It seemed incredible that only hours ago he’d been waiting for the moment when Basingstoke’s ball would be over, and he could spend the night with Prue wrapped in his arms. How had everything fallen apart so quickly, and so completely?
“I beg your pardon, Colonel Kingston, but I must insist you take your leave at once.”
Ah, his grandfather. He might have known. He’d made a point of asking Basingstoke and Grantham not to come until he sent for them, but he’d forgotten to send word to the one person in London most likely to appear on his doorstep and attempt to force his way inside.
There was some sort of scuffle in the entryway, and Keating’s voice rose. “Colonel Kingston! His Grace left specific instructions that he is not at home to visitors!”
Hehadleft specific instructions, yes, but since when had specific instructions ever done anything to prevent his grandfather from doing precisely as he pleased?
“I’m not a visitor, Keating, I’m hisgrandfather. He’s always at home tome. Now, begone with you.”
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, the raised voices drawing closer. “His Grace was quite adamant that he not be disturbed.”
“I’m warning you, Keating, Iwillsee my grandson, one way or another. It would be a great pity if I were forced to behave in a manner unworthy of a gentleman, and physically remove you from in front of that door.”
If the morning hadn’t been bad enough, now it sounded as if a brawl between his grandfather and his butler was brewing outside his study door, and he didn’t like Keating’s chances. He dragged himself to his feet to save poor Keating from a pummeling, but before he could take two steps toward the door, an outraged shriek came from the corridor.
“Colonel Kingston! You mustn’t—”
That was as far as Keating got before the study door flew open. “I must, and I have.”
There on the threshold stood his grandfather, red faced and panting, while poor Keating peered over his shoulder, wringing his hands, the usually neat tufts of his brown hair standing on end. “I do apologize, Your Grace, but the colonel is quite insistent that he—”
“You may as well let him in, Keating.” Jasper waved a weary hand. “There’s no stopping my grandfather once he’s made up his mind to something.”
“You heard His Grace, Keating.” Colonel Kingston jerked his coat back into place with a huff. “Close the door on your way out.”
Keating didn’t move, but looked to Jasper, waiting. “It’s alright, Keating. You may go.”
Keating shot one last baleful glance at his grandfather before scurrying off down the hallway, muttering under his breath.
His grandfather waited until Keating was gone and the door closed behind him before he strode across the room. “There’s mischief afoot, lad,” he announced, dropping into one of the chairs on the other side of Jasper’s desk. He frowned as he took in Jasper’s wrinkled clothing and disheveled hair. “Foul mischief indeed, by the look of you.”
“I haven’t slept.” Loftus had coaxed him out of his coat and cravat, but otherwise he was still dressed in his evening clothes from two nights ago. He hadn’t bathed, and a two day’s growth of dark beard shadowed his cheeks.
There hadn’t seemed to be much point in fussing over his appearance.
There didn’t seem to be much point in doing anything at all.
“I see that.” His grandfather settled himself in the chair, his shrewd blue eyes fixed on Jasper’s face. “So, what’s all this fuss I hear about Basingstoke’s ball, eh?”
“You needn’t pretend you don’t already know the whole sordid tale, Grandfather.” His grandfather hadn’t attended the ball—he despised balls and had no patience for theton—but even so, the old man had probably heard the whole story before Jasper and Prue had even made it back to Berkeley Square after the ball.
The bushy silver eyebrows rose. “Perhaps I do know, but I’d rather hear it from you, Jasper.”
Good God. The last thing he wanted to do at the moment was repeat the whole ugly business to his grandfather, but he’d just as soon the colonel had the truth of it, without all theton’s embellishment. “Let’s just say that Lady Archer swore she’d have her revenge on me, and now she has.”
He should be furious with her, and so he would be. At some point, the pale shadow of the rage he could feel licking at his veins would burst into a conflagration, and God knew what would happen then. One way or another, her ladyship would pay for what she’d done to Prue.
But at the moment, he was too disheartened to be angry. There was no space inside him for anything but grief.
His grandfather grunted. “Eh, well, I can’t say I’m surprised at it. Her sort always does, one way or another. Lord Arthur mentioned something about a scene at Basingstoke’s, but he didn’t have the whole of it. What did she do, then?”
What, indeed? He didn’t even know himself. Only Prue and Selina knew what had really passed between them, and despite his pleas, Prue had refused to divulge a word about it to him. “Lady Archer appeared at Basingstoke’s ball—uninvited, of course. We don’t know how she managed to get past the footmen.”
“She’s as slippery as a snake, that’s how.” His grandfather learned forward in his chair, blue eyes blazing. “And? What did she want, lad?”
“The same thing Selina always wants—to cause trouble.” And God knew she’d done a masterful job of smashing everything to bits.
