A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,14

battles, Thomas and Dooley were ushered down a hallway lined with portraits of some very sour-looking gentlemen and into a large, airy, high-ceilinged chamber apparently devoted to Greek and Roman statuary.

Dooley raised a hand to scratch behind his ear. “Did you ever see such a mass of ancient grandeur, Tommie?” he asked, leaning to his left to go nose to nose with a statue of Athena, who was sadly missing her left ear and a portion of her right arm. “Put ‘em all together and I doubt you could make one whole person, and that’s a fact. Lookee here,” he said, extending a hand to point at another statue. “It’s like someone took a hulking bite out of this one’s hip. See, Tommie—I can put the whole of my five fingers inside this—”

“Don’t you dare advance by so much as another inch, you ignorant, ham-fisted plebeian!”

Thomas and Dooley whirled about to see Sir Peregrine Totton sweeping into the room, his small, esthetically thin body fairly quivering with rage, a harried-looking clerk following three paces behind him.

“Now, now, sir,” Thomas hastened to assure the man, stepping in front of Dooley, “my assistant meant no harm. Please forgive his ignorance. He is American, yes, but one only lately arrived from Ireland, and forever corrupted by the taint. The poor fellow has no appreciation of art beyond the lovely construction of his favorite potato pot.”

“You’ll pay dear for that, boyo,” Dooley hissed under his breath, before saying loudly, “A thousand pardons, sir,” and retreating a step or two, as befitted an “assistant.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I, too, have to labor under the ignorance of inferiors,” Sir Peregrine said in open scorn, skewering his own assistant with a piercing glare until that man scurried to the desk, pulled out his employer’s high, elaborately carved chair, and assisted the gentleman to his seat. “Good enough, Grouse,” he then commented, so that the clerk quickly retired to the nearest wall, where he stood braced against a tapestry depicting the sacking of Rome, unknowingly putting his head in some danger from the silver-thread depicted ax wielded by some wild-eyed savage.

Looking about him, Thomas saw that, although there were a few straight-back chairs scattered around the perimeter of the chamber, none was close enough to the desk to make conversation below a bellow comprehensible. Clearly Sir Peregrine expected his American visitors to stand, like petitioners come with hat in hand to beg some favor.

Bloody hell they would!

“Paddy, please procure two chairs and place them just here,” he said, pointing to the area directly in front of the desk. “Grouse?” he called out, inclining his head to the clerk. “You want to rest your rump, too, or do you think those spindly shanks of yours can hold you up until Sir Peregrine and I are through talking about the despicable way you skulking Englishers are pulling good Americans from their ships and pressing them into service in your navy?”

Sir Peregrine leapt to his feet, his palms pressed down on the desktop, a reaction that Thomas found eminently soothing to his soul. “How dare you, sirrah!” Sir Peregrine exclaimed, blustering. “Might I remind you that you are here on sufferance and that we wouldn’t be having this interview at all if it weren’t for the fact you sent in documents signed by your own president saying you had his fullest confidence? I am quite sure Mr. Madison is woefully misinformed if he believes that even a letter of introduction penned in his hand is enough to coerce any of His Royal Majesty’s loyal servants to suffer listening to such baseless assertions! You may consider this interview as concluded, Mr. Donovan!”

Dooley noisily plunked down two straight-back chairs, seating himself comfortably before motioning for Thomas to take his own seat. “Ye’ve a winning way about you, Tommie, and that’s a fact,” he said, smiling up at Thomas, who remained standing. “Why don’t you say something nasty about the man’s sainted mother while you’re about if?”

Thomas frowned warningly at his friend and then bowed in Sir Peregrine’s direction. “Forgive me, sir,” he said in subdued tones, smiling ingratiatingly. “I am most heartily sorry for my ill-mannered behavior. I can’t imagine where that reprehensible outburst came from. Perhaps it is just I’ve been waiting without for so long that I have missed my luncheon. Grouse, dear fellow—do you suppose you could find it in your heart to search out a tray of bread and cheese, and perhaps a heavy decanter of burgundy? I’m convinced