“I know you plan on paying a call on Sterling, which is exactly what I would do if it were Addie who had been subjected to the man’s outrageous behavior. Shall I go with you to prevent you from conducting your wedding in a jail cell?”
“No. This is something I need to do myself. I can assure you I will remain in control and not kill the man.” Carter winked and left the dining room. “I think.”
Since Sterling was one of the indulged nobility who lived off a tidy inheritance, which he was no doubt going through with eagerness, the man would most likely be in one of his clubs.
Carter searched The People’s Club on Harrington Place and The Bath and Country Club at 21-22 Queens Square to no avail. He also tried a few of the lesser-known and newer clubs without any success.
After a check of the Pump Room did not uncover the scoundrel, Carter directed his carriage driver to Sterling’s house on Woodland Place, assuming the wastrel was sleeping off a night’s revelry.
It took the butler a few minutes to answer the door once Carter dropped the knocker. The man was tall, old enough to be Sterling’s great-grandfather and half asleep, his eyes bleary and his hair standing on end. “Yes?”
If this was the condition of the help, Carter imagined Sterling did not run the most organized and efficient household. “I am here to see Lord Sterling.”
The man stood for a full minute just staring at him. About to lose his patience, Carter said, “May I come in and you fetch your master?”
“His lordship never rises before two o’clock in the afternoon.”
“Today it will be different. Either you wake his lordship up or I will find him and do it myself.”
“This is most improper.” The man was having such a hard time standing up, Carter finally realized he was in his cups.
“Never mind.” Carter nudged the man aside and entered the house. The rooms on either side of the entrance hall were littered with playing cards, empty glasses, several liquor bottles, and a few pairs of ladies’ fancy drawers.
A table was turned upside down with a man curled up on it, clutching an empty bottle, snoring loudly.
It didn’t take Carter long to assess what had happened the night before. Shaking his head in disgust, he climbed the stairs. “Sterling!”
He began opening doors, waking several guests, most of them naked, with more than one bed filled with multiple people.
“Sterling!”
Carter began pounding on doors until finally a woman came out of one door, tying a belt around a man’s banyan. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I want Sterling.” Carter jerked his head toward where she stood. “Is he in there?”
She yawned rather loud. A true lady. “Yes. But he’s sleeping.”
“Not anymore.” He gently picked the woman up by her elbows and set her aside. “Go make coffee. Strong.”
“I am not a servant!” She gasped.
“Then find one.” He entered the room and closed the door. The curtains around the bed were closed and the drapes on the windows drawn.
“Time to rise, Sterling.” Carter pulled back the drapes, allowing the bright sunlight to flood the room. Then he pulled the bed curtains back and stared at the lump of wasted human sprawled on the bed. Naked and smelling like a distillery.
He gripped Sterling’s hair and pulled back so he could see his face. “Time to get up, Sterling.”
Sterling’s eyes opened and he groaned. “You must be a bad dream.”
“No. I am your wo
rst nightmare.” Carter let go of the man’s hair and walked to the dresser across the room. He picked up the half-full pitcher of water and dumped it on Sterling’s head.
“What the blasted hell!” Sterling jumped up and shook his head, water splattering in every direction. “Is that you, Westbrooke? What are you doing in my bedchamber? Were you a guest last night? I don’t remember.” He groaned and held his head.
“Yes. It is I, Mr. Carter Westbrooke. I have come to deliver a message to you that I expect will take some repeating before it enters your soused brain.”
“Is this about that whore?”