toward the hearth and watched the firelight glow through his own glass. “What do you suggest? Murder, even if justified, is still generally frowned upon in England.”
“Call it extermination.” Charles took a sip of his brandy. “You’d be ridding the country of vermin.”
“I wish everyone shared your opinion.” James’s voice was bitter. “No one will believe Richard poses a threat to my existence until he drops my corpse on Bow Street’s doorstep.”
“I can’t believe it’s as bad as that.”
“Believe it.” James ticked the events off on his fingers. “My horse’s girth suddenly goes loose and I fall going over a jump. An incompetent groom? The man swears the girth was tight when the horse left his care, and frankly, I believe him. A stone falls from Alvord’s tower and misses me by inches. The place is hundreds of years old. Mortar doesn’t last forever. I get bumped on a London street and almost fall into the path of an oncoming carriage. An unfortunate accident. The walkways are so crowded, don’t you know?” James swallowed a mouthful of brandy.
“Too damn many accidents if you ask me,” Charles said.
“Exactly.”
“And no one suspects Richard’s hand in this?”
“Richard is never nearby. There’s nothing pointing to him as the villain. I’ve made what inquiries I can, but no one can connect him with any of my ‘accidents.’ There are some people in London who think I belong in Bedlam. The last time I tried to hire a Bow Street Runner to help investigate the matter, I was reminded that the war was over and I should relax and get used to civilian life.”
“Damn!”
“Precisely.” James leaned back in his chair. “So I confess, now that you’ve spotted Richard in the environs, I’m more amenable to Robbie’s notion that we spend the night here at the Green Man. I’ve concluded nighttime travel is not good for my health—it gives Richard too many attractive opportunities to send me to the hereafter.” James shifted to look directly at Charles. “Speaking of Robbie, I don’t suppose you met him in the hall, did you?”
“No.”
“Regrettable. He is much too drunk to be left unattended.”
“Who’s too d-drunk?”
James turned to survey the redheaded man snickering in the doorway. “Ah, Robbie. We were wondering where you had got to. Come in, if you don’t need that doorjamb to keep you upright.”
“Course I don’t, James.” Robbie walked carefully across the room and lowered himself into a chair. “Have you been discussing the luscious Charlotte while I’ve been gone?”
“Please don’t refer to my future wife as ‘luscious,’” James said.
“Well, you’re right there. Charlotte is about as luscious as a frozen prune.”
“Robbie…” James’s brows snapped into a frown and he started to rise. Charles put a hand on his arm.
“I hate to say it, James, but Robbie’s right this time. Good God, man, why do you think the wags call her the ‘Marble Queen’? She’s as cold as stone.”
Robbie drunkenly patted James’s shoulder. “Listen to Charles, James. He’s smart. War hero like yourself. If he says steer clear of Charlotte, do it. It ain’t as if she’s the only female who’ll have you. All the unmarried girls—and half the married ones—would leap at the chance to be the next Duchess of Alvord.”
“I doubt that.” James raised his hand as Robbie and Charles both protested. “No, I’ve seen all the girls on the Marriage Mart. God, I’ve been hunted by them since my father died. I’m sick of it. Charlotte will do. She’s been out a few years—she’s not some young girl in her first Season. She’s a duke’s daughter, so she’ll know how to run my household.” He looked pointedly at Robbie. “And I’m sure she’s quite capable of carrying out her other wifely duties.”
“Well, she is female, I’ll grant you that, so she must be capable of giving you your heir,” Robbie said, “but don’t you want to enjoy the process?”
James felt himself flush. “I’m sure Charlotte and I can rub along quite well.”
“But what’s the rush?” Charles asked. “Blast it, man, you’re only twenty-eight! I’m thirty and I’m not scrambling to get myself leg-shackled.” He leaned closer. “You made it through the war. What’s the hurry to get an heir now?”
“We’ve just been discussing the hurry, Charles—my ambitious cousin, Richard. He’s just a shade too anxious to become the next Duke of Alvord.”
Later, James deposited his drunken friends in their rooms and turned to his own door. Unfortunately he was still much too sober. No amount of brandy was capable of drowning the thoughts churning in his mind.
The room was dark, with the only light coming from the embers in the fireplace. He yanked off his boots and stockings, and then shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to asking the Duke of Rothingham for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Not that Rothingham would be surprised or displeased. The man had certainly dropped enough hints the last time they’d run into each other at White’s. James was confident he’d get a positive response.
He shed his breeches and drawers. Wedding Charlotte wouldn’t be the tragedy Charles and Robbie made it out to be—he’d never expected to find love at Almack’s. He had to marry sometime. Charlotte would do. He just hoped Richard would concede defeat once the knot was tied.
He padded naked over to the wash basin. The water was tepid, but he was used to few comforts after the Peninsula. He closed his eyes, picturing Charlotte Wickford. Blond hair, blue eyes—or were they green? Brown? He wasn’t sure. Petite. Her head came about to his mid-chest. He had a lovely view of her coiffure when they waltzed. Her lips—well, she never said much of interest. He had not quite gotten around to seeing how they tasted.
He swiped at his face with a towel. He didn’t want to marry Charlotte. He’d rather marry a girl he liked, but he hadn’t found one yet and he couldn’t see that he would anytime soon. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, he felt trapped. Time was definitely running out. That carriage wheel in Richard’s last attempt on his life had come within a hairsbreadth of splitting his skull.
“Hmpzm.”
James spun around. Bloody hell! There was someone in the room with him. How could he have been so damn careless? He hadn’t expected trouble at the Green Man, so of course that made it the perfect place to lay a trap. He lunged to grab the iron poker by the fire and saw the laundry spread out there. He paused. Stockings, shift, dress. A woman’s laundry? Now he knew why Robbie had been sniggering. He’d smuggled a whore into his room.
He left the poker by the fire and cautiously approached the bed. The girl was asleep, a blanket pulled up to her chin. James lit a candle. She muttered and moved, the blanket slipping slightly to uncover her neck and shoulders.
She was beautiful. Her long hair was unbound, spread across the pillow in a fiery ribbon. Her features were as fine as her clothing was coarse. James studied the high cheekbones, long eyelashes, and elegant neck. In the gentle glow of the
