“For a gent who spent the night pleasuring the beautiful Mrs. Randall, none of us expected to see you until evening.”
Dare winced, forgetting that Vane had disappeared from the Quintons’ ball after his friend had been introduced to several ladies who were the product of his mother’s latest matchmaking efforts. According to Sin, Vane had been polite, but refused to dance with any of the ladies.
Needless to say, his mother was displeased. However, no amount of tears could sway her son. Before he had made good on his escape, Vane had whispered into Sin’s ear, “Bluestockings! Egad, my mother is now presenting them to me in pairs.” No one had seen him again until he had wandered into Nox.
Dare closed the ledger he had been studying and calmly entwined his fingers together. “Mrs. Randall was obliged to find her way home without my assistance.”
“What?” Vane gaped at Dare. “The widow had picked you out of all of us to be her lover, you lucky ungrateful bastard. How could you be so cruel to her?”
Had he not chastised himself for the same thing? Still, it chafed his pride to be scolded by his irresponsible friend. “While you were fleeing your inevitable fate, I was keeping Fothergill and his friends from chasing after Regan.”
Vane sneered. “Fothergill? What the devil was he doing at the Quintons’ ball? I thought he and Lord Quinton had once come to blows over a mistress.”
“It went as far as a dawn appointment at Battersea Fields,” Dare said, trying to recall the details of the event, which had taken place three years earlier. “I believe Quinton fired into the air, while Fothergill used his turn to aim his pistol at his opponent’s head. Quinton lost a piece of his left ear that morning.”
Vane leaned against the large mahogany desk. “I heard that Quinton conveyed his apologies while the surgeon was attending him. If I had been him, I would have called for my sword.” The earl picked up the silver letter opener and tested the sharp edge. He flipped it in the air and caught it by its handle.
Dare smiled. Fothergill had never challenged the Lords of Vice. He preferred to improve his odds by challenging weaker opponents. “If anyone issued Fothergill an invitation to the ball, it was most likely Lady Quinton. Rumor has it that she has not forgiven her husband for the mistress or the duel.”
“Another reason why I do not want a wife,” Vane said, snatching the rotating letter opener out of the air. “They are vengeful, humorless creatures.”
Dare slid the chair back from the desk and stretched his long legs. “Sin and Reign have fared well in their marriages.”
Vane jabbed the point of the letter opener in Dare’s direction. “Our friends are too besotted with their wives to stray far from their skirts. Besides, if either one of them seriously considered dallying with a mistress, I wager Juliana would shoot Sin between the eyes, and Sophia would crack Reign’s skull open with her walking stick.”
Dare grunted his agreement. Both ladies were wholly capable of managing their households and their husbands. “And what of your lady?”
“I do not plan on being leg-shackled,” Vane said with resounding confidence. “Why settle for one woman when I can have them all?”
“Your mother seems to have other plans for you, my friend,” Dare said, sympathetic to Vane’s plight.
Vane set down the letter opener and moved away from the desk. “Eventually, she will grow weary of the hunt”—he shrugged and offered a careless smile—“or run out of marriageable ladies.”
Dare and Vane laughed at the outrageous thought. London seemed to have an inexhaustible stable of young, unmarried ladies.
“So was Frost properly appreciative that you had sacrificed your evening with the widow to rescue Regan from Fothergill’s clutches?”
“Bolton and Radcliffe, too,” Dare said, recalling that Regan had not glanced in his direction for the rest of the evening.
Fortunately, she had possessed enough intelligence to remain close to her friends until they took their leave with Lady Karmack.
“I decided not to mention the incident to Frost.”
Vane snorted. “Frost does not need your protection against Fothergill.”
“I did it for Regan,” Dare said mildly. “Frost is already looking for a reason to stuff her in the first stagecoach out of London. It is not her fault that Fothergill will pursue anything wearing a petticoat.”
“How very chivalrous of you, Lord Hugh,” Vane mocked. “Tell me, does Regan know that you are quietly protecting her from Frost and unscrupulous admirers?”
“No.” It did sound damn noble of him, he thought, the notion ruining his good mood. “If you want to keep your teeth in your head, you will not tell a soul.”
“But I have not told you my price.”
Dare lunged out of the chair, his fingers missing Vane’s coat sleeve by mere inches. Almost. The earl feinted to the right and stumbled out the door of the study with Dare on his heels. When he caught up to the grinning fool, Dare would ensure that his friend was more amenable to keeping his mouth shut.
If not for Regan’s sake, then for his own.
* * *
“Nothing has really changed,” Regan murmured as she casually surveyed the drawing room of her family’s town house, taking in the veneered walnut wainscot, the marble chimneypiece, and the tapestry of Apollo and the muses that covered the far wall. She walked over the tapestry to admire the scene. When she was a child, Frost had told her that the artisan had used their father’s image to represent Apollo. She had believed the lie for years, and used to slip into the drawing room so she could share secrets with her father.
“What did you expect?” Frost said, causing her to turn away from the old tapestry. He had settled in one of the chairs, his turquoise-blue eyes watching her intently.
Regan offered him a faint smile. “I cannot explain it. Perhaps I thought you could get rid of our family history as casually as you did your only sister.”
“Regan,” Frost drawled in warning. Fascinated, she noticed that his bare hands were gripping the ornate carved wood of the armrests until the veins on the top of his hands were visible. “What else did they teach at that school of yours besides sharpening your tongue?”
