“As long as your intention is to expel Mr. Philbert from Lennox’s house, I’ll not argue the betrayal.” Roxburghe paused on the pathway and waited for Grisham’s tawny head to appear beneath the foliage.
“Were I Mr. Philbert,” Warwick said without turning, “I’d ensure the house I haunted was yours as restitution for transforming me into a public cuckold.”
Roxburghe’s head whipped forward, irritation twisting his face. “Miss Webb wasn’t married to Mr. Philbert.”
“She was engaged.”
“For the whole of five minutes!” Roxburghe’s voice echoed across the conservatory.
“Which is more than enough time to develop a permanent distaste for her current fiancé,” Warwick replied, his eyes locking on the three men in the gazebo.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Beaufort cracked first. He doubled over, nearly falling to his knees, as laughter poured from his lips.
“If you weren’t already injured,” Roxburghe said, striding toward the gazebo, “I’d ensure you spent the remainder of the season laid up.”
Instead of climbing the wooden steps, Warwick stopped at the base of the staircase, plopped down with a groan, and extended his left leg, leaning the cane against the side of the structure.
“Don’t make a promise you aren’t willing to fulfill,” he said, humor warming his baritone timbre. “A trouncing would provide me with a viable excuse to miss both your and Grisham’s weddings.”
“You don’t get to beg off that easily.”
Shrugging, Warwick tilted his head backward, catching Beaufort’s attention. “If Roxburghe won’t strike me, will you?”
“Yes.” Beaufort’s green eyes flashed with mischief. “But not hard enough to cause a lengthy recovery.”
Grumbling, Warwick shifted his gaze to Levi. “Lennox?”
Levi shook his head. He wasn’t certain if Warwick was teasing or serious about the request. The thought that his friend was willing to suffer through great physical injury to avoid attending social functions turned his stomach.
“Don’t consider asking me,” Mansfield growled, taking up residence beside Levi and folding his arms across his chest.
“Grisham?” Warwick flicked his eyes to the right.
“The only man I wish to strike is Roxburghe,” Grisham said, his soft but firm reply drawing a curse word from Warwick.
After descending the steps, Levi sat beside Warwick, then placed the knife inside the gazebo and out of Warwick’s reach.
“Reside with me for the remainder of the season. If you are only able to attend two weddings this year, at least you won’t have to travel far for those joyous events.”
“What of Mr. Philbert’s spirit?” Warwick asked, fiddling with the curved handle of his cane.
“If he remains a guest after this evening, you still have a chance for possession.” Levi grinned and nudged Warwick with his arm.
“And, if we fail,” Roxburghe said, raising his voice, “those of you who don’t desire a ghost as their companion may take up lodging with me, except for Grisham, who I assume would rather return to his house.”
“Agreed,” Mansfield and Beaufort said simultaneously.
Levi’s mouth crooked. “You might regret that invitation, Roxburghe.”
“If it earns me their support this evening, I’ll risk the annoyance,” he replied, smirking at Grisham.
“By my count,” Grisham said, moving beside Roxburghe, “Warwick votes for me, Mansfield and Beaufort vote for you. That leaves Lennox.”
Tapping his finger on his lips, Levi rose, paced in front of the gazebo for several minutes as though giving the choice great consideration, then spun, a wicked grin splitting his face. “As retribution for forcing me into a coach for a fortnight?—”
A low rumble grew in Roxburghe’s throat. “I didn’t force you.”
