And Then She Fell(61)

Lord Arthur had been understandably concerned, and James had made no bones about his own agitation over Henrietta’s safety. Perhaps because Lord Arthur had seen that James’s concern was, if anything, even more acute than his, his lordship had suggested that, for the moment, they might proceed with a simple protective strategy, one Henrietta might not even notice.

As soon as he’d repaired the damage that travel had wrought on his person and changed into attire better suited to St. James, James quit the house, hailed a hackney, and rattled off to Boodles.

Simon and Charlie were already there, waiting at a table tucked away in an alcove at the rear of the club’s dining room. They rose as James arrived; the three shook hands, Simon’s and Charlie’s gazes examining every tiny facet of James’s expression for some clue as to his news.

He’d expected that, and wore an expression of utter inscrutability, even though his lips were impossible to force straight.

Waving them back to their chairs, he sat, too, met Charlie’s gaze across the table, then looked at Simon. “I’ve just come from your parents’ house. I’ve offered for Henrietta’s hand and been accepted.”

Simon’s slow grin broke across his face. “Henrietta’s accepted you?”

That, James had to admit, was a pertinent clarification. He nodded. “We spent the last few days at Ellsmere Grange, and . . .” He shrugged. “We decided we would suit.”

“Wait, wait.” Charlie, although beaming, also managed to look confused. “I thought she was helping you find your necessary bride? That you’d persuaded The Matchbreaker to turn matchmaker?”

“That was how it started,” James allowed, “but the more time she spent in my scintillating company, the more she came to understand that she wanted to marry me herself.”

Both Charlie and Simon made rude, scoffing sounds.

Simon noticed the head waiter passing, hailed the man, and ordered a bottle of the club’s best burgundy, a wine the three of them preferred. Turning back, he said to James and Charlie, “To celebrate.” Looking again at James, Simon, still grinning delightedly, shook his head. “God knows how you did it, but you do realize, don’t you, that you’re going to be the toast of the ton’s gentlemen? Ah.” Simon turned as the head waiter proffered a bottle for inspection, then, at Simon’s nod, poured three glasses.

After passing the filled glasses around, the waiter set down the bottle and withdrew.

Simon raised his glass. “To James—the man brave enough, with fortitude enough, to beguile The Matchbreaker into matrimony.”

“To James,” Charlie echoed, raising his glass, too. “The Matchbreaker’s fate.”

“The Matchbreaker’s mate,” Simon offered, setting his glass to Charlie’s.

James shook his head, raised his glass to both of theirs, and corrected, “The Matchbreaker’s match.”

“Yes—that’s it!” Charlie clinked his glass against the other two. “The Matchbreaker’s match—that’s you.”

Of course, their ribbing didn’t stop there, but as it was all good-natured, and his friends made no secret of how pleased and happy they were over his news, James put up with their more ribald jokes until, finally, they reached the point of asking about the engagement ball and the wedding.

Their meal had arrived by then. While they ate, James told them what he knew, and Simon confirmed that when it came to weddings in the Cynster family, the men were expected to do as they were told and otherwise leave all to the females of the clan.

“It’s not worth trying to get a word in,” Simon warned.

James shrugged. “As long as we front the altar before the first of June, I’m happy to leave it all in their hands.”

Eventually, they pushed their plates aside, refilled their glasses, then relaxed in their chairs, sipping contentedly. Turning his glass in his fingers, James studied the red glints gleaming in the wine and more quietly said, “So I’ve told you all my good news, but, I fear, there’s a more disturbing tale to tell.”

“Oh?” Simon studied his face. “What?”

James told them of Henrietta’s “accidents,” and why he no longer believed they were accidental at all.

Simon and Charlie listened without comment; by the time James reached the end of his report, both were entirely sober.

“Good God,” Charlie said, his wine forgotten, “a massive capstone? You would both have been killed!”