They were running about like dogs chasing their tails.
If Quincy really had fled London, it could be days before they caught up to him, and meanwhile Prue was alone at Montford Park, imagining . . . what? That he’d run right into Selina’s arms as soon as she was gone from Berkeley Square? That he was in bed with Selina even now, laughing at her, and congratulating himself on finally being free of her?
He dropped his head into his hands. God, this was a nightmare.
“Now, none of that, lad.” His grandfather laid a hand on Jasper’s back. “Quincy will be brought to heel, I promise you. But it’s nearly two o’clock. Shall we return to Berkeley Square and find out what Basingstoke and Grantham have discovered?”
“Yes, alright, but let’s stop at Angelo’s first.”
Between Basingstoke, Grantham, and Jasper’s grandfather, poor Keating had had a trying morning. His friends had appeared on his doorstep late this morning, grim faced and promising to force their way into Jasper’s study if Keating didn’t stand down at once.
It seemed that Prue had sent a note to Park Lane informing Franny that she was leaving for Montford Park at once. Basingstoke hadn’t wasted any time fetching Grantham, and the next thing Jasper knew, two outraged dukes had appeared on his doorstep, demanding to know what must be done to bring his runaway duchess home.
What, indeed? If it hadn’t been for his grandfather, Jasper, Basingstoke, and Grantham might still be in Jasper’s study even now, blinking helplessly at each other, but the colonel, with great presence of mind, had sent Basingstoke and Grantham off to interrogate a few of Quincy’s fellow scoundrels, in hopes of discovering the man’s whereabouts.
They were meant to meet up again at Jasper’s townhouse by four o’clock. It was nearly four now, but Jasper couldn’t bear to waste a minute, and they were only a few blocks from Angelo’s Fencing Academy.
He didn’t have much hope he’d find Quincy there. If the villain was clever enough to avoid White’s, then he wasn’t likely to appear at Angelo’s, but then Quincy fancied himself quite a Corinthian, and spent a good deal of time at Angelo’s and Gentleman Jackson’s.
“Something’s afoot,” his grandfather observed as Ruddick, his coachman, brought the carriage to a stop on Bond Street. “It’s a crush.”
“Yes, far more than usual for this time of year.” The street was a tangle of carriages, and the clamor of gentlemen’s voices and laughter could be heard on the other side of the closed door. “Though I suppose thetonwas already in town for Basingstoke’s ball.”
But the moment he was over the threshold, he knew it was more than that. A dozen heads swung in his direction when he entered, and an odd hush fell over the gentlemen nearest the door, only to explode in whispers in his wake as he pushed his way through the crowd.
He soon discovered why.
Lord Quincy was lounging against the wall, with a crowd of admiring gentlemen surrounding him, the picture of fashionable elegance in a smart, olive-colored morning coat and brown striped waistcoat.
He had a practice foil in his hand, but he wasn’t fencing.
He was laughing.Laughing, as if he hadn’t a single care in the world.
Jasper must have made some noise—a hissed breath, or perhaps even a growl—because his grandfather caught his arm, his white eyebrows raised in alarm. “Now, don’t act hastily, lad. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.”
“Iwon’tregret it, Grandfather. I assure you.” Quincy had schemed against Prue,insultedher. This was no time for cool-headed calm. This was a time for bloody vengeance. “As you said yourself, it’s all, or nothing.”
His grandfather watched Quincy for a moment with pinched lips, then shrugged. “Go on, then, but don’t kill him before he tells you what that she-devil said to your duchess.”
“No, indeed. I’ll kill him directly afterwards.”
Half of the gentleman gathered inside Angelo’s had seen Jasper by now, but Quincy hadn’t. He was too busy holding court, no doubt regaling the nest of scoundrels surrounding him with his tale of how he and Lady Archer had humiliated the Duchess of Montford.
Well, let him laugh while he could, because he’d have precious little to laugh about once Jasper was through with him. “I beg your pardon, gentlemen.” He began to push his way through the crowd toward Henry Angelo, and soon enough the gentlemen fell back, clearing a path for him.
“Your Grace.” Angelo offered him a bow. “I did wonder if I might see you today.”
“And here I am. A rapier if you would, Angelo.”
Angelo’s eyebrows rose. “You mean a practice foil, Your Grace?”
“No. I haven’t come topractice. A rapier, if you please.”
Henry Angelo was far too well acquainted with the particular habits and peccadillos of London’s gentlemen of fashion to be easily shocked, but it wasn’t every day a duke strolled into his establishment and publicly challenged an earl.
It was enough to render him momentarily speechless, but he recovered quickly. “You demand satisfaction from Lord Quincy.”
It wasn’t a question.
