Page 54 of Taming of the Rake
Now, on this third night, the men had all gathered at Boodles for dinner, drinks, and cards. Benedict had yet to arrive, but Hugh, Nick, and Aubrey all shared a table with David. Dinner had been consumed, and now they were on to drinks and cigars while awaiting Ben’s arrival so they could start their game. A collection of newspapers littered the table between them, though a copy ofThe London Gossipcould not be found in the pile.
“Ben certainly seems to have shut her up, at least for now,” Hugh remarked when the subject came up.
“A single copy of that rag hasn’t been seen in London in two months,” Aubrey said, shoulders shaking with laughter. “When she realized her boys had been compromised, she let them go and found new ones.”
“Ben bought them, too,” Nick sputtered between sips of brandy. “The mad, bloody genius. I daresay she realizes by now there isn’t a person whose loyalty she can purchase in this entire city when Ben has the blunt to outbid her.”
David had to admit Benedict’s plan seemed like a sound one, though he had yet to tell them what the next step might be. There were only so many times he could purchase the services of the Gossip’s errand boys before she found some new way to spread her written words. The woman had created a successful gossip column anonymously, and she had enough dirt on half the peerage to gain herself anything she might want. The other men might find her amusing, but David couldn’t help but share Benedict’s assessment that she was dangerous.
“Not that there’s any shortage of amusing gossip to be read elsewhere,” Aubrey said, lifting one of the papers and turning it so they could all see the illustration. “Nick, they’ve portrayed you as a satyr in this one.”
“Let me see that!” Nick exclaimed, snatching the paper from Aubrey and tilting it into the candlelight.
From where David sat, he could make out a rather humorous drawing of Nick and Calliope—only Nick didn’t look himself. He had the legs of a goat with the horns to match, his grin malicious as he carried a shocked, wedding dress-clad Calliope out of St. George’s over his shoulder. The drawing favored Calliope, at least, which was more than could be said for some of the others they’d seen—ones that had sent Nick into a rage and had him tearing up every copy he got his hands on. In this particular column, Calliope had been painted the poor, beautiful innocent, and Nick the notorious debauchee.
“I quite like this one,” Nick said with raised eyebrows. “Look how pretty my Anni is … and the horns rather flatter my bone structure, don’t you think?”
Hugh and Aubrey burst out laughing while Nick folded the paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat, insisting he must take it home to show his wife. Meanwhile, Aubrey’s attention had been captured by another paper, one he read while scowling, all trace of humor wiped from his face. David emptied his fourth tumbler of brandy down his throat and signaled a waiter for more.
“What’s wrong?” Hugh asked.
“Devil if I know,” Nick muttered, giving David and acerbic look. “He’s been pouting all week.”
“Not him,” Hugh said. “Aubrey. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.”
Aubrey laid the paper down and shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “It’s nothing … just a death notice. I was surprised by it, is all.”
David’s interest was finally captured, likely because it took the attention off him and his ‘pouting.’ “Who died?”
“The Countess of Vautrey,” Aubrey replied. “I didn’t know her well, but her husband was a friend of ours from Eton, and then Cambridge. You remember Vautrey, Nick?”
Nick frowned. “Of course. Best dressed man I ever met other than you. We attended his wedding. His countess has died, then?”
“So it would seem,” Aubrey replied. “It must have been sudden. She was young and in good health.”
“I am sorry for it,” Nick murmured, squirming in his chair as if uncomfortable with the subject of death. Not much time had passed since his uncle’s passing, and the two had been quite close. As well, David suspected the notion of a man losing his wife hit far closer to home than it might have several months ago. “What the devil has Vautrey been up to these days, anyway?”
“What’s that about Vautrey?”
Benedict’s sudden appearance had Aubrey sitting up straighter. David paused with his tumbler pressed to his lips, as Ben lowered himself into the empty seat on Nick’s other side.
“I was just wondering where he’s been all these years,” Nick said, oblivious to Aubrey’s wide eyes and the slight shake of his head. “Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him in Town since his wedding. Ben, the two of you were always close. Any idea where he’s been hiding?”
Ben had just accepted a filled decanter from a waiter—his usual when he frequented Boodles—and glowered at Nick as he slammed it on the surface of the table. David flinched, caught off guard by the sudden motion as well as the resulting clatter. He worked his jaw as if grinding glass between his teeth, fingers flexing tight around the neck of the decanter.
“Ben,” Aubrey said, his voice low. “He asked because of this.”
Benedict took up the paper and narrowed his eyes at it. His expression transformed by degrees at what he found on the page, softening to one of disbelief and shock, then hardening until his upper lip peeled back in a sneer.
“My condolences,” he said, sounding as if he were anything but sorry about the death of this mysterious countess.
“Ben,” Aubrey said again. “Don’t.”
Benedict waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t what? Drink this entire decanter of brandy? Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Nick snatched up the waiting deck of cards to begin shuffling. “No need to get a bee in your breeches. I just thought the two of you were friends, so maybe you knew something.”
“Nick, leave it,” Aubrey warned.
