Addie groaned, and Dickie joined her.
CHAPTER11
After some argument, when, that evening, the clocks about the inn chimed for ten o’clock, Nicholas was alone in the inn’s foyer, waiting for Lord Phillip Sommerville to show his face.
Nicholas had succeeded in convincing the younger Sommerville siblings that any confrontation with their half brother would be better conducted in private. He’d left Adriana and Dickie pacing before the unlit fireplace in the parlor. Despite the siblings’ assurances that Phillip wouldn’t recognize Rory, Jed, or Mike, the three were tucked away with Young Gillies in the taproom, safely out of sight.
With one shoulder propped against the wall beside the open doorway to the noisy taproom, with his arms crossed over his chest, Nicholas was calculating how long it would take for a gentleman to walk from Styles Place to the inn when the door opened and Phillip Sommerville strolled in.
If Nicholas hadn’t been so well acquainted with Dickie, he wouldn’t have seen any resemblance in Phillip; the half brothers shared the same mid-to-dark-brown hair and had eyes of a similar blue, but their features differed, with Phillip’s being much more chiseled and harsh, more stony, with little sign that the man laughed much, if at all.
And just the way Phillip carried himself testified to his haughty nature.
With several cousins who, when it suited them, could appear haughty in the extreme, Nicholas wasn’t intimidated. When Phillip drew level, as if just noticing him, Nicholas unfolded his arms and straightened away from the wall. “Sommerville, isn’t it?”
Phillip swung Nicholas’s way. For a fleeting instant, Nicholas saw something like alarm flash through Phillip’s eyes, but in the next instant, his heavy lids lowered, and he regarded Nicholas with wary distance. “Yes.” Phillip faintly frowned. “Are we acquainted?”
Nicholas smiled with easy confidence. “Not that I’m aware of.” He extended his hand. “Nicholas Cynster.”
Phillip’s eyes flared, and Nicholas sensed spiking alarm.
Phillip swallowed and, with increasing wariness, shook Nicholas’s hand. “Ah…” Phillip glanced at the reception counter. “Are you staying here, at the inn?”
“I am.” Smoothly, Nicholas waved toward the short corridor that led to the private parlor. “Along with two friends, who are known to you and would dearly like a word.”
“Oh.” Phillip’s eyes remained wide. “I…see.”
Inwardly, Nicholas frowned. Why the devil was the man so nervous? Not to say jumpy.
Then again, if he was a horse thief, meeting an unexpected Cynster might be rather unsettling.
Plainly unsure what to do, Phillip hadn’t moved.
With every appearance of bonhomie, Nicholas clapped him on the shoulder. “I really think you should speak with our mutual friends.”
Obviously reluctant, yet ultimately unresisting, Phillip Sommerville allowed Nicholas to usher him to the parlor door. Nicholas received the distinct impression that Sommerville felt helpless, like a condemned man being led to the gallows.
Nicholas reached past Phillip, set the parlor door swinging, and waved him through.
Phillip crossed the threshold and, scanning the room, took two cautious paces forward. Following and closing the door, Nicholas wondered who Phillip thought was waiting to speak with him.
Then Phillip’s gaze landed on his half siblings, who were standing, waiting, before the hearth. Instantly, Phillip stiffened, and his head rose. After several seconds of mutual staring, Phillip stiffly inclined his head. “Richard. Adriana.”
Phillip’s voice was every bit as haughtily aloof as Adriana had intimated.
A fraught second passed, then Phillip glanced sidelong at Nicholas before looking back at Adriana and Dickie. “Mr. Cynster gave me to understand that you wished to speak with me.”
“Indeed.” Her eyes lighting with temper, Adriana advanced. Her face a mask of contained fury, she halted two paces from her half brother. “What I”—she glanced at Dickie as he came to stand beside her, then looked back, even more belligerently, at Phillip—“we”—she gestured at Nicholas, including him—“allof us want to know is what the devil you think you’re doing, stealing The Barbarian from Papa.”
Nicholas shifted so that he could see Phillip’s face. There was something beyond the obvious going on, but Nicholas couldn’t guess what.
In response to Adriana’s accusation, Phillip’s expression remained inscrutable, his features granite hard, but neither Adriana nor Dickie gave any indication of softening, much less retreating.
Eventually, Phillip’s lips parted. “I—”
Adriana flung up a hand. “Don’t think to deny it. We tracked you here and have any number of people who saw you leading The Barbarian this way.”
“We know,” Dickie said, his voice challenging, his tone condemnatory, “that at this very moment, The Barbarian is in the Styles Place stable, along with your horse.”
