The earl no longer had any interest in remaining at the ball. He turned and strode out of the room. There was a far more important matter to attend to at his club.
The porter tookone look at the earl’s expression as he stormed through the elegant entrance portal of White’s and quickly retreated after taking the earl’s overcoat. Indeed, the angry tattoo of Branford’s evening shoes on the polished floor as he stalked through the rooms of the club left no doubt as to his black-as-Hades mood. On reaching the side alcove of the games room, he came to a halt in front of the podium where the betting book lay open and picked up the pen that lay next to it.
After dipping it into the bottle of ink, Branford turned back a page or two, frowning as he scanned the entries. He paused momentarily and then with bold, angry strokes he slashed through one of the entries again and again, until only an illegible black blot was visible on the page.
He returned to the main sitting room.
“Whitleigh!”
The gentleman in question tightened the grip on his glass of brandy, his knuckles turning white. Whitleigh’s three friends sidled a step or two away from him.
Branford fixed his quarry with an icy stare. “You and your friends were grossly mistaken as to the subject of our wager.”
Whitleigh’s mouth tremored as he sought to find his voice. “I … I never …”
“It was created under false pretenses, and thus I feel no compunction to honor it. You will inform the rest of your cronies that as of now, the wager has ceased to exist. If they have a problem with that, they may call on me.”
“Of course, milord.” The relief was evident in Whitleigh’s voice. “My … my apologies for any misunderstanding. I am sure?—”
“Oh, and one other thing.” Branford’s voice was pitched low, but the fury in it was unmistakable. “I am not in the habit of blackening an innocent’s reputation. If a whisper of this wager is ever breathed anywhere, I shall know where to look for satisfaction.” A grim flash of teeth. “I take it my meaning is quite clear. Be so kind as to also inform the rest of your cronies of that detail.”
Whitleigh swallowed and could only nod—not that Branford took any notice. Muttering in contempt about gentlemen who had no sense of honor, he had already turned away to quit the club as quickly as possible.
Five
“Idon’t like it!” Justin jabbed at the gammon on his breakfast plate. “I won’t allow a jaded rake to make sport with you.”
Alex took another bite of her toast and continued reading the newspaper. “Ye heavens, there is no need to get in a pucker. I merely danced with the gentleman.”
“Twice!”
“And we had a conversation.”
“A damned—excuse me, Aunt Aurelia—a deuced long one. Everyone was beginning to stare. What in the name of holy heaven were you discussing?”
“Botany.” She reached for the marmalade, suppressing a smile at the choking sounds stuck in her brother’s throat.
“Aunt Aurelia,” he appealed. “Tell Alex that she mustnotencourage Lord Branford’s attentions. He’s … dangerous.”
Lady Beckworth poked her head up from behind a tome of Plato’s works. “What was that, my dear?”
Justin groaned in frustration.
“Honestly, you needn’t indulge in such histrionics. I’m hardly a green girl just out of the schoolroom,” chided Alex.“And I’m hardly an attraction on the marriage mart, thus there is really no need to worry.”
“From what I have heard, there is great cause to worry when Branford is around any lady,” retorted her brother. “It’s said he has no scruples at all. About anything! Why, most of thetonis terrified of him.”
Justin clearly meant it as a warning, but Alex only tossed her head. “Then most of the ton are fools,” she replied. “Lord Branford is not in the least frightening. In fact, he’s considerably more interesting and knowledgeable than most of the aristocratic gentlemen I’ve met. And quite well-read.”
Justin refused to give up. “You know what is whispered in the drawing rooms and clubs?” He paused for effect. “It’s said that he as good as murdered his cousin in order to inherit the title.That’sthe sort of man he is. Not to speak of the men he’s rumored to have killed in duels over … er …”
“Mistresses?” suggested Alex.
Justin was rendered speechless.
“Since you’ve always had the good sense to speak to me as if I had a brain in my head, you must expect that I know as much as you and your male acquaintances do about the real world.” Alex turned the newspaper page with a snap.
“What an idiot I am,” he muttered, slashing at a pile of grilled kippers.
