Page 91 of The Trouble With Dukes
“My thanks.”
Garner Puget, looking rumpled and the worse for lack of sleep, joined them in the foyer. His cuffs were turned back, and his right hand was streaked with yellow pigment. The attendant, wisely, had not escorted Puget to greet his callers.
“Your Grace, Lord Colin, greetings.”
Hamish drove his fist into Puget’s gut. “Greetings yourself, on behalf of a lady whom you’ve wronged. If you don’t want the same sentiments conveyed to your face, you will accompany me now.”
The blow sent Puget sagging into Colin, who kept the slighter man on his feet until he could stand upright unaided.
“I’m happy to meet you on the field of honor, Murdoch,” Puget said, “but I’ll delope. I have failed in my duty as a gentleman, and my only defense is that I was cozened by a greater scoundrel than I. Excessive fondness for the scoundrel’s sister blinded me to honor’s demands.”
“Is this Drury Lane?” Colin asked nobody in particular. “I thought we were on Bond Street.”
“You’re not the first man whose cock ran off with his common sense, Puget,” Hamish said, “but your foolishness has devolved to the misery of a woman I value greatly, and you will make amends.”
Puget rubbed his belly with the hand bearing the yellow stain. “You’ll not kill me?”
“You used the worddevolved, Hamish,” Colin said. “You sounded very ducal about it too.”
“I’ll do worse than kill you,” Hamish said. “If you survive what I have planned for you this evening, then your sentence shall be to immure yourself in the north at the seat of a certain dukedom, and steward the damned property so I need not trouble myself managing English land. Lady Pamela’s father ought to look with favor on your suit should you offer for his oldest daughter, for his family is about to be embroiled in significant scandal.”
“You’d do that for me? Offer me a post?”
“I’d do thattoyou, assuming the evening doesn’t see you drawn and quartered, but first we need pen and paper.”
Twenty minutes later, they were back on the street, marching directly for the Countess of Hazelton’s ball.
Chapter Twenty
He’s here,” Anwen said. “I’ll stay with you, and Charlotte and Elizabeth will keep Sir Fletcher in sight at all times.”
Everybodywas in evidence at the Hazelton ball, including Megan’s cousins, her aunt and uncle, the in-laws, and—drat the luck—Sir Fletcher.
But no Hamish, not even Colin and the MacHugh sisters, though they’d been sent an invitation.
“You can’t stop Sir Fletcher from approaching me,” Megan said. “I should leave.”
Though Megan had hoped she might catch a glimpse of Hamish among the dancers. No less person than the Duchess of Moreland had made it clear that Megan had used up her entire season’s quotient of evenings at home.
Megan either met Hamish here, or she had to risk another outing in the park, which Sir Fletcher might learn of all too easily.
“What is Sir Fletcher wearing?” Megan asked.
“The usual formal attire,” Anwen replied. “His waistcoat is burgundy with gold embroidery.”
“And have you seen Garner Puget, by chance?”
Anwen took the cup of punch Megan had been holding. “How many men are courting you?”
“Officially, none.”
“Sir Fletcher is coming this way,” Anwen said, setting the glass on the tray of a passing footman. “What should we do, Megs? Sir Fletcher has extricated himself from conversation with Elizabeth and Charlotte, and he’s headed this way. Where is the watch when we need—?”
“Megan, I believe your quadrille belongs to me.” Not one of Megan’s cousins, but Lucas Denning, the Marquess of Deene, a cousin-in-law, offered a bow.
“Deene, good evening. Is it the quadrille already?”
“Indeed it is. Anwen, do you await a partner?”
