A Seditious Affair(97)

Lord Richard looked away as he spoke, back at Mason. “Cyprian.” Brisk and brief, and only David would have heard the plea in his voice. “Deal with this for me. Whatever seems necessary.” He turned on his heel.

Mr. Norreys’s lips parted in silent astonishment as Lord Richard stalked out, back very straight. David had no time to deal with that. He murmured an excuse and followed.

The hall was empty. Lord Richard stood alone, rigid with anger, and as David closed the door behind him, he slapped a palm with brutal force against the expensively papered wall. “God damn it. Damn him.”

“I’ll need free rein,” David said with urgency. Nothing else mattered for the moment, not even that touch. He had to do this. “I will make it go away, my lord, I will make Mr. Frey happy, I will deal with it all. Just let me.”

“Do it,” Lord Richard rasped. “That accursed, bloody— Do whatever you need.” He turned jerkily and strode off.

David took a single deep breath before letting himself back into the book room. I will do exactly that. What we need. I will save Mason’s neck, and get Mr. Frey out of your way for good. And then, my lord…we’ll see.





Chapter 1


MARCH 8, 1820

“Bear off,” Silas said smugly. “And that’s you gammoned.”

David sat back with a sigh. It had not been one of his better performances, and Silas, a bludgeoning, brutal opponent at the backgammon board, was developing a knack for strategy too. “Blast you.” He totted up the points, wincing. In their ongoing contest, Silas’s score was definitely creeping upward.

“Another round?” Silas suggested.

David glanced at the clock. It was only half past midnight but he shook his head. “I think not.”

“Thought they were on a spree. You can’t be expecting his lordship back before two at the earliest.”

“No. Well.”

Silas shrugged, and topped up his glass as David began to pack away the counters. He tilted the bottle to David’s tumbler in invitation; David shook his head again. “No? It’s probably best. With you on a losing streak, and all.”

“Two games don’t constitute a losing streak,” David objected. “Unlike the seven in a row you lost last week. That was a streak.”

He had taken a strong and unexpected liking to Silas, rough-tongued lout that he was. David’s position as valet isolated him from the rest of the household. He was outside the hierarchy: Lord Richard’s man. He would have tolerated more than solitude for that, but over four years it had become tiresome that nobody would even give him a game for fear of winning.

Silas spoke as he liked, and not only tried his best to beat David at backgammon but crowed about it when he did. David was slightly startled at how much he enjoyed having a friend in the house.

Silas took a swallow of gin. “Here, I was reading something the other day; this’ll interest you. Philosopher fellow, writing on whether animals have souls.”

“You think animals have souls?” David said incredulously.

“Me? I don’t think people have souls.”

David winced. “Keep that to yourself. No atheism on Lord Richard’s time, thank you.”

“Don’t ask if you don’t want to know. Anyway, he had a story about dogs who know when their owner’s on his way. They’ll jump to the window or the front door, for no reason, couldn’t have heard anything, and five minutes later he arrives. Animal instinct or some such, I don’t know. Point is, they can sense when their master’s coming home.”

It sounded plausible enough, but Lord Richard did not own dogs, and therefore David didn’t care. “Well, and?”

“And what?”

“You said it would interest me. I’m waiting to find out why.”

Silas gave him an evil grin. “No reason.”

David returned a suspicious look, then shut the backgammon box and put it on the shelf. They were playing in his bedroom, since it was more comfortable for everyone if they both avoided the servants’ hall. As Lord Richard’s valet, David had a room big enough to accommodate a table with two chairs, more space than he’d ever had in his life, but he’d spent too long arranging gentlemen’s existences to tolerate anything in less than perfect order.

“If you’re going to bore me with pointless tales—” he began, and then his head snapped up as the bell rang.

“That’ll be Lord Richard coming home,” Silas observed with immense satisfaction. “Lucky you were ready for him, eh?”

David was momentarily lost for words. “Go shove your mother,” he managed at last. “You blasted gutter-blood.”