A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,40
this business of English sailors called to serve their country.”
“Then I expect our business is already concluded.” Thomas’s grin was wide and unaffected. “Which does not mean we three cannot enjoy each other’s company on such a fine afternoon, does it, Sir Ralph?”
“Indeed, no. We are all civilized people, Mr. Donovan. In truth, my invitation for you and your friend to join Lord Mappleton and myself today was strictly social. We can’t always be speaking of business, now can we?”
Thomas nodded, considering the man’s words. “How very kind, Sir Ralph.”
“Thank you. Now, won’t you join Lord Mappleton and me as we watch the sparring going on just over here between Lord Ludworth and Baron Strath? It has so far proved to be an impressive display of the proper science of attack and defense.”
“Really? How interesting. I’m ashamed to admit I am not familiar with the science of the thing. Coming, Paddy?” Thomas asked as Sir Ralph headed back the way he had come.
“I shouldn’t. Not if I had a thimbleful of sense,” Dooley growled in an undertone, taking the cane Thomas held out to him. “The devil’s peeking out from between your two eyes, boyo, and no mistake. Remember—we’re here for a reason, and it has precious little to do with bashing anyone on the noggin. Although I wish I were five years younger and two stone lighter, so I might climb in the ring m’self.”
“Twenty years, at the least, and three stone, Paddy, but I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.”
Sir Ralph had walked ahead of Thomas and Paddy, and by the time they had caught up with him, Lord Mappleton was glaring at them through a quizzing glass stuck to his left eye. “What? What? I know they’re here, Ralph, for pity’s sake, for I can see them clear as day. You don’t have to remind me. I say, hello there, Donaldson. Awfully good to see you again. Sorry about the other night. Busy, you know. Dreadfully busy. Tonight the Royal Opera House. Miss Balfour has expressly insisted upon my attendance in Sir Gilbert’s box.” He shook his head and the quizzing glass became unstuck, falling to the middle of his chest, where it hung from a green, satin riband. “Busy, busy, busy.”
“More than a few slates off this one’s roof, ain’t there, Donaldson?” Dooley whispered from behind Thomas. “I think I’ll just be taking myself off to go watch those fellas over there awhile, seeing as how nobody ever pays me a whit of attention anyways. One of them ain’t half bad with his right hand.”
“Do that, Paddy,” Thomas said with a smile before extending his hand to Lord Mappleton, who looked first to Sir. Ralph, as if appealing to him for guidance as to whether or not he should shake the American’s hand. “Lord Mappleton—how good to see you again. And to hear you’re still having such marvelous success with the ladies! How gratifying. But then, I am not surprised. An interesting gentleman such as your lordship will always be surrounded by female admirers.”
Lord Mappleton puffed up his chest (which, for the majority of the time, resided closer to his generous stomach), and grinned in genuine happiness. “Like you, Dollinger—truly I do. Don’t you like him, Ralph? Pity he’s American.”
“Shut up, Arthur,” Sir Ralph said without emotion, then gestured for Thomas to step closer. “I must be honest, Mr. Donovan. I suggested this meeting not just to show you some English hospitality, but also in order to get some of the preliminaries out of the way before our get-together on Saturday. I’ve spoken with Sir Peregrine, you understand, concerning the interview you had in his office the other day, and we—er—I felt it necessary to reassure myself of your sincerity, among other things.”
“Really?” Thomas answered, deliberately raising one eyebrow as he peered incredulously into Sir Ralph’s face. “How extraordinarily depressing. I’m so ashamed. Was it something I said?”
“You made mention of the French,” Sir Ralph told him, speaking quietly, surreptitiously, out of one corner of his mouth. Didn’t the man have any idea about the workings of subtlety? There couldn’t be anyone higher than a footman in this entire place who wouldn’t know with one look that some secret conversation was taking place. “That was an unfortunate accusation, Mr. Donovan, and totally without foundation.”
“So Sir Peregrine assured me,” Thomas answered, seeing that the man who had lately been with Sir Ralph and Lord Mappleton was now being assisted from his frock coat by one of