Ignoring him, Bell proceeded to search around the mattress, beneath the pillows, in the bedside drawers, and even under the bed. “The devil you say,” he finally conceded, taking a seat in a large chair near the fireplace that faced the bed.
“I’m not jug-bitten,” Lucas replied woodenly, staring at the ceiling, his arms folded neatly on his middle.
“I can see that,” Bell replied. “But I must say I’m surprised.”
Lucas let out a loud groan. “What good would getting foxed again do?”
“An excellently rational point. I do believe there’s hope for you yet.” Bell grinned at him.
“I’m certain you’ve heard,” Lucas drawled. He was lying diagonally across the mattress, still fully clothed as a footman, save for the wig and jacket he’d discarded in the dining room.
“Heard that you made a preposterous scene in the dining room earlier? Or heard whether you’re betrothed to Miss Wharton?”
“I am decidedlynotbetrothed to Miss Wharton, and Ididmake a preposterous scene in the dining room earlier.”
“Is it true that you threw your wig in the soup?” Bell sighed. “Seems overly dramatic to me, but what do I know? Spies tend to like things quiet and drama-free.”
“Yes, well,you’rethe one who suggested I serve dinner tonight,” Lucas pointed out.
Bell rested one booted foot atop the opposite knee. “True. But I had no idea the soup would suffer.”
“Who gives a toss about the soup?” Lucas bit out.
“Clearly not you,” Bell retorted, “but I digress. I’ve come to ask you what you plan to do next.”
Lucas frowned at the ceiling. “What do you mean, what do I plan to do next?”
Another sigh from Bell. “I’m no matchmaker, but evenIcan tell that your courtship with Miss Wharton appears to be going poorly at the moment.”
“She hates me.”
“Hmm.” Bell tapped his cheek. “Perhapspoorlywasn’t a strong enough word then.”
“I cannot blame her for hating me.” Lucas lifted his palms to rub his eyes. “But she wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain.”
“‘Love is your master, for he masters you. And he that is so yoked by a fool, Methinks, should not be chronicled for wise,’” Bell recited with a flourish of his hand.
Lucas rolled his eyes. “Spare me your Shakespeare quotations at a time like this.”
“On the contrary, I believe a time like this is the perfect opportunity to quote Shakespeare. But my question still stands, what do you plan to do next?” Bell folded his hands together in front of him and blinked at Lucas as if expectantly waiting.
Lucas dropped his forearm across his brow. “I plan to bloody well get the hell out of here tomorrow morning. That’s what I plan to do next.”
“Quit?” Bell’s voice held a note of surprise. “That doesn’t sound like a Navy man to me.”
Lucas arched a brow and glared at him. “There is a difference between quitting and admitting obvious defeat. Refusal to do the latter can result in accusations of delusion.”
“Given the right circumstances, we all suffer from delusion from time to time. I still say that’s not an excuse to quit.”
Lucas pushed himself up on his elbows to glare at Bell. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me? She hates me. She told me she never wants to see my face again.”
Bell plucked nonchalantly at his sleeve. “Perhaps you should write to her then.”
“She’s marrying Sir Reginald. She told me I’m an arrogant horse’s arse.”
Bell scratched behind one ear. “None of this sounds particularly promising, I agree. But where there is a will, there is also a way.”
“Not any more. I tried. I served dinner. I stood up on the bloody sideboard for Christ’s sake.”
