Oh, but the man was impossible not to like. Perhaps he could steal the cheeky man away from the household and bring him back to Fellow Hall.
“Fox hunting is barbaric,” Percy said truthfully. “Any man who wishes to boast of skill should reserve his claims to the day after a ball. The patience required is just short of saintly and the maneuvering of social etiquette far more dangerous.”
“I see you’ve attended your fair share of balls.”
“Three, and it was four too many.”
The man chuckled. “And what are your thoughts on trees?”
“Trees?”
“I’m a purveyor of nightly reports. Most evenings, I walk the grounds in search of interesting creatures found in trees.” Leaning back, the man leveled Percy a gaze that had him itching under the collar. “You wouldn’t believe the things one finds high up at night.”
Percy cursed himself for not waiting for a moonless sky. There was little doubt the man had found a most interestingsight over a week ago, when a man had found himself knocking on the window of a lady of the house in the dead of night.
Keeping his voice steady, Percy met the man’s stare head on. “Most men would raise the alarm at a predator sighting.”
“I’m not most men, Your Grace,” he said.
There was a long pause, but the silence was not empty. Percy forced himself to not look away, feeling if he did so, he’d lose whatever test he’d stumbled into. A minute passed. Two.
With a warm smile, the man stood, all traces of hostility gone. “Very good. You pass.”
Percy tracked his movements to the door, feeling oddly disappointed and more than a little relieved. “That’s it? No more wooing? I feel positively used, sir.”
“Seeing as I was not the person you came to visit, I leave the rest of the wooing up to you.” The man gave Percy an inscrutable wink and nodded in the direction of the window. “You’ll find Danny practicing archery in the side lawn.”
Percy didn’t ask how the man knew whom he’d come to visit. Nor why he referred to her so familiarly. His gaze went to the view outside and the three-ringed target in the distance where two arrows were seated in the inner ring. Of course the Goddess of War was a superior shot, and she was currently armed when Percy found himself in need of discussing an overly emotional subject.
“A word of advice, friend,” the man said, drawing Percy’s attention. “Stave off the poetry. Your delivery is horrible and will make no impression on her.”
Percy’s gaze narrowed. “You’re not a footman, are you?”
The man bowed. “Merely a concerned party and at your service, Your Grace.” Before the door shut behind him, the man called over his shoulder with every pompous air of a gentleman, “I’m rooting for you, Byron. We all are. Don’t screw it up.”
