Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,13

with fawn-colored breeches. He was snapping at his valet to remove a piece of fluff from his jacket sleeve. That little gentleman, who had been with his lordship since he’d come down from Oxford and had even endured the hardships of a year away from civilization by attending his lordship in Jamaica, this particular morning looked extremely harassed and frazzled.

“I say, Justin, what’s this?” Freddy asked, waving his walking stick in Justin’s direction to indicate his attire.

“I have an important engagement this morning.”

“Eh?”

“An engagement, Freddy my boy,” St. Ryne repeated then stopped and grinned as the double meaning of what he said registered.

“But I need you to come to Tatts with me. They’ve got this handsome gray I need your advice on. Looks a prime ’un, but I’ll be the first to admit I ain’t got your eye,” Freddy said, not seeing how anything else could be more important.

“My apologies, I am resolved. It must be this morning and no other. Tell you what, why don’t you take La Belle Helene for a walk in the park this morning.” A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Yes, just the ticket. I’ll walk over with you and renew my acquaintance with the Earl of Rasthough while you spirit your beauty away.”

Freddy’s face brightened. “Dash it, that’s good of you, St. Ryne. Hard to get her out from under the Dragon Lady’s or her father’s nose. ” A frown creased his delicate brow for a moment. “Thought you said you had an appointment.”

St. Ryne waved his hands nonchalantly. “On the way. Besides, anything I can do for a friend.” He smiled engagingly before turning to take his hat, cane, and gloves from his waiting man. “Come, this should prove an interesting and entertaining morning.”

Freddy looked at him blankly for a moment but refrained from further comment, his mind pondering the strange behavior of his friend. Sadly, he thought Tretherford was correct; St. Ryne had spent too much time in that damned tropical sun.

The Earl of Rasthough was greatly surprised and curious upon hearing the names of the visitors awaiting him in the parlor. Shuffling papers aside and combing his thinning hair back with his fingers; he arose from his desk and scurried out of his library to join his guests. He remembered the Viscount St. Ryne as the gentleman who’d danced with Elizabeth two weeks before. He could hardly forget. Elizabeth, always difficult to manage, had become impossible during the last two weeks. Although he knew the Viscount had upset her, he never learned how, for Elizabeth remained reticent about the meeting, a circumstance her father viewed with trepidation.

When he opened the parlor door, he was in time to see the Viscount rising elegantly from a bow over his daughter Helene’s hand and saw that young lady smile brightly up at him while his sister-in-law looked on benignly. He groaned inwardly, another conquest.

St. Ryne turned immediately at the sound of the door opening and smiled lazily at the Earl, then turned an inquisitive eye to Freddy who was staring steadily with doglike devotion at La Belle Helene. Catching St. Ryne’s eye upon him he looked up, flustered, glancing from his friend to Lord Monweithe and back before he recalled himself to a sense of duty and hurriedly stumbled through appropriate introductions.

“So you’re St. Ryne. Known your father anytime the past twenty years. How is he, by the way? Don’t get much to town these days, do he?” Lord Monweithe asked jovially.

“He is well, sir, but prefers his books to a rackety social life, as he calls it. That is, unless it is hunting season.”

Monweithe laughed. “He always was a neck-or-nothing goer in the field. That’s how I met him years ago when you were barely out of leading strings. I remember him telling us one evening how you wanted to come with him, but your little pony weren’t fast enough to keep up.”

St. Ryne’s answering smile bore an odd twist at the corner. “Ah yes, I remember the incident. Did he tell you, too, that I followed anyway and became lost? When I finally found my way home, it was very late and my parents were extremely distraught. That Christmas, however, I received a hunter as a gift from my father.”

The Earl guffawed heartily. “Forced his hand, did you? Well, well, can’t say as I blame you.”

St. Ryne inclined his head and smiled lazily. “As you say—”

“Oh-h!” Lady Helene cried, clasping her hands before her, her pale blue eyes wide. “What a frightening