Netherby Halls

Percival Lutterel attempted to get to his feet but was detained by the marquis’s firm clasp on his shoulder. “No, ol’ boy—don’t call me out. I should be forced to delope, and then you would in all probability put a bullet through me—an act I am persuaded would cause you as much pain as it would me.”

Percy’s eyes twinkled at the humor behind this, and for a moment the marquis saw a return of his sunny smile. “You are a despicable, Justin.” He shook his head slowly and pronounced, “A dog.”

“So I am. Nevertheless, I believe I can help you in your present plight,” the marquis offered on a serious note.

“Help me? ’Tis impossible. You read her note—she means to marry Grey!” replied Percy, groaning.

“The devil is in it that she just might—if you allow her to do so!” the marquis countered.

“Allow her? How in God’s name am I to prevent her?”

“I have given it some thought, Percy, and I believe the chit actually wrote you that note in the hopes you would follow her to Bristol and somehow manage the affair—oust Lord Grey and win over her mother.”

“Sounds pretty, Justin, but now I shall sound very much like you and remind you that reality and fantasy rarely mix. Besides, this doesn’t sound a bit like the advice you gave me last week. Why the change of heart?”

“I haven’t had a change of heart, ol’ fellow. I simply think a change of tactics is in order, as evidently you don’t mean to forget the girl as I advised you to do.”

“You don’t understand!” Percy wailed.

“Oh, but I do. Lord Grey has title and more wealth than you. Her mother wishes her to accept his hand, but does the lady really wish it?”

“What does it matter? They won’t let me near her.”

“That, my friend, is where I come in,” the marquis said glibly.

“Eh, what mean you?”

“Mrs. Delleson has an eye for titles and money. Why not dangle mine in front of her?”

“What the deuce?” Percy exclaimed.

“I shall accompany you to Bristol, where I am quite certain you shall not be refused admittance while in my company.” The marquis’s voice was dry.

A fog of brandy swirled in Percy’s mind, but some of the marquis’s words made a clear path through the fog. “By Jove … by Jove, I say!”

The marquis grinned. “Then it is settled, and we leave for Bristol?”

“Hold a moment.” Percy’s gray eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You are my closest friend … want you happy,” the marquis responded evasively.

“Gammon!” returned Percy on a snort.

“Don’t question my motives, Percy. I mean to help you, whatever they might be,” the marquis said, his expression suddenly grim.

“Do you know, for as long as I have known you, through all we have been at over the years, you remain an enigma.”

“Indeed, Percy. That is because I wish to be so. Be ready at ten tomorrow morning, for I shall be prompt.” With that, the marquis turned and made his way out of the club.

Motives, Percy thought as he watched his big rake of a friend take his leave. The marquis’s inscrutable motives were bound to plunge them into some sort of complication, he was sure of it, because he damn well knew Justin wasn’t making this trip just to further his cause with Sophy!

~ Three ~

The day had been long, without enough to do, though she had had to dodge Sir John—and more than once. Therefore, it was with some relief that she bid her ladyship and Sir John goodnight and made her way to her room.

She had locked her bedroom door, as was her habit, and was sitting on a hardback chair, reading by candlelight, when she heard the key slip into the lock on the other side of the door.

She looked up to find him in shirtsleeves, his breeches unbuttoned. He exposed himself, holding his hardened manhood as he leered at her and said, “Look what I have for you …”