“No skirmishes this evening, if you please, Lymington.”
“Skirmishes, in a brothel?” Samuel Fitzroy, the Marquess of Lymington turned a baffled look on his cousin, Lord Lovell. “Do you suppose I intend to brawl with a courtesan, Lovell?”
Lovell was far more apt to fall into a whorehouse fracas thanhewas, but Samuel clenched his teeth, lest he be tempted to share that opinion. He and Lovell could hardly manage to exchange a civil word these days as it was, without dragging the demireps into it.
“No flank maneuvers, no tactical formations, and no…what do you call them? Frontal assaults. I’m warning you now, Lymington, I won’t abide any mention of frontal assaults tonight.”
Ah. No objection toactualassaults, then, just thementionof them. “Strategically, there’s a great deal to be said for a direct, full-force attackto an enemy’s—”
“For God’s sake, Lymington, I just said no frontal assaults! You’re not aboard a brig in the English Channel.”
“If you’re referring to theHMS Nymphe, she’s a frigate, not a—”
“The point, my dear cousin,” Lovell interrupted with a long-suffering sigh, “Is that this is a drawing room, not anaval battle.”
No, it wasn’t a naval battle, but it was a battle nonetheless, just as everything was, in one way or another. The only difference between a drawing room and a battleship was that the ship wasn’t pretending to be something else.
“And do stop glaring as if you’re plotting an ambush.” Lord Lovell nodded at the elegant company assembled before them. “The ravishing creatures you see before you areladies, Lymington, not marauding pirates, and that forbidding frown of yours is frightening them away.”
It was on the tip of Samuel’s tongue to wish the ladies to the devil, but he’d rather not goad Lovell into a passionate defense of the fair sex. They didn’t have all night, and Lovell’s passionate defenses tended to be rambling things.
So Samuel kept his mouth closed, unclasped his hands from behind his back, and twisted his face about until he’d arranged his features into a more inviting attitude.
At least, he thought he had, until Lovell snorted. “It’s not quite your usual churlish scowl, but still grim enough. Why so solemn, Lymington? You’re in a bawdy house, not at achurch sermon.”
Samuel’s gaze wandered over the drawing room, where a sea of courtesans awaited them. “Yet there do seem to be quite a lotof nuns about.”
Lovell choked out a surprised laugh. “Did you just make ajoke, Lymington? Bravo. The Sunday sermon would be much pleasanter if the congregants looked more like courtesans, wouldn’t it?”
“Don’t mock the pious, Lovell, or God will strike you down where you stand.” God would do no such thing, of course. He seemed to have an endless amount of patience for Lovell, as well as a wicked sense of humor.
“Blast the pious. Why, just look around you, Lymington.” Lovell waved a flawlessly gloved hand at the assembled company. “There’s not a single plain face to be seen.”
Samuel shrugged as he took in the bevy of ladies fluttering around them like a swarm of gaudy butterflies. “Choose one of them, then, and get on with it.”
“Don’t rush me, Lymington. Choosing a companion for the evening is a delicate business, and not one to be undertaken lightly.”
If Lovell was so careful with all his decisions, Samuel would have nothing more to wish for, but as that was, again, a sentiment better left unexpressed, he said only, “Very well, then. Which ladydo you fancy?”
Lovell nodded at a dark-haired creature standing beside the staircase. “That one. She has lovely dark eyes. I fancy dark eyes, as you know, Lymington.”
Samueldidn’tknow. Lovell might prefer dark eyes to blue, morning chocolate to tea, John Bulls to Hessians, and Sheridan to Goldsmith, and he wouldn’t know athing about it.
Not anymore.
“Well then, why don’t you goand fetch her?”
“She’s an angel, isn’t she?”
“A perfect seraph,” Samuel replied, without enthusiasm. “Go on.” He gave Lovell a nudge toward the dark-haired courtesan. “I’ll waitfor you here.”
“Waithere?” Lovell gaped at him. “You mean to say you won’t choose one of these delightful birds of paradisefor yourself?”
Samuel let his gaze roam over the drawing room. He was a man, after all, and he couldn’t deny Madame Marchand’s ladies were tempting, but the few females he’d encountered since he’d returned to England had seemed faintly horrified by him.
He wasn’t sleek or fashionable like Lovell. He was big and rough, his face tanned by years of exposure to sun and sea. If that weren’t offensive enough to the fair sex, he also had no talent for charming pleasantries. Polite, mindless chatter bored him, and soon enough he’d start talking about skirmishes and frontal assaults, and well…there was no recovering from frontal assaults where the ladies were concerned. “No, not tonight.”
“You’re mad, Lymington, but I suppose there’s no point in arguing with you. I can’t help but observe, however, that you might not be so cross if you occasionally indulged your carnal appetites.” Lovell frowned. “You dohavecarnal appetites, don’t you?”
