Chapter 7 #2
James hadn’t the slightest intention of dining with Anne.
After giving instructions to have his purchases delivered, he headed directly for his private club.
The setting wasn’t quite as rich as White’s or Boodles, but then neither was the play at cards or dice.
It was exclusive, and quiet, and the conversation more likely to run to economics and political events abroad than to the latest social scandals at home.
He inhaled sharply as he mounted the steps; he could imagine what Anne would have to say about her ride in the park, a malicious stream of gossip about Elizabeth that would doubtless continue through the soup, meat, sweets, and brandy.
He understood her need to savor her revenge.
He handed his hat and cape to a servant.
But he was plagued by concerns about Elizabeth’s welfare.
He’d debated with his internal misgivings—he didn’t dare call them conscience—throughout the day.
Elizabeth might be young and inexperienced, but she knew the rules of decorum—every young girl entering her first season had such things pounded into her head. Often, he reflected, to the exclusion of all other practical thought. And she knew his reputation.
James gestured for a servant to bring him a brandy.
He was a wastrel, a libertine, a worthless cad.
She had no business entering a secluded library with him.
He took a swallow of brandy. She had no business kissing him.
Foolish chit, she had no business trusting him.
What had she been thinking? Everyone knew he wasn’t worth a damn.
Several young men, clustered around a table scattered with glasses and bottles of wine, waved him over.
They’d be talking about the revolutionary tribunals in France; he wasn’t in the mood.
A pinched-looking gentleman glanced up from a heavy tome he was perusing and nodded.
Morton. He’d want to discuss the trial and execution of Louis XVI.
A useless exercise—what was done was done.
A heavyset gentleman, elegantly clad in gray silk, caught his eye and crooked a thick finger.
Lord Grenville, a politician with a notoriously jaundiced view of the world.
James smiled; Grenville was just the sort of company he required.
“James.” Grenville gestured to an empty chair. “Good of you to join me. Wasn’t sure I’d find you here this evening.”
“Indeed?” James arched a brow. “And why ever not?”
“You’re quite the talk of the town today. Is it true you led Lady Elizabeth Harcrest astray?”
“Grenville, old man, I’d have thought such gossip was beneath you.”
“I don’t spread the stuff, my boy.” Something like a smile curved Grenville’s thin lips. “But I do collect it.”
“Why should it interest you if I dally with a lady?”
“I understand you did much more than dally…” He waved a heavy hand. “But that is not what interests me. I’m curious as to why you did it. Moreham’s a powerful man, with powerful friends.”
James shrugged. “The lady’s charms are powerful, too.” He took a sip of brandy. “Have you seen her?”
“I have. She’s charming. But there’s equally lovely and far less dangerous prey to be found…”
“Perhaps I enjoyed the challenge.”
“Then I’ve read you wrong, Dinsmore. You’ve always struck me as a man who does things for a purpose, not one of these fools who dash up the mountain simply because it’s there.”
James swirled the liquor in his glass, watching candlelight dance on amber. “Damn waste of time, dashing up mountains. And to what end? Simply to beat one’s chest about cresting the summit of a rock?”
Grenville took a slice of cheese from a platter in the middle of the table and chewed thoughtfully. “Seems like your sister Anne is doing much of the crowing over this particular accomplishment. Did you seduce Lady Elizabeth out of some notion of revenge?”
“I’ve no interest in revenge.” James sipped his brandy and eyed Grenville over his glass.
Grenville matched his stare. “A sense of loyalty, then?”
James’s eyes glanced down. “That’s a handsome waistcoat, Grenville. Who’s your tailor?”
Grenville didn’t waste a glance at his lavender and gray waistcoat.
“No one nearly fashionable enough for you, Dinsmore.” He reached for another slice of cheese.
“I thought I had the right of it; you did seduce her for Anne. Noble, in a perverse sort of way. But now what, my friend, shall you offer for her?”
“Can you see me as a husband?” James plucked a slice of cheese from the platter. “I doubt Moreham could. He’d never have me.”
“He nearly had your sister.”
James stiffened. “But he did not, did he?” he said with a casualness he was far from feeling. “And if my sister is not good enough for His Lordship, then for certes, I am not good enough for his beloved sister.”
Grenville dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “No jabs of conscience, then? The girl is most likely ruined and you are content?”
“Damned if you aren’t as inquisitive as Torquemada tonight.” James swiveled in his chair, glass aloft. “The service in here is frightfully slow. A man could perish from thirst.” A man in livery materialized from the shadows, decanter in hand, and refilled his glass.
“It won’t end here, you know. Moreham will come after you.”
“It is his right,” James admitted, raising his glass to drink.
Grenville’s thick arm shot out with surprising speed. He caught James by the wrist and held it. “I knew your father, James, knew him well. Before his mind…”
“Drifted?” James offered, bitterness like dregs at the bottom of his voice.
“We served together in the war department; he had the sharpest mind of any man I ever met. You’ve a sharp mind yourself, if only you’d use it.
If you get tired of playing at games, Dinsmore, you let me know.
” Grenville’s grip tightened. “And if you ever need help, for God’s sake, ask. I owe that much to your father.”
James’s blue eyes widened slightly. “Damned if everyone I meet these days doesn’t seem to think I’m in need of saving.”