“A pleasure, My Lady.” Mantis followed suit. When the viscount took a step backward, Peter couldn’t help but notice the black and purple bruising around one of his eyes. Which reminded him…
“I thought my brother was out of town?”
“He is.” Greys lifted a brow with a glance in Miranda’s direction. And Miranda didn’t miss the look.
“I’m going to examine the confectioner’s offerings.” She stared down at her hand, and Peter released her this time. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Peter’s gaze trailed after her as she disappeared into the shop.
Greys cocked one brow. “What the devil—?”
“Don’t say it,” Peter cut him off.
And uncomfortable pause and then…
“This wasn’t from your brother.” Mantis dabbed tenderly at the skin around his eye.
“Compliments of Lady Felicity,” Greys supplied.
“I called on her to ask if Lady Tabetha had confided her plans to her and before I could open my mouth, she did this,” Mantis admitted, more than a little disgruntled.
“What did you do to her?” Peter asked.
“I have no idea.” Mantis shook his head. “There is no understanding women.”
“It’s a beauty, don’t you think?” A smile danced on Greys’ mouth.
“And it was all for naught, as Lady Tabetha didn’t tell anyone about her plans—not even her maid.” Blackheart apparently saw no amusement in any of this. “She’s leading your brother and hers on a merry chase—with the Duke of Culpepper.”
“Not well done of her.” Peter only hoped Stone didn’t get too caught up in it.
“Indeed,” Blackheart agreed.
Peter made a low whistling sound. What was his brother going to do when he caught up with the defiant couple? “Not sure who I feel sorriest for then, my brother or Culpepper.” Because Stone was likely to beat the impoverished duke to a pulp. And then he’d have Westerley’s sister to deal with. “Although, I was hoping he’d come to his senses…” Peter had seen the way his brother looked at Lady Tabetha. And although Stone insisted she was nothing more than an inconvenient annoyance, that he was only fulfilling his obligation, Peter had seen something else in his brother’s attentiveness.
Blackheart nearly cracked a smile from where he stood, arms folded over his chest.
“You do remember,” Greys held the handle of his cane with both hands, rocking back and forth on his feet, “that Chase and Lady Starling—”
“That’s in the past.” Because of course, Peter remembered. How could he not? All three men seemed to be studying him. “What?” Peter asked, not appreciating this sudden scrutiny.
“You’re due to join England’s most acclaimed cellist in a day and yet you aren’t locked up in your mother’s conservatory with your precious Rosa,” Greys observed.
“Should we be concerned?” Blackheart lifted a brow.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” These gents no doubt would have his back in his weakest moments but they could also be giant pains in the ass.
“You have a look,” Mantis said.
“A look?” Peter swiped his hair away from his face. “A gentleman can’t escort a lady down Bond Street on a sunny afternoon without his friends having cause for concern?”
“Gentlemen can. You can’t,” Mantis said.
Greys narrowed his eyes. “Especially not when the lady is the former lover of one of his closest friends.”
“Not another word.” Peter glanced over his shoulder, anxious that Miranda would overhear any of these fools’ comments.
“Leave him be,” Blackheart said. Peter met the duke’s eyes gratefully. “Let us know if you hear of anyone defaming Lady Tabetha.”
