Calstone pouted. “You’re no fun.”
“I’ve never been any fun. Why are you complaining now?” Leeds retorted.
A knock on the door interrupted them, and Harrison excused himself to answer it. The moment he was out of earshot, Calstone asked, “Feeling better? It may have been just twenty rounds, but you went at it like a beast.”
Will stretched out his shoulders. “Some.”
“Do not fret too much. I have faith in your ability to win over your wife. It’s impossible for Lady Harriet to resist your charms.”
Will raised a brow, amused. “You know this how?”
“A man would have to be blind to not see the blatant—and let me add highly unfashionable and thoroughly improper—flirting going on at the Stewart ball. Set off beautifully by the fireworks of paper exploding above you.”
“You are exaggerating.”
“Am I? You have to admit, you’ve come a long way from when we were on a boat in the vast blue sea and her all her looks screamed ‘off with his head!’”
“Bloody hell,” Will muttered, tilting his head to flex his neck from one shoulder to the other. “Don’t you get tired of sprouting drivel every day?”
“Don’t mock my methods. Everything I do is to cheer you up.”
“You make my temples throb.”
Calstone shrugged. “They’ll stop throbbing once you turn ‘off with his head’ to ‘off with his breeches’.”
Will looked daggers at his friend. “Vulgar.”
“But true.”
“My wife is not the cause of my headache.” An evil twinge of mischief sparked in Will. “And while we are on the topic of wives, shouldn’t you start thinking about producing an heir?”
Calstone gasped, clutching at his heart. “How dare you?”
Will’s mood suddenly cleared.
Harrison returned, his face as dark as stormy clouds. Behind him, a man Will recognized as Charles Baily, the footman he’d instructed to find and inform him at once if anyone from White’s knocked on his door when he wasn’t in residence. The man stood with a touch of apprehension in his expression as he bowed to Will. “My lord. Your Grace.”
Will’s mood plummeted again. “What’s happened?”
“It’s her ladyship, my lord,” the footman said hastily. “One of the servants stepped out to the markets and happened to spot her while her ladyship was out on a stroll. It seemed that on her way back she was stopped by Lord Cromby. The Duke of Mortimer also appeared on the scene.”
Will cursed, already dashing from the room. Cromby approaching him and Harriet together was one thing, but cornering his wife alone was another altogether. Encountering both Cromby and Mortimer—he couldn’t imagine how she must have felt. One was a jackal that tried to push himself on her and the reason for the betting book debacle, and the other was in charge of retrieving that book.
This did not bode well.
Not for Cromby. Not for Mortimer.
Will flexed the muscles in his back.
He would not stand for this sort of treatment of his wife. Not today. Not tomorrow.
Never.
Chapter Eighteen
Harriet slumped downon the chaise in the library—a quiet and soothing room—her heart still pounding from her confrontation with Cromby and the Duke of Mortimer. It was hard to believe that the duke, of all men, had come to her aid. She’d never been introduced to the duke, which made her all the more grateful for his assistance. If she’d had to face Cromby alone any longer, who knew what might have happened. She might have punched him, kicked him, and caused another scandal.
Though the duke’s appearance couldn’t be that much of a coincidence could it? The way he’d spoken to Cromby... he must know about the man’s character and deeds.
