Nearly Ruining Mr. Russell Read online

  Mousy grunted.

  “Ah,” Alex replied, grinning at him.

  The big man laughed and scratched his chin with a rueful expression. “I ain’t settin’ foot on French soil again afore she’s calmed down.”

  Alex was saved from finding a suitable reply about Mousy’s formidable wife as the sound of a carriage approaching reached them through the early morning mist.

  Striding towards the glossy black conveyance, Alex noted with relief the Tindall coat of arms on the door. Aubrey was the first one out, looking pale but resolute as Alex reached him.

  “Aubrey,” he said, holding out his hand to him. Aubrey gave him a tight smile and clasped it in his own.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Alex,” he said, looking relieved and absurdly young to Alex, whose heart clenched.

  “Surely we can put an end to this nonsense?” Alex demanded, his voice harsh.

  Aubrey gave him a rueful grin. “I’d love to, coz,” he admitted. “But he challenged me, not like I can back out, is it? Besides, I’m not a bad shot, thanks to you.”

  True enough, not at all a bad shot. The thought made Alex grimace, as the viscount wasn’t a bad shot either, which only meant they could end up with two fatalities or grievous wounds. He turned as another carriage arrived, and they watched as Viscount Debdon stepped down. The man looked over at Aubrey and gave a cool nod which Aubrey returned.

  “Who’s your second?” Alex asked, his voice low.

  “Ben,” Aubrey replied, watching as the man himself walked over to discuss the duel with the viscount’s second, carrying a set of pistols with him. “He’s a good man when you’re in a corner,” he added,

  Alex nodded, finding nothing else he could say on the matter, and decided it was time he tried to talk some sense into the hot-headed viscount. Before he had taken two strides, however, there was the sound of yet another carriage approaching.

  Everyone froze, staring as the carriage appeared out of the mists. Duelling was illegal after all. The men all held their breath and then gaped in astonishment as Alex recognised his own crest on the carriage door, which was opened by his own liveried footman.

  “Good God, Celeste!” Alex exclaimed in utter horror.

  “Violette!” echoed Aubrey, sounding of a like mind with his cousin.

  “What the devil!” was the audible oath coming from the viscount as he noted Mrs Dashton striding towards him with all the purpose of a determined Valkyrie.

  “Chauncey!” she exclaimed, her voice ringing out over Hyde Park and disappearing into the mists. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Oh, good Lord,” Aubrey muttered, and began to stride across The Ring towards his unfortunate opponent.

  “This is really none of your affair, Madame,” Viscount Debdon replied, his face taut and devoid of emotion.

  “Oh, is it not, my lord?” she replied, her eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “So I am madame now, after all that has passed between us? I believed that we were friends.”

  The viscount’s face softened a little and he gave an irritated sigh. “Of course we are friends ... Dolly. Only you cannot be here, this is a private matter.”

  “No it isn’t,” Violette retorted, stepping closer to the viscount and looking every bit as formidable as Mrs Dashton.

  Aubrey glanced at Alex, his eyes a little panicked now, and Alex didn’t blame him. Blast the women for interfering.

  “Everyone knows you’re sulking because you think Dolly chose Mr Russell over you,” Violette went on as the viscount’s face darkened with fury. “But what you don’t know is that he was only there that day to help me. I was going to go myself and he wouldn’t let me in case I was seen. I made him go, so it was my fault.” She sniffed and stepped so close to Debdon that he looked quite startled as she put up her chin and looked at him with utter disdain. “So I challenge you to a duel for insulting him.”

  “Violette!” Aubrey and Alex exclaimed at the same time while the viscount just stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

  “This is preposterous!” Debdon exploded, once he’d found wit enough to form a reply. “I insist these women are removed forthwith.”

  “He’s right,” Aubrey said, shaking his head and going to stand beside the apoplectic viscount. “It won’t do.” He stared at each of the ladies in turn. “I’m grateful to you all, but really, you’re making this dashed awkward. You can’t go around embarrassing chaps like this. A duel is a serious thing, a matter of honour.”

  “Honour? Bah!” Celeste threw in as Alex groaned. “There is no honour in a senseless waste of life. You are stupid cochons, all of you!”

