Page 37 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
Mr. Watkin agreed, both young gentlemen sobering for a moment in memory of the elegant dandy Beau Brummell, who had once been London’s supreme arbiter of fashion. But Nick growled, “Brummell fled to escape his debts. These jackanapeswill be in the same case if they persist in wagering their blunt so recklessly. Tell them, Mandell.”
“I can hardly tell them anything unless I know the nature of the wager.”
Lord Soames’s eyes had begun to dance again. “Perhaps Lord Mandell will care to lay odds of his own.”
Mr. Watkin, the mischievous redhead, spoke up with a chuckle. “We are hazarding as to who the Hook’s next victim might be.”
“Indeed?” Mandell asked politely.
“Aye.” Lord Soames giggled. He had likely consumed too much port. “I regret to say that it is your cousin Drummond who is the odds-on favorite.”
Mandell stole a glance at the scowling Nicholas. “The Hook would have to be careless indeed to attack a gentleman of such noted temper as my cousin.”
“And equally noted for his empty purse.” Mr. Watkin grinned while Lord Soames picked up the quill pen. Drawing the betting book closer, he continued to register the wager in a slightly unsteady hand.
“Temper and poverty notwithstanding,” Watkin continued, “it has to be Nick. He is positively begging to be attacked, some of the places he has been poking about of late, those lightning houses.”
“Flash-houses,” Nick said. “I have been investigating flash-houses in Bethnal Green.”
At Mandell’s inquiring look, he explained. “Those taverns that are little better than schools for crime, where street urchins are taught to be thieves, little girls scarce turned twelve taught to be whores.”
“How very original.” Mandell’s lip curled in disgust. “And progressive. One of the most civilized cities in the world now offering formal education for pickpockets and prostitutes.”
Lord Soames snorted a laugh, spattering ink over the betting book. “That is just what I was telling Drummond.”
“Except that Mandell is being sarcastic,” Nick said. “While you, you great lumbering idiot, are merely acting the fool.”
Taking exception to this form of address, Soames flushed bright red. It was the sort of quarrel between young gentlemen that could easily get out of hand.
Mandell stepped between the two men. “You must excuse my cousin, Soames. We both know Drummond well enough by now to realize he waxes a little earnest over such matters. He offers you his most sincere apologies.”
Soames blinked owlishly and gave a nod of acceptance, even as Nick was crying out in protest. “No, I don’t.”
But Mandell seized his arm in an iron grip, hustling Nick away. Nick wrenched himself free, glaring. “Damn it, Mandell,” he said. “Why did you interfere? I had no wish to apologize to that ass. It is men like Soames who make me ashamed to be considered a Whig.”
“Nicholas, the fellow is half foxed. You cannot attack someone merely for possessing a dull wit.”
“Oh, yes I can.”
“I cannot risk you engaging yourself to fight a duel at present. That would be most inconvenient.”
“Why should you care?”
“Because for once, you may have to act as my second. So do us both a favor. Bespeak a glass of chilled wine and hie yourself off to cool that temper.”
With his cousin gaping at him, Mandell started to walk away. But Nick was hard after him. “Second you in a duel! Damnation, Mandell, you cannot simply toss out a remark like that and then not explain yourself.”
“There is nothing to explain at the moment.” Mandell peered toward the door and frowned. Half past one and no sign ofSir Lucien. He asked Nicholas, “Sir Lucien Fairhaven is still a member of Brooks’s, is he not?”
“Yes, he is, but what does that have to—” Nick broke off, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Lady Fairhaven, does it?”
Before Mandell could answer, Nick went on, “It was Sir Lucien that you meant when you said—My God! You are planning to challenge Fairhaven to a duel over Anne. I know you made that remark about getting rid of your rivals, but I cannot believe it. You have not fought a duel over any woman since that time you were seventeen and you damn near killed Cecily Constable’s brother because ...”
Mandell shot Nick a warning look. His cousin trailed off, possessing enough sense not to pursue that particularly ugly incident any further.
“Calm yourself, Nicholas, and for heaven’s sake, keep your voice down.” Even in a place as devoted to faro as Brooks’s Nick’s agitated manner would soon attract attention. “As usual, your imagination runs away with you. I never said a word about challenging Sir Lucien. I merely want to talk to him.”
“You intend to warn him to stay away from Anne,” Nick continued, shaking his head. “I just don’t understand it. I have implored you more than once to leave her alone. She is no dasher, no Helen of Troy, not at all the sort to inspire this degree of obsession.”
