A Masquerade in the Moonlight(92)
“Shut up, Arthur,” Harewood said without emotion, looking questioningly, suspiciously at Thomas, and most probably wondering why he was seeing him here instead of at Vauxhall, as they had planned. “Are you ready to discuss terms?”
Thomas smiled at him, more than happy to have confused the man. You’d really hate that, wouldn’t you, you bastard, he thought, when you already thought you had me in your private pocket? Why, it’s getting so that a fellow doesn’t know who to trust anymore, isn’t it, my friend? “I presented you with my terms at Richmond, Sir Ralph. I was only thinking, you being a reasonable man, you may have seen the merit of them.”
Lord Mappleton shifted his feet, as if eager to be on his way. “Well, if that’s all,” he said, shaking his head. “Ralph here can’t do anything unless—”
“Good afternoon, gentlemen... you too, Mr. Donovan.”
Thomas turned to see the Earl of Laleham standing behind him. He moved so quietly, Thomas knew he couldn’t be faulted for believing the man practiced at it. But now he had three of them in front of him. Two more and he’d have the full set. He’d never seen them all together. Maybe if he did, he might begin to figure them out—the gambler, the fortune hunter, the hopeful intellectual, the colorless plodder, and the artful schemer who pulled all their strings.
“Your lordship,” he said in greeting, bowing to the earl, and refusing to acknowledge the man’s veiled insult. “How good to see you up and about. You’re talking and everything. Wonderful! I do hope you have forgiven me for that sad mistake at Gentleman Jackson’s. It was a lucky punch, no more. Anyone who witnessed our exchange could see you were the superior man. Isn’t that right, Sir Ralph?”
But Harewood did not immediately jump to his friend’s defense. “What are you doing here, William?” he asked, looking past Thomas to the earl, his expression hinting that he knew something Laleham did not know. “I thought you were intending to call on Miss Balfour this afternoon—after having failed to speak with her last night. She disappeared rather oddly, didn’t she? You were there, Mr. Donovan? Didn’t you find Miss Balfour’s disappearance odd?”
“I hadn’t noticed.” Saw something last night, didn’t you, you nasty little devil? Thomas thought, looking at Harewood. Saw it, and have every intention of hinting that you saw it. But you wouldn’t say anything outright, would you? No. You’re not brave enough to do that.
“Why, Ralph, I had no idea any slight alteration in my plans could be so discommoding to you,” the earl returned quietly after a moment. Thomas watched in amusement as a tic began to throb in Sir Ralph’s left cheek. Did Marguerite have anything to do with their animosity toward each other, or were Renfrew and Harewood just unlovely gentlemen in general, each more than willing to score off the other?
“But,” the earl continued, “to answer your question, Miss Balfour is not receiving today. It appears she retired early from the ball last night due to a slight indisposition and is not up to seeing visitors. Although I believe I did see you conversing with her for some moments at Lady Jersey’s, Mr. Donovan?”
“Only long enough for her to send me away with a flea in my ear,” Thomas lied smoothly. This might, he decided, be a good time to allay some of his lordship’s concerns about any involvement with Marguerite, especially after Harewood’s remarks. The poor love had enough problems. So did he, damn it, now that he thought about it. “I’m top over ears in love with the girl, your lordship, but she will have none of me. I think she much prefers more mature gentlemen, such as yourself. Well, I do hate to run off, us all being so cozy here and all, but I have already planned to meet with my friend Mr. Dooley at the bottom of the street in less than a quarter hour. There’s a most lovely tavern there—you should try it. Good day to you, gentlemen.”
As he walked off, Thomas felt three pairs of eyes boring into his back. He was so angry, it took all his resolve not to turn around and demand they tell him why Marguerite was out to harvest their livers and lights. But he controlled the urge. He’d simply have to content himself on the sidelines for a little while longer, watching as Marguerite went about her business, protecting her quietly and only stepping in if she seemed to be getting in over her head.
And, in that meantime, he knew he’d die a little each day he spent without her.
“We have to be rid of Arthur, I tell you,” Sir Ralph said watching as the Earl of Laleham twirled his wineglass by its stem, staring into the dark liquid as it glowed in the lamplight. They had left Lord Mappleton, who was off to drool all over the rich Miss Rollins yet again, and retired to White’s. “He is becoming a liability. Every time the man opens his mouth he nearly betrays us.”