Page 5 of A Lady's Wager
As he approached the two men, he took up whistling a tune that had been a favorite ofSt. George’s crew. Something rough and roaring at which his present company would turn up their noses.
One of the men rushed toward him, the frozen grass crackling under his shoes. “You are late.”
It was time for the games to begin. Derrick pretended to startle, grabbing the forward corner of his hat. “I beg your pardon.”
“You are late, Bradford,” Haltwhistle snapped. “I’d almost given you up for a coward.”
Derrick grabbed at his cravat, mimicking a lady clutching at her pearls. “Forgive my ignorance, but do I know you? I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“Last night at the assembly rooms.” Haltwhistle folded his arms. “I had engaged your sister to dance, and your brazen insolence made a mockery of me in front of all Bristol.”
With a glance around the deserted street, Derrick retreated a step. “My good fellow, you insist you know me, and yet I do not have a sister. Nor a brother, for that matter.”
Haltwhistle’s jaw tightened. “I am talking of your sister, Miss Corah Bradford.”
“Mysister?” Derrick conjured a bewildered look. “Of course Miss Bradford is not my sister.”
“Stop this nonsense, Bradford!” Haltwhistle snatched the hat off Derrick’s head. “You see? You are the very man who insulted me last night. I demand justice.”
It took all of Derrick’s might not to snicker at Haltwhistle’s antics. How did the man think he’d respond?Oh, yes, good sir. I see now. I am the man.Lunacy. But laughter would ruin his ruse.
“My name is not Bradford, and I will thank you to return my hat.” He grabbed it back and clamped it on his head. “You would do well to keep your dirty hands off my person.”
Haltwhistle shook his fists like a child. “You are a liar and a coward!”
“If I were a lesser man, I would call you out to duel this moment,” Derrick said with a sniff, straightening the lapels of his greatcoat. He leaned around Haltwhistle to address thesecond man. “I am very sorry, are you this gentleman’s friend? I do believe he is unwell and ought to be returned home immediately.”
The man shifted uncomfortably. “Haltwhistle, do you think—”
“Do not try to fool me.” Haltwhistle’s voice had gone shrill. How could this jarring a sound be so satisfying? “I know what I saw. I know what you said. You will face me like a gentleman, or I will see the name of Richard Bradford dragged through the muck of Society.”
“Richard Bradford.” Derrick stroked his chin. “You mean Mr. Colston’s young grandson? The midshipman in the navy? That would be rather heartless of you.”
“I think you have the wrong man,” the friend said uncertainly.
Haltwhistle shook his head and seized Derrick by the sleeves. “You will not escape this.”
“Unhand me, you libidinous tub of guts.” He brought his arms up between Haltwhistle’s, then whipped them to the side, breaking the other man’s grip. “You would do well to keep your insanity to yourself. I take my leave, and it is in your best interest not to follow.”
He turned on his heel to the sound of Haltwhistle’s incoherent raging while his friend tried to pacify him with assurance that he must have been drunk and not remembered the real story from last night. With his back squarely to them, Derrick allowed himself a sly grin. The navy had a system that naturally rooted out many half-intelligent and self-important fops, but he’d found ways to cross words with more than one numbskull throughout his career in the navy. He couldn’t explain the pleasure it brought him.
As he made his way around the square, he caught a flash of color on the otherwise muted landscape. Two bright red cloakshuddled together near the empty fountain at the center of the park. A bit early for ladies to be out walking, especially in January with the sun not quite up.
One of them stepped onto the lip of the fountain. She wobbled, catching on to an upper decoration for balance. The other looked around the square and covered her face with her hands. The first said something to her, then straightened as best she could on the unsteady perch and began to sing. Derrick paused his walk and bent closer to listen.
“The farmer’s dog leapt o’er the stile. His name was Little Bingo.”
What in the name of Momus was this? With a glance over his shoulder to ensure Haltwhistle had gone, Derrick abandoned the path, making for the clear tones of silly music spouting from the fountain. Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to miss it.
Corah drew in a breath. Almost done with this absurd payment and then she would be free of Alexandra Whiting. The capped head poking out an upper window of a townhouse was most certainly Miss Whiting, and Corah could only imagine the gleeful sneer.
“J-I-N-G-O!” Corah sang, anticipation of the end increasing her volume. “I think it is, by jingo.”
Thunderous clapping from behind made her yelp and shrink back. The thin ledge of the fountain did not agree with her shoes. Her heel slipped off the stone and she teetered, waving her arms wildly until someone caught her by the arm and waist. Blue eyes twinkling with mischief filled her vision as she grasped his strong shoulders to balance herself.
“Never have I heard so stirring a rendition of ‘Little Bingo,’” Lieutenant Owens said, his hold on her waist steady in astrangely comforting way. “May I help you down from your stage?”
No, she would rather he didn’t and instead let her fall back into the basin and down the empty drain to wallow in her humiliation. Despite the biting cold, her whole body seemed on fire. Of all people, why would he be walking about this early in the morning? And in Portland Square? She didn’t resist as he took her hand and guided her back to the ground.
