No Earls Allowed (The Survivors #2)(18)

Neil ascended the stairs and leaned against the door, watching Rafe study the billiards table and position his cue, then, taking aim, knock two balls into the pocket.

“Nice shot,” Neil commented.

Rafe turned smoothly. Neil had no idea if his presence had surprised Rafe. The man had a way of appearing smooth and unruffled no matter the situation. “I wondered when you would show your face.”

“Tired of looking at your own?” Neil entered the room and stood at the other end of the table. He wasn’t interested in billiards, but he liked to watch a man with skill, like Rafe, sink the balls.

“Who could tire of looking at my face?” Rafe asked, lining up another shot.

“I could name any number of husbands.”

“I don’t dally with married women,” Rafe said. He hit the white ball, but his aim was off and it went wild, bouncing off the sides of the table.

Neil laughed. “Since when?”

“It has always been my policy.” Rafe chalked the end of the leather cue tip. “I cannot be held responsible if some of those wives are extremely persuasive.”

“No, I’m sure you can’t.”

“We could talk about me all day.” Rafe lined up another shot.

“We usually do,” Neil muttered.

“Where have you been? I thought your father had business for you and imagined you’d be riding to Hampshire or Dorset to oversee some agricultural fiasco.”

“The business was actually closer to home.”

“Oh?” Rafe took his shot.

“Spitalfields.”

Rafe looked up sharply, ignoring the thunk of the white ball into the pocket. “What was that?”

“You heard me.”

“There’s no agriculture in Spitalfields.”

“Not unless you count the growing of thieves and the multiplying of stolen wipes in shop windows.”

Rafe studied the table again.

“I’ve been at the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth.”

The table was forgotten, and Rafe stared at Neil with something like horror on his face. “Why? Did your father discover another offspring?”

“No. I think he learned his lesson after me. Not to mention Lady Kensington would probably castrate him if he showed up at her door with another bastard.”

“Then… But you couldn’t possibly have one there.” The sentence was a statement. Still, Rafe gave Neil a questioning look.

Neil shook his head. “My feelings on that score haven’t changed. None of the boys are mine.”

“Then you are still…” Rafe gestured vaguely.

“A virgin? Yes, though with my experience I think one could hardly call me that.”

“And yet I do enjoy it. Our Virgin Warrior.”

Neil ignored the jibe. He was not so easy to bait. The men of Draven’s troop had always called him the Warrior. It was only Rafe and a few other brave ones who dared add Virgin before it.

“And if you weren’t searching for lost offspring, what were you doing at an orphanage?”

“Lord St. Maur’s daughter has made the place her pet project.”

Rafe blew out a breath. “Women and their charities.” He rounded the table and began to collect the balls from the pockets. “I suppose your father asked you to make her see the error of her ways.”

“Exactly. The situation is worse than I thought. She has no cook, no teacher, and her manservant is not to be found. Not to mention the place is about as invincible as the ladies in a Parisian brothel. If she will not return home, I may be forced to spend the night.”

Rafe dropped the red ball with a heavy thud. “Then St. Maur’s daughter is as beautiful as I’ve been told.”

“What has that to do with it? Whether or not she’s pretty, she must be protected.”

A slow smile crossed turned Rafe’s mouth upward. “So she is pretty.”

“Who is pretty?” asked another voice. Neil glanced at the door and saw Jasper standing in it. He was removing the length of black silk that covered his hair and the half mask he wore when outside to conceal the scarred skin on his cheek. He dropped it in his coat pocket and rubbed his face, which was rather pink from the heat of the silk against his skin.

“No one,” Neil said at the same time Rafe said, “St. Maur’s daughter.”

“Why do we care about St. Maur’s daughter?”

“Neil cares,” Rafe said, repositioning the balls for the opening shot.

“No, I don’t. I am only following orders.”

Both Jasper and Rafe groaned. Neil couldn’t blame them. He’d said that phrase so often during their time on the Continent that even he’d wanted to groan when he said it.

“If I have to hear about orders,” Jasper said, “I need a drink.”

“No drinks.” Neil spotted Porter entering with a decanter of amber liquid and waved him away. “I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course,” Jasper answered automatically. It never failed to amaze Neil that these men who had barely survived the war would risk their lives if Neil asked. He hadn’t even had to give them orders. He’d done that initially, but after surviving a mission or two, the men formed a bond that went far beyond that of superior and subordinate. These men were his brothers. They’d saved his life and he theirs. They’d suffered victory and defeat together. They’d lost eighteen of their brothers, and they were the only men alive who knew what the last moments of those who’d been lost were like.