“You are responsible for my sharp tongue, brother,” Regan countered, amused that she had managed to ruffle his composure so easily. “I fear Miss Swann’s lessons were rather mundane in comparison with my education at Nox. Not a single fireworks rocket, sword, or brace of pistols on the property.”
Frost’s eyes narrowed at her sarcastic inflection, but he refrained from commenting on it. “Did you enjoy yourself last evening?”
“Very much so,” Regan said, trailing her finger down the edge of the mantel. She paused to examine the five-inch figure of a white parakeet with a pale yellow beak and bright blue tail. “It was good to see everyone. While we were at Lord and Lady Quinton’s, Sin introduced me to his wife, and to the lady’s sisters.”
“And what was your opinion of Lady Sinclair?”
Regan forgot about the parakeet and walked over to her brother. “I found her delightful. I think she and Sin are a good match.”
“Hmm.”
“You believe otherwise?” Regan sat down on the settee and smoothed the lines of her skirt. When her brother said nothing more, she brought her fingers to her lips to hide her smile. “Oh, my!”
“What?”
Regan leaned forward, unimpressed with his growled response. “Well, it is apparent to everyone that Sin is smitten with his wife, and you, being one of Sin’s closest friends, would naturally want him to be happy. So…”
“Quit equivocating, little sister. I have taught you to behave better than that,” Frost snapped.
Regan sobered at once, and then spoiled it by bursting into a fit of giggles. “Well, yes, and I must tell you that my forthright manner was quite a bane for Miss Swann.” She held up her hand to silence Frost. “It was a matter of simple deduction, really. Lady Sinclair does not approve of you.”
Her brother did not even blink. “Define approve.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Come now, brother. I have watched you charm legions of females from mere infants to elderly spinsters. What did you do to gain Lady Sinclair’s disapproval? Did you steal a kiss from her?”
A tiny muscle under Frost’s right eye twitched. With a snarl rumbling in his throat, he pushed out of the chair and began to prowl the room. “I have had quite enough from you, Regan Alice Bishop! Why are you so fascinated by Sin’s wife?”
“I am not. I was merely curious about why you do not like her,” she said, arching her right eyebrow.
Frost stalked toward her. “I am content with Sin’s choice of wife. We will leave it at that.”
“Very well, brother.”
Frost raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and slumped onto the settee next to her. “I am surprised you have not inquired about Dare.”
Regan expected a little more subtlety from her brother, but she let the subject of Lady Sinclair drop. “Do you refer to his whereabouts or the fact that he is residing with us this season?”
“So he told you?”
Regan nodded. “He happened to mention it when I encountered him at the Quintons’.”
“Oh, I was not aware that you had spoken to Dare at the ball.”
She pointedly ignored the question in her brother’s tone. “The only thing he was not clear on was the why of it. Has something happened to his family’s town house? Was there a fire?”
Frost stifled a yawn with his hand. “Charles and Allegra arrived in town a fortnight past. Dare ordered his possessions packed the same day.”
“Good heavens. So Dare and his older brother are still fighting after all these years,” Regan murmured.
The animosity between Dare and Charles was scarcely a secret, although few knew the whole story. Regan had overheard bits and pieces of the tale when she was a child. Eleven years ago, Dare, then six and ten, had fallen in love with the Earl of Dyton’s daughter, Lady Allegra. Initially the lady had favored Dare with her love, until Charles started to court her. Dare was the son of a duke, but he was the second son. When Dare learned that Lady Allegra had chosen Charles over him, the two brothers had come to blows. With the Duke of Rhode’s blessing, Charles and Allegra were married. The same year, Allegra gave birth to a daughter. According to Frost, the marriage between Charles and Allegra was an unhappy one. In the eleven years that had passed, Allegra had failed to produce an heir for her husband.
Before Regan had been banished from London, she had often heard Vane, Sin, and the others taunting Dare about his dedication to the lady who had chosen the heir over the second son. Some thought he was still in love with Allegra. When Regan was a child, the observation seemed dreadfully romantic.
As a grown woman, she wanted to throttle Lady Pashley for breaking Dare’s heart. The marchioness had ruined the man for all other women. Regan started when Frost touched her on the arm. “I beg your pardon. Forgive me, I was not paying attention.”
“Did you not sleep well, my dear?” Frost said, his expression softening with sympathy. “I said that Dare’s parents, the Duke and Duchess of Rhode, are also in residence, but their presence has done little to alleviate the growing hostility between Charles and Allegra, or quell the marquess’s drunken tirades. Allegra has been sending messengers to the town house daily, demanding Dare’s assistance.”
Regan brought her hand up to her throat and stroked the unexpected tightness. “Has Dare been responding to Lady Pashley’s notes?”
Pride flashed across her brother’s handsome face. “Dare has ordered them all to be tossed into the fire. Nevertheless, the gent will eventually surrender to Allegra’s demands.” Frost scowled and glanced at his hands. “The bitch has her tender hooks in Dare, and he cannot seem to break free. I had such high hopes when Dare began to show some interest in the widow.”
“The widow,” Regan said, her voice cracking. Dare was courting a widow?
“Mrs. Randall.” Oblivious to his sister’s quiet distress, Frost absently patted her hand and stood. “The lady has set her sights on Dare, and I wager he will stumble into her bed before the season has ended. Even if I have to give him a hard shove.”
Very little had changed, indeed. “Maybe Dare prefers not to be shoved into the lady’s bed, brother.”
Frost gaped at her before he hooted with laughter. “You have grown into such a little prude, sweet sister. The beautiful widow is not fettered with concerns about her reputation. Dare would be a fool to refuse her.”