t think you were that hard up,” said the woman.
If Callum had been anywhere close by, Reid would have kissed him. His idea of using the Noble Lords to raise charitable funds was a godsend.
He chuckled knowingly, moving in for the kill. “All the money we raise during our time as the Noble Lords will be going to the widows and orphans from Waterloo. As a veteran of the battle, I know how hard the brave soldiers of our army fought, and their families deserve our support,” he replied.
The woman had the good grace to blush for a second or two before quickly resuming her sultry look. She batted her eyelids at Reid with expert precision.
“I could show you my own personal appreciation of your heroic efforts, if you would like to come and find somewhere private,” she offered.
His gaze locked on her coffee-colored locks, and in his imagination, the woman disappeared. In her place stood Lavinia Jones.
He frowned at the mirage. His mind was playing tricks on him. Why on earth would he be thinking of Lavinia when he was being offered sex so blatantly? At any other time, his body would already be hardening in anticipation of sating its sexual needs. Instead he felt nothing.
Reid: A Regency Rockstars Book Page 7
