* * *
Dace sat on the windowsill in the ballroom to watch the Duke of Saint Sirin fence with Gallic fastidiousness and no little skill, though Rax had him well in hand.
The three of them were stripped to their shirtsleeves, but Dace planned to plead fatigue rather than fight.
The duke was the equal in beauty, despite his Felmont nose, to any of the footmen hired by Lizzie’s mother for their looks. Dace rubbed his shoulder. He was glad his father had taken all the Folly’s footmen to the Priory when he’d inherited the estate. Lizzie had replaced her missing men with Charles and Arthur, along with old recruits from the home farm, the rheumatic and the lame who were more suited to indoor life. And, even better, she seemed not to notice the difference.
Dace hoped Saint Sirin didn’t intend to try to make a conquest of dear Lizzie. Other men’s wives were a temptation Sirrie never resisted.
The sun warmed Dace’s back as the two men practiced as if their lives depended on it. Fools! They were amateurs and should know it.
Rax gave a grunt as he lunged, to be parried casually by the duke’s skillful arm. A button touched. Rax lowered his blunt rapier and acknowledged the hit. He’d lost on purpose, but it did him no good as the duke waved him back into position.
The thought of Saint Sirin purring compliments to his wife made Dace as reluctant to go to London as Lizzie would be when she found out about his plans.
“I need your London house, Felmont,” said Saint Sirin as he attacked in tierce. “If you want to bring your bride to town, you are welcome to stay at my home. It is a much more appropriate residence. Can’t take your wife to your father’s love nest, after all.”
Could the man not even break into a sweat?
“Take it and welcome,” Dace replied. “I intend to give it to Sarah, when she is older.”
“You do not ask what I need it for.” Saint Sirin shrugged, his calm disdain discarded for the moment. He thrust and Rax let the duke strike over his heart with a bored expression on his face. “Angel Anston needs a small house, somewhat closer to the street.”
“Wants to go out dancing, does he?” drawled Dace. “Is he disturbing your peace carousing?”
The duke gave him a cold glare as he tucked his sword under his arm. He approached the window.
Dace assumed an innocent look. “Or has he been bringing women to your home to debauch them? No? What can it be, Sirrie. Why has Angel Anston worn out his welcome?” He smiled a Felmont smile. “Admit you were wrong when you did not heed me, dear Sirrie. I said from the first to put him in my house.”
The duke purred his denial. “I thought only not to banish him. My sister took a fancy to having a wounded hero in the house, till she met him. My surgeon looks after him and he has suggested a bed on the ground floor, closer to the door. A smaller house, no stairs. So Anston could be carried into the park with less strain on his belly. Thought the air would do him good.”
“Has he killed anyone?” asked Dace.
“No one at all!” protested Saint Sirin.
“But he has tried, confess he has tried.” Dace had heard all about it from Rax.
“Two footmen barely escaped with their lives. He pinned one to the wall with a knife, thrown, I might add, from his bed. He is a menace to all normal males.” The duke gestured to Rax to give his sword to Dace. “You must help me find a woman to look after him. I daren’t let any of the maids near him.” He stepped back to let Dace take Rax’s weapon.
“Did he probe the maids with a soft tongue and get them to tell all their woes to him?” asked Dace. He saw Rax’s face warm at the vision his words had conjured. “Now, Rax, there you go again. I only meant Angel has a way of talking to women that makes them confide in him.”
“Heavens!” said Rax, glad to relinquish his sword and claim the windowsill. “It has been so long since I’ve had a woman. Do wish you’d not talk of licentious things. My mother will have me leg shackled if she finds me dwelling on visions in my head. Very perceptive, she is.”
Saint Sirin saluted when they reached the center of the ballroom. “Angel has gone insane. I need your help, Felmont. And, yes, I should have listened to you. We have to hide women from him. The only men I can allow near him have silver hair and few teeth.” He attacked. “Come up to London with me. Might cheer him, if not, at the very least it would distract him. Most certainly do your bride good to be rid of you for a few days.”
Dace fought left-handed. He gave ground then advanced using exactly the same number of strokes and the same rhythm. The skill involved he’d learned so long ago that his mind had long forgotten the instructions and his arm moved unencumbered by thought. That was one advantage to spending six years with the best swordsman in the army. “No, I can’t go without my wife. I doubt she’d be here when I returned. Lady Felmont must come with me.”
Saint Sirin gave a laugh and increased his efforts. “Your wife will be glad to go to London to do some shopping. All women are avaricious collectors of fashion or jewels or trinkets. If she won’t go, forbid her to leave the Folly. Lock her in her room if you must. She is only a woman, surely you have taught her to obey you?”
With ease Dace made the duke retreat. “You have a strange notion of women, Saint Sirin. I shall get Lizzie’s agreement one way or another.” He turned to look at Rax and fought on, a ploy to show his disdain for his combatant. “Just don’t go thinking any inflaming thoughts in Angel’s presence. He has the sensibility of an avenging archangel.”
“He’s dying, Rackham,” purred the duke, redoubling his efforts to strike. “If you hold any sway with Lady Felmont, I beg you–”
“He had better not hold sway with my wife or I’ll let Angel have him.” Dace hit, once, twice, thrice in as many seconds.
“At least recommend some woman who is up to the task,” Saint Sirin demanded in that high-handed way he had. “You must be able to think of a female for him.”
“A woman young enough,” Dace mused, “strong enough, clean enough, for he is uncommonly fastidious. Aren’t we all fastidious? Except for you, Rax. More attention to soap and water was my father’s sterling advice.”
Dace laughed as Rax sniff his armpits with an expression of disbelief. “But not too young, or too genteel, or too poor. Better if she is not a virgin, for they bring out the worst in him. Not very good with virgins myself.” He rumbled a laugh at Rax’s expression. “But she has to be chaste, clean, hearty and no shrinking violet.”
Mr. Rackham choked. “Really don’t think any woman should be subjected–”
The Beast interrupted. “Yes, I think I know of a woman. Ready, willing, even eager to go to London, and heaven help Angel if he gives her any trouble. You do intend to foot the bill, Saint Sirin. Can’t very well ask my wife for the funds to pay her.”
Lizzie stepped into the room with Gladys. The three men’s conversation halted. She couldn’t believe her ears! Men were all monsters and beasts!
Lizzie Tempest Ruins A Viscount (Felmont Brides Series Book 1) Page 17
