Page 14 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
Angel’s sunny countenance clouded over.
“Yes, I did. Two days ago, I had a mind to break down Gartside’s door and kill him with my bare hands.” He examined his large square hands as if still toying with the notion. “But on reflection, my lord, and your sage counsel against it, I have concluded that murder is too good for him. Instead, I want his life to be a long and painful one, overflowing with suffering. I want to see him banished from society, scorned by his friends, and fleeing with his tail between his legs from everything and everyone he knows. Humbled, mocked, and outcast.”
“I beg you, sir,” Lando drawled. “Don’t hold back on my account. Pray make your desires clear.”
Mr Angel huffed an apologetic laugh. “Forgive me, but such is the bitter strength of my hatred for the man.”
His fist clenched around the fragile stem of his wine glass, his tanned cheeks flooded with colour. Truly, the man was a vision in burgundy velvet.
“But I require your assistance,” Angel continued. Those gold-flecked eyes blazed with righteous fury. Lando blinked, his own feeling rather claret-hazed.
“I have approached you badly.” Angel pursed his lips. “I realise that now. But if you would still be so gracious to give the matter your consideration, I would be your ever faithful servant.” As he awaited Lando’s response, the anger in his eyes faded. Amusement danced in its place. “But do give the syllabub your full appreciation first.”
He treated Lando to the dimples again, a wholly unfair means of persuasion. “And if I may be so bold, my lord,” he added with an audacious wink. “I can’t help noticing that your gold fob watch has been half-inched by the invisible dinner guest sitting to your right.”
*
TOO SOZZLED BYhalf, Lando didn’t remember sojourning to the library. Nor how a nip of his finest French brandy found itself clasped in his hand. After gulping down half of it, something he’d most certainly regret in the morning, he recalled that the sloe-eyed devil currently leaning against his ownmantel had performed a rather fantabulous sleight of hand. Lando felt faintly dizzy.
“Bravo, sir,” he said weakly from his favourite bergère. “I shall ask Inglis to count the silver spoons very thoroughly on the morrow.”
His guest gave a low chuckle. “That won’t be necessary, my lord.”
The man could at least have had the decency to look sheepish. Instead, his solid elbow rested on Lando’s mantel as if the wretched thing had been constructed for that very purpose. And his lips still had that plump, ripe air about them, as if tempting someone to take a nibble. Studying his brandy glass, Lando endeavoured to marshal his tipsy thoughts.
“You amuse me, Mr Angel,” he said eventually. “You have shown dogged persistence and clearly care very much for your sister. And, I believe—” He swallowed, and his eyes darted to the fireplace. “—you cared for Captain Prosser. As he did for the both of you. Gartside is a rake and a bounder and should not be allowed to continue in his current form. So, I am going to assist you.”
Angel didn’t answer directly. He gazed into the fire for a minute or two first, swirling his brandy in his glass before lifting it to his lips. With the tip of his thumb, he wiped a drop from the corner of his mouth before licking the thumb thoughtfully as if choosing his words with great care. At last, he levelled that dark gaze on Lando.
“You are a good man, my lord. Kind and moral. Everything, in fact, that Gartside is not.”
“I’m not impervious to flattery, Mr Angel, but one doesn’t take the law into one’s own hands simply because a person’s morals do not match one’s own. Society would come to a crashing halt. And yet, I have been moved to action not simply because of Captain Prosser’s love for his poor niece or sympathy for Gartside’s scattered by-blows. In addition to that, the man is not fit to run an estate, and his family’s reputation and his people are suffering.”
“Ruination of a man such as Gartside is a tall order.”
“Yes. It is. I have the beginnings of a plan, but it will require a degree of cunning. And is not without risk.”
“May I ask as to the nature of that plan?”
With effort, Lando cocked his brow at him. A rush of tiredness accompanied the rich brandy. Sparring with Mr Angel, as pleasant as it was, had exhausted him. His bed was calling. But Lando could leave his guest with one last surprise.
“I’ll give you a flavour if it,” he replied sleepily. “Whilst you are adept at petty thievery, Mr Angel, I’m going to raise the stakes with some thievery of my own.” Lando paused a beat, his vision now hazier still. “On a grand scale.”
He’d eaten too sparingly at dinner, been plied with claret, flattered, and charmed. Yet, his stupendous idea had been bursting to be shared ever since he’d had his epiphany, whilst idling in his bed that morning. His lonely bed.
Lando threw Mr Angel a glittering stare. “I’m going to steal his estate.”
Mr Angel’s scoffing wasn’t quite the effect he’d been after. “His estate?” He scoffed some more. “Estates aren’t like fob watches, my lord. One cannot distract Gartside with…with pretty words and topping up a drink while pinching his property from under his nose.”
Ah, so that was when it had happened. “I’m fully aware.”
“So, how on earth do you plan to do it?” demanded Angel impatiently.
Truth be told, Lando could hardly remember anymore. He couldn’t think clearly at all. He was too foxed on brandy. The drink of the damned. And his bergère was so terribly comfortable, he could curl up on it and sleep for a week. With a sigh, not too far removed from a yawn, Lando’s pale blue eyes fluttered closed.
“Ah…all in good time, Mr Angel. All in good time.”
With a littlechink,Lando felt his fob watch drop into his waistcoat pocket. Sweet-scented breath gusted across his ear, like the ghost of a faded summer afternoon. Cool fingers loitered on his jaw, followed by the press of soft lips. In welcome, Lando’s own parted, and his mind wandered back in time, back to that summer of a thousand July’s when his lover’s kiss had stolen his heart.
