Gareth glanced over from where he also waited with musket at the ready.
“From the lawyer,” Lance added.
Ives had not asked Padua about the letters. He had not forbidden her to communicate with friends in London, and if the letters came and went by way of Langley House, he doubted anyone would know where she was.
Mostly he did not ask her about them because if Lance thought some were from a lawyer, he was probably correct. That would be Notley, presumably. The last thing Ives wanted to do was talk about HadrianBelvoir with Padua. There would be world enough and time for that later, back in town.
He sometimes speculated on how that conversation would go. Not well, he suspected. Which was why he dallied here at Merrywood, while they pretended events in London occurred on another planet.
Five days they had remained here. Five days of barely suppressed desire and five nights of erotic pleasure. He would make it a month if he could. A year.
Several grouse took to flight. He and Gareth shot and brought two down.
“I also received a letter.” Lance kept his gaze on the distance. “From Prinny.”
That ended interest in the shooting. As a duke Lance naturally enjoyed royal favor, but that did not mean the prince regent wrote him letters. With the current dark cloud over Lance’s head, the prince had kept his distance even more.
“The letter was to me, but it was about the two of you.”
“How so?” Gareth asked.
“He writes to thank you both for your efforts on behalf of the lords last spring, now that the matter is finished. He asks that you call when he is in London, Gareth. He will receive you.”
Gareth did not hide his astonishment well.
“As for you, Ives, he asked that I use my influence on you to ensure you accepted the Belvoir case. He depends on you to prosecute for the Crown, but has been told you might remove yourself.”
“Damnation.”
“Sidmouth’s revenge. He tattled, and has cornered you neatly,” Lance said. He turned his attention back to the field, and raised his musket to be at the ready.
Gareth cast a sidelong look at Ives. “Do not lose your temper. Neither Sidmouth nor the prince are here for its benefit.”
“Lance is. Maybe I will just thrash him.”
Lance looked over, surprised. “Me? I am innocent.”
“Haven’t you ever heard of killing the messenger?” Gareth asked.
“Kill some partridge instead. The tenants will be glad to have them for their dinner pots.”
Ives managed to control his annoyance. “It is insulting for the prince to write to you about this. He is quick enough to write to me directly when he wants me to track down some woman blackmailing one of his uncles.”
“He wrote to Aylesbury, not your brother Lance. He would have written to Percy if he were still alive. He is addressing the matter with the duke. The paterfamilias, so to speak.” Lance aimed and shot again.
“Paterfamilias. Hell,” Ives growled.
Lance handed him the spent musket and took the one resting in his arm. “Since you are not using it...” He turned and fired once more.
Gareth set down his weapon against the blind and crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Do you enjoy having the prince’s favor, Ives? Is it important to you? He only wrote to Lance because whatever Sidmouth told him has him doubting your place in his circle.”
Of course he enjoyed his position with the prince. Prinny was older, and had been a true friend of his father’s. He took an avuncular tone when they talked. As for enjoying that favor—no man would treat it lightly. Even the son of a duke saw his position enhanced if he was known to have the prince regent’s ear.
Gareth’s gaze carried sympathy for the dilemma.
“It is a good thing I issued my edict,” Lance said, while he waited for the muskets to be reloaded. “It will be easier for you to break with her now, if your better judgment failed you. Miss Belvoir, I mean.”
“I know whom you mean.”
