Page 1 of The Storybook Hero
One
“Good Lord, given the circumstances, you might at least have made a semblance of an effort to appear in a respectable state.” The speaker’s patrician nose wrinkled in disgust, as if he could actually catch a whiff of the dregs of brandy and musky perfume from all the way across the room.
The figure sprawled in the worn armchair made no effort to smooth the creases in his rumpled cravat, nor to rearrange his long legs in a more decorous posture. “And what circumstances are those, William? The prospect of a warm family reunion?”
The Marquess of Wright gave an exasperated snort as he turned away from his youngest brother and caught the eye of his other sibling. “You see? Bloody waste of time, inviting him. I don’t know why we bothered. Uncle Ivor must be daft to have thought he might accept.”
“Come now, William,” murmured Thomas Leigh in a voice designed to put out the sparks of anger beginning to flare in the marquess’s heated gaze. “You promised to keep a cool head. Remember the reason we are here.” Taking the ensuing silence as a grudging acquiescence, he sighed and went on. “And you, Alex. You might try not to goad him on. It has been a long time—too long. It’s good to see you….” He paused as he regarded the bloodshot eyes, sallow complexion and state of dishevelment that spoke all too clearly of a night spent in reckless carousing. “Though I wish I could say you are looking well.”
“Always the peacemaker, Tommy.” Alexander Leigh noticed the undone button on the cuff of his wrinkled shirt and slowly fastened it in place. “Don’t bother.”
The marquess shrugged in impatience to indicate things were going exactly as he expected. “Well, will you come?” he demanded. “Or are you too busy wenching or gambling or Heaven knows whatever else it is you do that seeks to sink the family name in further reproach.”
“William,” warned Thomas.
His youngest brother only laughed. “Oh, I have much too thick a skin for any of Lordly William’s stinging set-downs to have the least effect.”
The marquess’s lip curled in contempt.
“But,” he added in a slow drawl. “I admit to an overwhelming curiosity as to Uncle Ivor’s summons. And seeing that the chance to dine with my affectionate family occurs so rarely these days, I do believe that I shall make an appearance.” If truth be told, the fact that it would also irk his eldest sibling to no end was perhaps the deciding factor.
“Very well. But if you think to bring another …” The marquess grimaced. “… doxy into my house masquerading as a lady acquaintance, I vow that I shall throw you bodily from the premises.”
That had been a rather shabby thing to do, reflected Alex. He must truly have been four sheets to the wind to have come up with such a stunt. He had nothing against his sisters-in-law. In fact, he liked them quite a bit. But then again, he had no trouble getting along with females.
“You might try pressing your coat and finding a fresh set of linen.” continued the marquess. “And you might?—”
Thomas put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Tomorrow at seven, then?”
Alex nodded, his unruly, long, dark locks falling to obscure the flash of pain in his eyes. He then reached for the glass on the sidetable and he drained the amber contents in one quick gulp. “Oh, seeing that it has been quite some time since either of you visited Town, let me know if I may be of any assistance in suggesting some entertainment. Madame Violet has a particularly lovely assortment of females—do you still favor big breasts, William?”
Thomas propelled his older sibling through the door before the growl of rage reverberating in the marquess’s throat could reach a roar.
As it fell shut, Alex poured himself another brandy.
Twilight was deepening to dusk.Drawing a deep breath, Alex paused before reaching for the familiar lion’s head brass knocker. He usually avoided Grosvenor Square—not that his usual jaunts tended to take him anywhere near such a bastion of propriety. The imposing townhouse, city home to four previous Marquesses of Wright, had not changed a whit since his first stay, when he was a lad not yet out of leading strings. His throat tightened for just a moment as he recalled larking through the hallways and sliding down the banisters with William and Thomas—and Jack, of course.
Damnation.He knew he shouldn’t have come.
But it was too late to turn tail now. He reached up and rapped with rather more force than was necessary. Almost immediately, the heavy varnished door swung open.
“Good evening, sir.” The reedy butler, already a fixture in the house in his father’s time, gave a quirk of a smile before composing his angular features into their normal impassive expression. “Welcome home.”
“I doubt that I am,” he muttered under his breath as he allowed the elderly man to relieve him of his greatcoat. To his dismay, he could feel a strange flutter in his stomach.
“The others are in the drawing room. Shall I?—”
“I haven’t forgotten the way, Weston. And no thank you, I shall announce myself.”
The butler inclined his head a fraction. “As you wish, sir.”
Once again, Alex hesitated slightly, his gaze drifting to the gilt-framed portrait of the first marquess hanging at the head of the ornately carved staircase, then to the massive crystal chandelier dangling in the center of the entrance hall, several of its baubles missing due to having served on occasion as target practice for four unruly boys. With a mental shake, he banished such thoughts and forced his steps down the polished parquet hallway.
“Ah, Alexander!”
His Uncle Ivor, the Earl of Chittenden, moved from a spot by the crackling fire and extended his hand. “I appreciate your coming.”
Alex felt his throat constrict. He said nothing as he shook hands.
