To Love a Wicked Lord by Edith Layton

Author:Edith Layton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

She forgot one thing,” Maxwell said as he leaned against the sloop’s railing and watched the bustling dock.

“You think so?” His companion, a fair-haired and well-dressed young gentleman, looked at him curiously. “Seems to me like the dame has taken everything but her carpets. But then, you know her better than I do.”

They both stared down at the wharf, where there seemed to be a parade passing through. Footmen, sailors, and all manner of menial servants were following the directions of a grand lady who was ordering them as they carried boxes onto the ferry bound for France.

“I have to,” Maxwell commented. “But all I meant is that Lady Carstairs seems to have forgotten her trumpeter. She’s done everything else but have fanfares blown at her departure to alert the immediate world to her leaving England, bound for Paris.”

“Her poor granddaughter,” the other gentleman said.

Maxwell looked at him sharply. “I detect more lust than sympathy in your tone, Cyril,” he said. “The younger lady is humiliated, embarrassed, and apprehensive at this venture, as she should be if she has any sensibility. And she does. She is, after all, the reason for the journey. And that reason is predicated on her fiancé having left suddenly, without explanation. She was jilted, abandoned, and left in the most uncomfortable lurch. Is she engaged to marry? Can she become engaged to another now? So certainly she’s anxious and her grandmother’s behavior shocks her. But I’m the one who should comfort her. Hands and mind off Miss Phillipa Carstairs, if you please.”

His companion threw both hands in the air. “Done. I’d no idea. She’s replaced her errant fiancé already, has she? Caught, are you? Understandable. She’s lovely. And an affair with a female who was about to trip down the aisle doesn’t carry the same, shall we say, danger, as with one who doesn’t know men. It’s like a romantic association with a widow; there’s no ruination in question. The lady is experienced and so cannot be compromised. Clever fellow.”

Maxwell’s answer was a well-placed right fist to Cyril’s face. The gentleman tumbled to the deck, and Maxwell stood, fists up, bracing himself for another blow.

The scuffle on shipboard stole everyone’s attention from Lady Carstairs’s passing parade.

When the victim staggered upright, Maxwell dropped him with another fist to the chin.

The deckhands and sailors were fascinated, calling encouragement to the fallen gent. But the altercation didn’t last long. When the gentleman got to his knees again, Maxwell offered him a hand that wasn’t a fist and helped him to his feet. Then he offered him a clean handkerchief for his nose.

“Let’s not squabble,” Maxwell told him softly as his victim blotted his streaming nose. “Talwin sent you to see me off and report back to him, not to engage in a battle. My apologies. All is forgiven?”

Cyril nodded.

“Then, no harm done. Everyone will think we’re just another pair of gentlemen brutes on our way to debauchery in Paris. But for the record, my friend, Miss Carstairs is honestly searching for her Noel.

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