“Never mind the breeches, Vincent, and don’t bother with the coat, either. Just fetch me a shirt, will you?”
Vincent rushed to do his bidding, letting out a choked sound when Miles only paused long enough to don the shirt, fasten his breeches and stuff his feet into his boots. “You’re not going out like that, my lord? That is, I beg your pardon, Lord Cross, but—”
“You can pretty me up later, Vincent. I’ve some urgent business to attend to first.”
Juliet may still be in the breakfast parlor. He’d start there, and work his way up until he found her, and if he had to chase her all over the house like a lovestruck schoolboy, then so be it.
But she wasn’t in the breakfast parlor. It was deserted, aside from Lady Drummond, who was sitting at the table with an untouched plate of food in front of her, reading a letter. “Good morning, Lady Drummond.”
She looked up, a troubled frown on her brow. “Oh, Lord Cross. I beg your pardon. I didn’t hear you come in. Good morning.”
“Is something amiss?” Judging by Lady Drummond’s expression, it was either that, or the cream had gone off.
“I’m… not sure. The post road from Chipping Norton has been flooded for days now, but they’ve at last got it clear, so your servant was able to fetch the post this morning. I’ve had a letter from my sister.”
“I trust she’s well?” He hoped so, because he couldn’t stand a long recitation of Lady Drummond’s sister’s ailments right now.
“Yes, thank you, very well, but she says something strange.” She nodded at her letter. “Were you aware, my lord, that Lord Boggs is recently betrothed?”
“Betrothed.” That couldn’t be right. “Are you certain, Lady Drummond?”
“Yes. My sister says he’s betrothed to Lady Louisa Montagu.”
If Boggs was betrothed, then what was he doing at Steeple Cross, prowling after Juliet? It didn’t make sense, unless—
That bloodyblackguard.
“It’s rather worrying, really, that Lord Boggs should be paying such marked attention to Miss Templeton, if he’s betrothed.”
Damnation. He should have blacked both Boggs’s eyes while he slept last night.
“You don’t think that Lord Boggs…” Lady Drummond trailed off, her cheeks coloring.
That Boggs came to Steeple Cross with dishonorable intentions toward Juliet? That waspreciselywhat he thought. “I think, Lady Drummond, that I must have a word with Lord Boggs.”
“Oh, dear.” The letter fell from Lady Drummond’s fingers and drifted to the table. “Lady Fosberry is going to be dreadfully upset.”
Upset? No. Lady Fosberry would be apoplectic. “If you’ll pardon me, Lady Drummond, I’ll go see to Lord Boggs at once.”
Every inch of him was quivering with rage as he mounted the stairs, and when he turned down the corridor to the guest wing and saw Boggs standing outside Juliet’s bedchamber door, it the simmer sparked into an inferno.
He froze a half a dozen steps away from Boggs, breathing hard as he struggled to control the wrath blazing him. If he got too close to the man now, he’d tear his head off.
“Morning, Cross. Have you seen Miss Templeton?”
“I beg your pardon?” A more perceptive man than Boggs may have noticed the cold edge to his voice, the stillness of a body on the verge of exploding into violence, but Boggs didn’t realize his danger yet, and merely rolled his eyes.
“MissTempleton, Cross. I’m on the hunt for Miss Templeton. Have you seen her yet this morning?”
“What do you want with Miss Templeton, Boggs?” He knew, of course, he knew, but he wanted to hear Boggs say it aloud, so he’d have no reason to reproach himself for what he was going to do to the villain.
“The same thing any man would want with Miss Templeton, eh, Cross?” Boggs gave him a conspiratorial smirk, as if the two of them shared some sort of amusing joke.
Miles closed in on him, hands flexing at his sides. “I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you. Perhaps you’d care to explain what you mean.”
“Come now, Cross. You’re not blind, and she’s a tempting little bit. I don’t want to let her slip through my fingers, unless… is she yours?”
Miles’s lips, his jaw, even his teeth had gone as tight as a drum. “Mine?”
