Chapter 11
Wolfstan all but draggedRebecca from the tavern.
Langley followed in their wake, a peculiar glint in his cousin’s eyes, as though amused by the entire interlude. Which, Wolfstan concluded, he probably was. Just as he was now certain his cousinhadmeant to provoke him. Just as Wolfstan knew Lonsdalehaddecided to meddle in his life. It was too coincidental, Lonsdale asking him to call on Westbridge Park. Langley’s behavior.
Their foolery aside, they were not the ones that set his pulse racing.
“Unhand me,” Rebecca demanded once they stepped outside.
He tightened his grip. “Where is your carriage?”
She jabbed her finger across the street, and Wolfstan veered her in that direction. “Take Sergeant home,” he directed at Langley, who nodded and strode off with nothing but a chuckle.
Wolfstan ignored his cousin and ushered Rebecca into the carriage.
“Willoughby Castle,” he ordered the driver.
“Perhaps it is better that I return to Westbridge Park.”
“I cannot believe you gamble!” Wolfstan exploded in response. “Christ, Rebecca, does Lonsdale know? How much debt have you racked up? Did Lance settle it?Whydid he settle it?” His eyes narrowed on her. “If he laid one hand on you I will kill him.”
“I have never gambled in my life. Mr. Lance is a friend.”
“A friend?” Wolfstan could not be more astonished by her answer. “Do you meet all your friends cloaked in taverns?”
“Not always cloaked, no.”
Wolfstan was sure he had popped a vein somewhere in his temple. He fought deuced hard to gain control over his temper, his fear for her. Silence stretched across a frozen plateau of inner battles wrestling for domination. He needed to get to the bottom of this without slamming a fist into the velvet padding of the carriage. Which meant he had to remain composed, everything he was not feeling at that moment. Jealousy burned in the pit of his gut. Rebecca had seemed too bloody familiar with Lance.
“You expect me to believe that? How does a lady form a friendship with the manager of a gaming house?”
“How areyouacquainted with Mr. Lance?”
“I am not. But every man in London is aware Lance was Knightley’s right-hand man before Knightley foolishly dueled with the best shot in England. He now serves the current owner of the club. He certainly is not a man who spends his time in the presence of ladies.”
“No, I do not imagine he does.”
“Are you going to answer my question? How did you and Lance become friends? What does this friendship of yours include?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Include? What do you mean by that?”
Hell if he knew. “What the devil have you gotten yourself into, Rebecca?”
Her eyes met his. “Mr. Lance and I met when his carriage wheel broke near Westbridge Park two winters back. His sister resides in the area.”
“You have been acquainted with Lance that long and never told anyone?”
“I see no reason why I should.”
