These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘I understand that my bloodthirsty ward would have shot the so dear Comte – er – dead.’

‘Yes, I would,’ Léonie averred. ‘That would have taught him a lesson!’

‘It would indeed,’ agreed his Grace.

‘Will you shoot him for me, please, Monseigneur?’

‘Certainly not, infant. I shall be delighted to see the dear Comte.’

Rupert looked at him sharply.

‘I’ve sworn to have his blood, Justin.’

His Grace smiled.

‘I am before you, my dear, by some twenty years, but I bide my time.’

‘Ay, so I guessed. What’s your game, Avon?’

‘One day I will tell you, Rupert. Not to-day.’

‘Well, I don’t envy him if you’ve your claws on him,’ said Rupert frankly.

‘No, I think he is not to be envied,’ said his Grace. ‘He should be here soon now. Infant, a trunk has been carried to your chamber. Oblige me by dressing yourself once more à la jeune fille. You will find a package sent by my Lady Fanny, which contains, I believe, a sprigged muslin. Put it on: it should suit you.’

‘Why, Monseigneur, did you bring my clothes?’ cried Léonie.

‘I did, my child.’

‘By Gad, you’re an efficient devil!’ remarked Rupert. ‘Come Justin! Tell us your part in the venture.’

‘Yes, Monseigneur, please!’ Léonie seconded.

‘There is very little to tell,’ sighed his Grace. ‘My share in the chase is woefully unexciting.’

‘Let’s have it!’ requested Rupert. ‘What brought you down to Avon so opportunely? Damme, there’s something uncanny about you, Satanas, so there is!’

L?

?onie fired up at that.

‘You shall not call him by that name!’ she said fiercely. ‘You only dare to do it because you are ill and I cannot fight you!’

‘My esteemed ward, what is this lamentable talk of fighting? I trust you are not in the habit of fighting Rupert?’

‘Oh no, Monseigneur, I only did it once! He just ran and hid behind a chair. He was afraid!’

‘Small wonder!’ retorted Rupert. ‘She’s a wild-cat, Justin. It’s Have-at-you! before you know where you are, ’pon my oath it is!’

‘It seems I stayed away too long,’ said his Grace sternly.

‘Yes, Monseigneur, much, much too long! said Léonie, kissing his hand. ‘But I was good – oh, many times!’

His Grace’s lips twitched. At once the dimple peeped out.

‘I knew you were not really angry!’ Léonie said. ‘Now tell us what you did.’

The Duke flicked her cheek with one finger.