Page 53 of To Tempt a Troubled Earl
“No, my lord. I think he’ll slice off his apples with a rusty blade and join a Cistercian monastery. And I also truly believe that lovesickness is a disease mostly suffered by those in the company of the infected person. Lovesick earls don’t have to endure listening to themselves.”
He threw Lando his sternest look. “And if you don’t stop this thing bouncing over every blasted pothole in the road, I might choose to go and join him in the monastery. Keep both hands on the reins! Begging your pardon, my lord.”
“Pardon absolutely refused.” Snorting with laughter, Lando gave him a poke in the ribs. “And if you continue in this vein, I’ll tip you over the side. I’ve told you before, it is not the done thing for an earl to be seen about thetongiggling with one’s valet.”
Reining the horses in a fraction because he was nothing if not considerate, Lando indulged himself in daydreams of the future: Waking with Kit alongside him, planning their day together in Rossingley’s cosy breakfast room while admiring the flowers in the walled garden; serving him food from the sideboard while he poured Lando’s coffee; watching him eat, watching him chew, watching him swallow; becoming insatiably aroused; dismissing the footmen so he could initiate amorous congress amongst the kippers. He mused over innocent, harmless reveries, so it was such a pity Pritchard’s next words carved through them.
“Though Mr Angel may feel inclined to join you as a temporary houseguest, I feel duty-bound to remind you that it is also not done to have a permanent male house guest. Rossingley might be eighty miles hence, but one can never be too careful. Whilst your staff are loyal and discreet, visitors from the village and beyond may gossip. And—” He raised a finger to silence Lando’s protests. “I grant that Mr Angel is as nauseatingly taken with you as you are with him, but have you considered whether he actually wants to live the life of a…a concubine? He’s young, strong, and virile. He’ll soon tire of loafing around your great pile while you’re out doing your…whatever it is you do to keep your swathes of acreage shipshape.”
“Oh.” Lando pouted. “I…had not considered that.”
“Hence, I’m alerting you to it. I’m not merely here to pick out waistcoats, you know.”
To the delight of the matched pair and the dismay of Pritchard, the reins slipped loosely through Lando’s fingers again as he sank into deep thought. Beyond their declarations of love, he hadn’t fully pondered what Kit woulddoat Rossingley, only that he would be there. He had dismissed Kit’s foolish insistence he should return to Kent to earn blunt, but now he reconsidered. As his valet had so forthrightly put, a prideful young man such as Lando’s beloved would not be content in the role of unpaying house guest and lover. Pritchard was right. Kit wasn’t of Lando’s class—he would be no more comfortable living as an idle gentleman of leisure as Lando would clambering up sooty chimneys. He would have todosomething.
“Given that you are in such an insightful mood, Pritchard, what do you suggest? You have presented me with a problem but offer no solution.”
White-knuckled, Pritchard clutched the rail. “What I was going to add, my lord, if you would just slow this godforsaken contraption down for half a second, is that removing Sir Ambrose Gartside from your neighbouring property constitutes only half a plan. You will be improving the lives of many, but not of your own.” He let out a yelp of terror as Lando’s arms crossed over the reins as they went screaming around a stationary stage.
“You were saying?” Lando queried, unruffled.
“I was saying that this plan of yours is looking after everyone except for yourself!”
Muttering under his breath, Pritchard made the sign of the cross. “Removing Gartside would be excellent for all concerned, except yourself, who will not only inherit a multitude of tribulations to overcome in addition to managing your own affairs, but you would still be alone.”
“Mmm,” replied Lando with a brisk jerk of the reins. A rather brilliant idea had just occurred. “Unless, of course, I remove Gartside and place someone capable in his stead. Someone in desperate need of a home near to Rossingley. Someone…young and strong and virile, for instance.” Taking his eyes off the road, he glanced at an ashen Pritchard. “Do you imagine that might be a feasible solution to our Mr Angel problem? Might it assuage his pride?”
“I have no idea. But if you don’t rein in these satanic horses right now, then I swear to our Lord God Almighty, neither of us will live to find out.”
Such a spoilsport. With a click of his tongue and a twitch of the reins, Lando brought the phaeton’s speed down to a gentle trot. A huge smile spread across his face. Under duress, his valet could always be relied upon to unearth pockets of absolute genius.
“Thank you,” Pritchard whimpered. “I shall live to see my Inglis again, after all.”
Still grinning, Lando gave him another nudge. “It is I who should be thanking you, Pritchard. And before it escapes me, may I take this opportunity to praise your choice of the wordconcubine. It really is one of my very favourites. Terriblyexotic, don’t you think? Invariably puts me in mind of leather and thick strapping.”
“Always here to please,” Pritchard answered primly. “Although, if you ever drive this thing at those speeds again, I shall take a leather strap to you. And unless I’m mistaken, Grosvenor Street is that way. Where the devil are you taking me now?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Lando grinned evilly. “The bids are in. From Cobham and Sir Richard. Delivered by hand this morning. So, we’re off to share the good news with Tommy.”
“Drury Lane?” cried Pritchard, aghast.
“Well, he’s hardly going to be found propping up the mantel at White’s, is he? If we get a shuffle on, we can make the interval of the matinée performance. I hear Tommy’s portrayal of Dick Turpin is terribly vulgar. It incited a riot two days ago. A brawl in the street! But I’m sure you’ll be fine if I pop in for a few minutes.”
*
THE DAY OFthe rendezvous at White’s drew bright and cheerful. As if eager for the afternoon ahead, the wind blew in teasing gusts, sending leaves flying from the trees and swirling around the landau in a mosaic of colour. Autumn, dazzling at its very best.
Kit, floundering in a soup of trepidation and foreboding, felt he was anything but. His form-fitting coat was trying its hardest to suffocate him. He was hot, and his head throbbed with all that hung heavy on his mind. Half an hour hence, he would be congratulating Gartside as the victor in a business proposition that didn’t exist, disappointing two honest and innocent gentlemen of theton. And then, somehow, Gartside’s deceit would be exposed, while his own would remain magically secreted away, intact. Gartside would slink off into the night a broken man, and everyone else would happily go their separate ways. Believing all that was a rather tall order, despite the reassuring presence of Lando’s cool hand gripping his.Trust me. By this point, Kit didn’t have much choice, even though Lando was keeping him in the dark.
Dressed in a severely cut charcoal coat and unadorned navy cravat, his lover looked splendid and maddeningly unruffled, as if they were off to the theatre or a pleasant stroll around Vauxhall. Which only served to add to Kit’s growing irritation.
“You’re glowering, darling,” Lando murmured, rubbing his thumb over Kit’s tensed knuckles. “You know the effect that sulky mouth has on me. If you don’t stop, I shall arrive in a state of heated arousal, which will quite ruin the line of my breeches.”
Despite himself, Kit smiled. They had made love that morning, indolent and unhurried—a measured grinding of hips, Lando on top and Kit below, slippery with sweat. Whispered endearments had flowed between them, promises and reassurances, and in the moment, Kit had believed anything was possible, including a bright future in his lover’s arms. Afterward, with the earl curled up alongside him, sweetly drowsy and pliant, Kit had shut his eyes tight so he might hold on to the sensation as long as possible.
“You would still be the most handsome, well-dressed gentleman in London,” Kit replied gallantly, though his belly curdled.And I would still be a common thief.
*
