Proof by Seduction (Carhart #1)(77)

The door swung open. Hanging on the side was that red-faced fellow Gareth had seen with Ned in the gaming hell the other night.

“How may I be of sher—of service?” The fellow bowed and lost his balance, grabbing the handle of the door for support. The hinges torqued under his weight, but held. For a moment, the fellow swung suspended against the door.

Gareth peered inside. Ned was squashed, like a piece of cake in a hamper, between two men who were as round and red as apples. One of them was tippling from a silver flask. He handed the container to Ned, and Ned took a defiant swig.

Every face but Ned’s stared at Gareth in drunken hope.

The fellow at the door scrambled to regain his footing. “Did you,” he said in suggestive tones, “stop us because of the hat atop the carriage?”

For some baffling reason, this query sent the two apples flanking Ned into a raucous cheer. “Hat on top! Hat on top!”

Ned joined in with a halfhearted raise of his fist. “Huzzah. Hat on top.”

Gareth reached up and placed his hand on the brim of the hat atop the carriage. “No. I’m here for Mr. Carhart.”

He tugged, intending to toss the offending head-covering into the carriage at his cousin. But the hat didn’t budge; instead, his fingers slipped and he lost his balance himself.

The maneuver was not missed by the onlooking drunkards. “Yah!” they screamed. “Hat on top!”

Gareth sighed heavily. “What is going on here?”

Ned didn’t meet his eyes, but the door-hanger laughed and poked Gareth in the chest in an unbecomingly familiar fashion. Gareth stared at the offending finger.

“Hat on top—” the man enunciated his words very carefully, punctuating each one with a jab “—is a game. An excellent game. The most excellent game available to gentlemen in Britain. It requires only a carriage and a hat.”

“And penny nails,” shouted out one of the other men. “Don’t forget the nails.”

Gareth grabbed the man’s hand before he could jab again. The palm was slick with sweat.

The door-hanger beamed with all the solicitude of the extremely drunk. “You nail the hat to the top of the carriage. Then you drive about, and take wagers about how long it will be until some officious do-gooder stops you, shouting you’ve left your hat atop the carriage.”

The man’s hand fluttered in Gareth’s grip. He looked down and frowned, as if only just realizing his wrist was trapped.

Gareth let go. The only thing more appalling than the man’s clammy hand was the fact that Ned planned to spend his evening playing Hat on Top instead of making things right with Ware and Lady Kathleen. Life wasn’t a game. There was no time for childish drunken bouts. Gareth would have to straighten out Ned’s priorities.

“That,” said Gareth, “is the most puerile game I have ever heard of. It has absolutely no point and I cannot condone it. Come along, Ned. We’re leaving. We don’t want to be late.”

Ned’s friends turned in shock and broke into a babble.

“But we’ve only just started!”

“Come on, Carhart, you know Hat on Top is no fun with only three.”

“You’re not even bosky yet. And we promised to meet Branning at Gaither’s. He’ll be at the hell any minute, now.”

Ned swiveled his head. He didn’t quite meet Gareth’s eyes. Instead, he stared at a point just past Gareth’s shoulder.

“If you want to speak with me,” he said coolly, “you’ll have to come along. There’s always room for more in Hat on Top. And I’m not leaving.”

Backslaps all around. Ned’s lip curled in distaste.

Door-hanger seemed to think Gareth’s participation was an actual possibility. He grabbed Gareth’s arm.

Gareth shook off the officious grip. “Do you know who I am? I am the Marquess of Blakely. I don’t play ridiculous games. And, Ned, you are coming with me this instant.”

His icy tone cut through the drunken merriment with satisfactory efficiency. The youths—they were none of them any older than Ned, if that—exchanged worried glances. Then door-hanger gave Gareth a negligent push in the chest. His sweaty palm left a dark print on Gareth’s silk waistcoat.

“A marquess who was fooled by Hat on Top,” he jeered. Laughter, this time with a nasty, dark edge, rang out. And then the door swung shut.

What logical arguments could one marshal against a fellow who preferred to tool around of an evening with a hat nailed to the top of his carriage, instead of setting the remainder of his life in order? Gareth had never felt so completely and utterly dumbstruck.

The carriage jerked and rolled forward, swaying from side to side as the twin bays pulled in their traces.

For the first time in his life, Gareth acknowledged there were things he couldn’t do. And not stupid, inconsequential things like singing or carving. Important things. What Ned needed was completely outside Gareth’s ken.

And he could turn to nobody now that he’d failed.

Really?

No. He had to admit it, even to himself. There was one person he could turn to. And he needed her now more than ever.

“COME WITH ME,” Gareth said without preamble as her door opened. “We haven’t a moment to spare.”

He held his hand out to Jenny. She stared at him in confusion, her hair falling in wisps around her face. One strand was caught between her lips. She looked up at him, those eyes piercing straight through him.