  “I say, did she just call us pigs?” Debdon demanded of Aubrey, who sighed and nodded.

  “You’ll have to forgive her,” Aubrey replied, his voice low. “She’s French,” he added by way of explanation. “Frightful temper.”

  Debdon nodded his understanding as if this were reason enough and turned to Alex.

  “Falmouth, can’t you do something?” he demanded.

  Alex, who was beginning to see that the women might actually have a chance of diffusing the situation, merely shrugged and held out one hand. “You’re welcome to try.”

  “Good God!” Debdon said in disgust, turning on the women again. “This is no place for women. We have come here to settle our differences as gentlemen ...”

  “As cochons,” Celeste interjected with disgust, making the viscount’s face grow positively thunderous.

  “Madam! I must protest!”

  “Yes, come on now, Celeste,” Aubrey said, looking really rather cross now. “You simply can’t go about calling men pigs, you know. It’s not done.”

  Celeste returned a petulant expression and folded her arms. “I don’t care!”

  “Nor I,” added Mrs Dashton. “Lady Violette is quite correct. It was her fault Mr Russell came to see me, and it was I who kissed Mr Russell, not the other way around.”

  There was a stony silence and Alex watched Violette’s face with interest as she stared at Mrs Dashton in fury.

  “You did ... what?” she demanded, her face darkening with fury.

  “Oh, Lord,” Aubrey muttered in horror. “That’s torn it.”

  The viscount threw up his hands. “Good God! Heaven save me from interfering women!” He cursed a bit more and strode back and forth with impatience whilst the argument that had now sprung up between Dolly and Violette grew ever more heated.

  “That’s it,” the viscount growled, staring at the two women as Celeste tried to get between them to little effect. “I need a drink.”

  “My God, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all night,” muttered Aubrey.

  The viscount sighed and looked at the heavens before turning back to Aubrey. “Well, come on, then,” he muttered, and gestured to his carriage. Aubrey stared at him in shock for a moment before grinning and putting his foot on the step. He hesitated for a moment and turned back to snatch the case containing the duelling pistols from Ben, who was standing with Tommy and Owen, watching the women argue with open-mouthed astonishment.

  “Better safe than sorry,” Aubrey muttered to Debdon, eyeing the women with alarm before getting into the viscount’s carriage.

  Viscount Debdon snorted and gave Alex a nod. “Good evening, Falmouth, or morning, I suppose, and ... good luck sorting that lot out.”

  Alex raised his eyebrows and grinned, watching as the carriage bore away the two would-be duellists.

  He took a breath and stepped forward, wondering how on earth he was going to calm the furious argument in front of him, when suddenly the women fell silent and looked up.

  Mrs Dashton glanced around the remaining men. “Have they gone?” she demanded.

  Alex nodded, curious as to how the argument had ceased so rapidly. “Yes, the two of them gave it up as a bad job.”

  Celeste gave a very unladylike hoot of triumph and the three women dissolved into laughter.

  Lord Tindall stepped closer to him, hi
s rather cherubic countenance screwed up in consternation. “What the devil is going on?” he demanded.

  Alex suppressed a grin and looked over at the women with admiration. “I think we’ve been out manoeuvred,” he said, his tone dry. “And I, for one, thank God for women, and their devious ways.”

  Ben snorted and shook his head, giving Alex a look of amusement. “You’ll regret saying that one day, you know.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly,” Alex replied with a chuckle. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Chapter 16

  “Wherein all is forgiven and Aubrey gets a pep talk.”

  Aubrey stretched his long legs out before the fire and sighed, looking around him with satisfaction.

  “I say, nice place you’ve got here, my lord.”

  “Thanks,” Debdon replied with a grin. “And my friends call me Chance.”

  Aubrey snorted. “Are you quite sure about that? You wanted my blood just an hour ago.”

  Chauncey - Chance - Kendell, Viscount Debdon, shrugged and gave him another, rather rueful smile. “No, I didn’t. Went off the idea about ten minutes after leaving you. Got a frightful temper,” he admitted. “Though not as bad as the Countess Falmouth’s,” he added with a shudder of alarm.

