Page 15 of The Scoundrel of Drury Lane
Lionel, Viscount Basildon, would one day inherit his father’s title and become the Duke of Somerstone. Kit ran through all he remembered and all that Darius had told him of the latest news of his old friends. Octavia was Lionel’s little sister; he couldn’t recall much about her beyond that she had recently turned eighteen.
Warren tossed his cards down on the table in defeat. “Dinner parties are the bane of a gentleman’s existence.”
“The bane ofyourexistence, Warren, because you cannot enjoy the subtle adventure of a good dinner party,” said Felix.
“Subtle adventure of a good dinner party?” Warren snorted. “Whatadventure, pray tell?”
Felix grinned. “There’s the language of the fans, of course. Do you know how many things women say when using them? I once watched an old duchess and her social rival, a wealthy countess, fight during the soup course and neither of them said a word. But the fluttering of the fans was enough to create a decent breeze in the room, and more than one footman tripped in their attempts to avoid their trays being hit by the waving of said fans.”
Warren rolled his eyes. “I prefer the language of the fists. Give me a boxing match at Fives Court over that any day.” He raised his fists and mock punched at an invisible opponent.
Warren and Vincent held no titles, but both came from families that were wealthy and powerful. That gave them the freedom to get into far more trouble than the others could. Warren had always been the most reckless and Felix the most adventurous. Vincent, on the other hand, was quiet but also charming. According to Darius, there hadn’t been a woman yet who could turn down Vincent when he smiled.
It seemed not much had changed in the last seven years, Kit reflected. Perhapshewas the only one who had.
“Vincent should be here soon,” Felix said. “His ballet dancer is probably keeping him late this evening,” he added with a grin.
Felix, the Marquess of Grey, had had his title bestowed on one of his ancestors more than two centuries ago in honor of his startling gray eyes, a trait that ran deep in the current Hawkins bloodlines.
“Ballet dancer?” Darius asked as he handed Kit a drink.
Kit accepted it and finished his own mental list of things remembered and learned. In some ways, coming home had been like landing in a new world. He was having to relearn things that now felt foreign to him. Darius St. John was now the Duke of Tiverton. His father had passed the year before Kit’s. Kit felt that tied an invisible thread between him and Darius, but at least his friend had been able to spend time with his father before he’d died.
“He started seeing her a few weeks ago,” Felix explained, his lips turning up into a smile. “When will he learn? I love adventures, but notthosesorts of adventures. Give me a merry widow any day. Dancers are too much trouble. They expect too much. Widows, on the other hand, expect nothing but amusement.”
“You know how Vin is. Every new woman gives him that feeling of ‘what could be.’ The man loves the idea of falling in love.” Warren frowned as he defended their absent friend. “Besides, I think he likes the drama dancers provide. He’s so bloody quiet all the time. I think he likes how much they chatter when he’s around them.”
Darius smiled fondly and glanced at Kit, as if hoping to see he too was amused by their discussion. But Kit did not feel bold enough to dive into the playful banter. His friends’ lives had changed so much, and he had only been privy to the biographical details up to this point. He wanted to know about Vincent and his ballet dancers, and what Lionel thought of his sister’s future suitors. He wanted to ask a thousand questions, but asking would only make him feel more on the outside than he already did.
His thoughts turned to the green-ribbon girl from the theater. What would his friends think if he shared the story of her rescue? Would they tease or congratulate him? Would he feel like he fit in once more with his old set?
Perhaps it didn’t matter what he felt... Well, how he felt about the little painterdidmatter. Greatly. Heaven only knew why, but he couldn’t get her out of his mind. She’d been slipping in and out of his thoughts all day, like a hazy, wonderful summer dream that lay just out of reach.
He raised the glass to his lips and drank his brandy, tasting it when instead he wished he could taste the painter’s soft lips. She looked like a woman born for kissing. Still, the brandy had its charms. He hadn’t tasted proper brandy in seven years. He’d spent the last several months during his sailor’s journey drinking grog that was strong enough to strip the paint off most boats.
“Darius, we may not see the others for a few more hours. Perhaps it would be best to discuss our potential plan to deal with Walsh and Balfour.” Felix looked to Darius for confirmation.
Darius turned to him. “What say you, Kit?”
Kit had spent years thinking of how he would go about getting his revenge, but all the plans he had made then seemed like terrible ideas now. What still mattered, however, was the objective.
“I want to take away from them what they love most. Tell me what they crave, what they hoard.”
“Balfour craves power. Walsh yearns for money,” Darius said.
“And Townsend’s daughter?” Kit asked. “What of her?”
“Are we really discussing revenge against a woman who had nothing to do with your imprisonment?” Warren asked quietly.
“If she has profited these last seven years from his misdeeds, then she is as guilty as he.”
“She gave no testimony against you, Kit. You’re far too much of a gentleman to take revenge upon someone who was a mere child at the time.”
Kit laughed harshly. “Am I?” he challenged in a low voice. “Because I rather feel like a wild beast ready toripmy enemies apart with my bare hands, even if they think themselves safe in the grave.” He paced the room, his hands clenching as he sought to rein in the flood of rage that filled his body. It vibrated within him down to his very bones. He knew his threats went a step too far, but something in him in that moment needed to throw salt into his own wound, to feel the pain and lash out and see... and see if his friends would still stand beside him in his madness and rage.
A long moment of painful silence filled the room, and Kit feared he’d lost the loyalty of these men. And if he had, he alone was to blame for it. He’d lived seven years without them, but now, the thought of losing them again was too much to bear. The thought sent him spiraling into a terror deeper than the day he’d learned he was to be sent away from England to a fate unknown. Kit forced himself to meet the concerned, troubled gazes of his friends, but he did not speak.
Darius was the first to break the agonizing silence.
