The Likelihood of Lucy by Jenny Holiday

Author:Jenny Holiday [Holiday, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Entangled;Historical;Jenny Holiday;The Likelihood of Lucy;historical romance;Regency romance;London
Amazon: B00WRGWHT2
Publisher: Entangled: Select Historical
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Trevor didn’t bother waiting until dawn the next morning. If he wasn’t going to fight Galsmith in a proper duel, there was no reason to wait for the sun. And there was certainly no reason to observe the absurd proprieties that governed ton life. For example, one made morning calls, inexplicably, in the afternoon.

To hell with that.

Also, although there was no expressly articulated rule prohibiting it, when visiting, one generally did not batter the door like an escaped Bedlamite.

To hell with that, too.

Sometimes, it was convenient to be a grown-up gutter rat. Trevor stood in the dark, pounding his fist against the door in an unceasing rhythm, trying to remember all the reasons he was not supposed to murder the Viscount Galsmith.

When the door opened an inch, he seized the opportunity, sticking his foot into the opening to prevent the butler, who was peeking out, from slamming the door in his face. Then he simply yanked, opening the door fully to expose the blinking servant, whose coat had been donned atop a nightshirt.

“Bring me Galsmith,” he growled.

The butler stood to full height. “I’m sorry, sir, the viscount isn’t at home.”

Another of the goddamned nonsensical ton conventions.

“Of course he is. It’s two o’clock in the morning.” He struggled to keep his voice controlled, to contain the roiling sea of emotion that had been threatening to drown him ever since he parted ways with Lucy. He took a step closer to the servant and cracked his knuckles, allowing the man to see that he wasn’t wearing gloves. “Bring him to me immediately, or I will come inside and tear this house apart until I find him.”

“What’s going on here?” Lucy’s former employer’s voice called from somewhere inside the house.

“There’s a…gentleman insisting he must see you, my lord.”

Trevor took advantage of the butler’s momentarily split attention and pushed past him, stepping into a dark entrance hall.

“Bailey? What the hell are you doing here?”

He reached into the rucksack he’d been carrying and produced a small, coarse burlap sack. Extending his arm, he let it dangle for a moment, feeling its weight. “I’m doing this.” He let the sack drop and even through the burlap, the coins made quite an impressive thump as the bag hit the marble floor.

“You owe me interest,” the viscount said, yawning.

The yawn fanned the flames of Trevor’s already sizzling rage. How could the blackguard be so casual?

“It’s in there,” Trevor ground out. “Count it if you like.”

“That’s it?” Galsmith said, strolling down the stairs, apparently undisturbed. He didn’t even look at the sack as he passed it. “You’re going to keep a doxy of the worst sort on your staff? The demimonde is one thing at a place like the Jade, Bailey, but I don’t think you understand the full extent of what that woman believes. Who she is.” He yawned again. “Why don’t you find yourself a pretty little actress instead of that hoyden?”

The only thing Trevor could think of, through the red haze of rage that clouded his vision, was getting the viscount to stop yawning.

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