  Aubrey wagged a finger at him. “Watch your mouth or I’ll have to call you out!” he said with a chuckle. “She’s one of my dearest friends and a wonderful woman.” He pursed his lips, and then was honour-bound to add: “She does have a frightful temper, though. Terrifying creature when her blood’s up.”

  Chance nodded, his face amused. “Well, anyway, all’s well.” He fell silent for a moment and stared into the fire. “I should apologise,” he said after a long moment. “I had no right to call you out. I’d been drinking and I’d taken a lot of stick over you and Dolly.”

  Aubrey grimaced and shook his head. “Least said, soonest mended,” he muttered, feeling a trifle awkward. “And just for the record. There never has been, and never will be, anything between me and Mrs Dashton.”

  Aubrey watched as the man laughed and waved his hand. “It’s of no matter, I assure you. Dasher and I had a good run, a lot of fun. She’s a wonderful woman, but ...” He gave Aubrey a twisted smile. “Devilish heavy on the pocket.”

  Aubrey laughed and raised his glass. “To the expensive Mrs Dashton.”

  “Dolly,” Chance agreed, raising his own glass and downing it in one large swallow. He got up and fetched the bottle of cognac they were working through, filling Aubrey’s glass with a generous measure. Settling himself down again, he gave Aubrey a curious look.

  “Lady Violette seemed to take exception to Mrs Dashton’s confession,” he said, his tone mild, and Aubrey coughed. He glanced up and noted the shrewd look in the viscount’s eyes with alarm.

  “Oh, don’t look so panicked. I’m no gabble-monger, I assure you.”

  Aubrey let out a sigh and then shrugged. “She’s quite above my touch,” he said with a despondent air. He turned as Chance sat forward in his chair.

  “Wait, Lady Violette Greyston?” he demanded, eyes wide. “My God, I thought she looked familiar. She’s the Colonel’s sister!”

  “You know Lord Winterbourne?” Aubrey replied, wondering if Chance could really be trusted.

  “Knew,” the viscount corrected, shaking his head, a genuinely sorrowful look in his eyes. “He was my Colonel, 15th Light Dragoons. Died at Waterloo.”

  Aubrey bit his lip before asking, “What happened?”

  Chance shook his head, his eyes taking on a far-away look, as though he wasn’t really there at all. “I hardly know,” he said, his voice bleak. “It was ... God, it was ...” He stopped, clearing his throat and looking embarrassed. “He was injured,” he carried on, his voice a little firmer now. “Bad head wound, bleeding all over, but he wouldn’t get it seen to. Threw himself back into the fray. The Frog’s artillery were pounding us. God, the noise ...” He gave a visible shudder and downed a large swallow of cognac. “We were fighting side-by-side, pretty much, and ... well, one minute he was there ...” He drank the last of his glass and refilled it, offering the bottle to Aubrey who shook his head. “His horse was dead, and ... well, there wasn’t much left. I just assumed he took a direct hit.”

  Aubrey swallowed, seeing the horror of whatever Chance had seen being relived in his eyes.

  “Though it was the strangest thing,” he added after a pause. “His batman, a funny chap, name of Davis I think. He swore blind he saw the Colonel stumble away, towards the French lines. But after that ... we just assumed he was seeing things. So much bloody noise and confusion, it’s hardly surprising.” Chance sighed and sat back, a sad smile on his handsome features. “Poor Eddie, he was a very fine fellow.”

  Aubrey nodded but said nothing. It wasn’t his secret to tell after all.

  “Had great plans for his sister, I believe,” Chance said, his tone thoughtful, and Aubrey looked away, staring into the fire once more. “I seem to remember that he was talking to Ranleigh about making a match when she came of age.”

  Aubrey felt the colour leave his face in a rush.

  “The Duke of Ranleigh,” he repeated, his stomach roiling. Nausea swirled in his gut and he thought perhaps he would cast up his accounts in front of Debdon’s shiny boots. Hauling in a breath, he gave Chance a twisted smile. “Well,” he said letting out a breath. “I told you she was above my touch.”

