Stephen, unlike Patrick, had a mother who was still alive and seemed—in his friend’s opinion—hell-bent on making her son’s existence one of abject misery. She often turned up with no warning, a full entourage of people and guests accompanying her, and invaded Stephen’s town house, demanding attention.She was a larger-than-life, gregarious woman who had a zest for living that sometimes gave her only son palpitations.
“I like your mother,” Patrick said with a fond smile. She was the direct opposite of what his own very formal parents had been. Lady Sumner hugged and kissed Patrick whenever he was in hugging distance. She loved him like he was one of her own children.
“Done!” Stephen said. “She is yours as of this moment.”
Patrick snorted, enjoying the burn of liquor as it traveled down his throat.
“I saw your countess last night at the event you said you’d attend and didn’t.”
“I had a headache.”
“Hell, I’m sorry. It’s been so long since you had one. How do you feel today?” Stephen asked.
He’d seen Patrick through many headaches over the years.
“I’m fine. Tell your story.”
“Actually, I rescued her from the clutches of that pernicious peacock of a cousin of hers,” Stephen said. “I dislike that man intensely. He’s smarmy. For the life of me, I can’t understand why so many women adore him.”
“Rescued?” Patrick questioned.
“He really is a sniveling snot.”
“I think we have established your ability for alliteration,” Patrick said. “How did you rescue the Countess of Monmouth?”
Stephen looked at Patrick for several seconds. There were few people who could read him, and unfortunately, he was one of them.
“It’s so unusual to see that kind of reaction from you. It always surprises me,” Stephen said.
“I asked you a question. I did not react.”
“Oh, you reacted all right,” he said with a smug smile.
“Don’t make me break your nose again, Sumner.”
“I would like to see you try,” Stephen replied.
“I believe my house may be full, sorry,” Patrick added, totally unrepentant. “Seems you will have to reside with your mother and her friends after all.”
“Bastard.” His friend’s word held little malice as he stroked the soft fur of his companion.
“Now we both know that is not true,” Patrick said softly.
“Dutton had her cornered on a terrace. It seems she had gone out there to escape the sweaty masses and find a rare breath of fresh air. I walked out with the same intent, and Dutton had her up against the wall and seemed to be forcing himself upon her.”
“I’ll kill the little weasel,” Patrick hissed. “Rip his limbs from his body and use them to strangle his scrawny, sweaty neck.”
“Now who is alliterating?”
“What?” Patrick barked as he battled his anger.
“Never mind. I went to stop Dutton, but the countess beat me to it and lifted her knee into his groin. With deadly accuracy, I might add,” Stephen said, wincing.
“Good for her,” Patrick approved, pushing aside the thought that he had not behaved honorably to Sophie himself a few nights ago. At least she hadn’t taken a knee to his groin.
“While Dutton was groaning in a very unmanly fashion on the ground, I took the countess’s hand and took her back into the ballroom. I told her I would tell no one of what had just taken place, and then I returned her to Lady Carstairs and Miss Logan, that irritating friend of hers, and left.”
“I will destroy Dutton,” Patrick said, gaining his feet and stalking to the door and back.
