Chapter 5
Aduel at dawn. Tomorrow. To defend Lucy’s honour. They’d insulted Lucy in the grossest manner! She still trembled with anger at the memory of their words.
She was proud to die for her friend, defending her honour, but did it have to be now? She would’ve liked to find Marcus first before she died and tell him… well, what?
Besides, she had no pistol.
Where did one get a blasted pistol?
Lord Alworth came to mind once more. His tousled blond hair, his grey eyes and lopsided smile. Could he lend her a pistol?
She’d waited for two more hours after Blackstone and his friends had left, but Alworth never appeared at the club. Pen pulled out the card he’d given her and squinted at the elegant, flourishing letters.
It appeared she was going to Cavendish Square.
There are butlers,and there are butlers.
There are the invisible ones whom one never notices. And there are those who are so haughty that King George himself would be intimidated.
Lord Alworth’s butler belonged, unfortunately, to the latter category. He peered down his long eagle nose, making Pen feel as if she were a cockroach.
She pulled herself up. “I am here to see Lord Alworth.”
He did not twitch a muscle in his face as he said, in a nasal tone, as if he had an uncured cold, “His lordship is currently not at home. You may leave your card.”
She didn’t have any card. She searched her pockets and pulled out a wrinkled, many-folded piece of paper that advertised the Hindoostanee Cafe, which she’d stuffed it into her pocket before her hasty departure from the cafe.
She handed it to the butler. “My name is Pen Kumari. He is expecting me. You’d better let me in.”
He held it between his gloved forefinger and thumb and wrinkled his nose. “As I have said, his lordship is not in residence.” The butler’s voice could’ve frozen the Serpentine in summer.
“He will not be pleased when I meet him at his club later and tell him that his butler refused to let me in. He asked me to call on him as soon as possible.” That was a white lie, but Pen figured it didn’t harm.
The butler stiffened for a fraction of a second, then he opened the door. Disapproval oozed out of his every pore.
“Follow me, sir.”
He led her to the drawing room with slow, measured steps, carrying her wrinkled paper on a silver platter.
Pen looked around curiously as she trotted after him.
This Viscount Alworth certainly lived in style. It was a light, friendly hall, not overly cluttered with vases and busts, but tastefully decorated in mint green that contrasted nicely with the mahogany of the furniture.
The drawing room was pleasant, with blue curtains. A big oil painting with a ship sailing on a rough ocean hung over the fireplace. Pen had barely sat down on the recamier sofa when the butler entered again and bid her to follow him up the staircase.
“His lordship awaits you here.” He held a door open for her.
“But… This is the bedroom!”
With an unfathomable look, the butler closed the door behind him.
By Jove. Was the viscount in the habit of greeting his guests in bed? This was a masculine domain, and she had no business being in here.
Her eyes flew to the tremendous four-poster bed, which was rumpled and thankfully empty.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Where was he?
“Hello?” she called.