  “Sorry, old man,” Chance replied, his eyes full of sympathy. “I think perhaps I’ve just spiked your guns?”

  Aubrey shook his head and stared at the contents of his glass. “No. Not at all ... I ... I’ve been living in the clouds, that’s all. About time someone brought me back to earth.” He gave a laugh, quite the bitterest sound he had ever heard. “Hey, stop hogging that bottle,” he said, trying to sound jovial and light-hearted when that poor, abused organ felt like it had been dipped in lead. He snatched the proffered bottle and poured himself a large measure, ignoring the sympathy in his new friend’s eyes as best he could. “To Lady Violette and her brilliant future,” he said, raising the glass high, and then downed it in one go.

  ***

  Aubrey woke late in the morning, still stretched out in an armchair in front of a dying fire. Glancing at the clock on the mantle he saw that it was gone ten AM. The sonorous snores emanating from another room informed him that at some point Chance had taken himself to bed, pausing long enough to fling a blanket over Aubrey.

  Realising he was still too drunk to be hungover, Aubrey decided he had no intention of sobering up anytime soon and reached for a half empty bottle of cognac. The empty one beside it told him just how bad the hangover was going to be when he finally sobered up. That was reason enough to put it off a bit, he decided, grimacing as the liquor burned down his throat.

  Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, he wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. He’d never been in love before, and he assumed that was what this dreadful pain behind his ribs was. If he didn’t love her so much, perhaps he would persuade her to run away with him, damn their families, and elope. But he did, and he wouldn’t bring that shame down on her head, especially not with a man of his newly minted rakish reputation. He loved her too well to allow her to be cut off from family and friends, or to be gossiped about.

  Though he didn’t doubt his ability to persuade her to run with him. She had been all compliance in his arms last night after all. If he’d have lived up to his own reputation, he couldn’t help but wonder where they might be this morning. God, had it just been last night they’d been together? It seemed a lifetime ago. He felt he’d aged ten years since then.

  The remembrance of the feel of her in his arms, her soft mouth on his, made desire and frustration rage, fuelling a dark, nameless anger at the fact he wasn’t enough. He didn’t have a title yet - and when he did, he’d be a mere baron, and he certainly didn’t have the finances to support her in the manner in which she had undoubtedly been raised. The Winterbournes were an old
and vastly wealthy family. He doubted the daughter of a marquess had ever been told she couldn’t have something because it was too expensive. Whereas he couldn’t even afford to house them, and they could hardly live in his rented rooms. No. He’d been a fool. His determination the night of the ball had been based on romantic dreams and fuelled by desire. Daylight had brought clarity in all its cruel colours, and reality was full of impossibilities.

  Perhaps he’d go to France, he mused, knowing he could not stay in London to watch Violette courted by the cream of the ton when she made her come-out. He’d go and visit Alex’s younger brother, Laurence. Aubrey liked both him and his wife Henrietta, and he thought perhaps Laurence could keep him occupied. He was involved in whatever work it was that kept Alex so busy. Perhaps he could even find a way to earn some money of his own so he wasn’t so damned dependent on his allowance and his father’s grudging handouts. He’d not tell his father, though, that was for certain. Despite Alex’s obvious interest in his own business, the baron thought it beneath a gentleman to dirty his hands with work. So, naturally, Aubrey’s own family’s finances were dwindling away whilst Alex was rich as Croesus.

  Well, damn his father. He was tired of trying to please a man who couldn’t be pleased. It was time Aubrey stood up for himself and followed his own path.

  He realised that he’d made considerable progress down the remaining half bottle of cognac during the course of his dark musings and pushed the bottle away. If he was going to go, then he’d damn well best get on with it. Violette had looked at him in such a way last night that made him believe she loved him. It would be too cruel for both of them to pursue a path doomed to failure.

  Stumbling a little, he hauled himself out of the armchair. The walk to the front door seemed to involve a far greater effort of concentration than was usual as he weaved his way with care around the furniture. He bit back an oath as he opened the front door and the daylight seared his eyes, but he screwed them up against the glare, sucked in a breath of fresh air that made him retch, and stumbled down the front steps.