A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,53
that is. Dear Arthur does seem rather impressed by the idea of making an advantageous marriage. That’s Mappleton. He must have been better—once. But that also must have been a few years ago. Go on—tell me about Sir Peregrine.”
Dooley snorted. “That one!” he exclaimed, dusting off Thomas’s bottle-green frock coat and settling it into the wardrobe. “All his hens are layers, Tommie, or didn’t you notice? Thinks he knows everything, and isn’t shy about his great opinion of his own intelligence—acting as if he were lord high mayor of all the world or something.” He gave an elaborate shudder. “I haven’t met a bloke so cocksure of himself and his brilliance since Bridget’s ma moved in with us.”
“Again we agree. And Totton is also invaluable to us, thanks to his situation in the War Ministry. But we’ve already been all over that.” Thomas rose from the chair and poured himself a glass of wine. “All right, Paddy, now let’s talk some more about Sir Ralph Harewood, our friend at the Admiralty. Interesting fellow, don’t you think?”
Dooley shook his head. “Not to me, boyo. I kept peeping at him during your sparring match yesterday, just to see if he was wishing your eyes blackened. You would have thought he was watching grass grow, for all the interest he showed. Mappleton was nearly in tears when that fella Laleham went down—but not Harewood. He just kept on about his business, trying to rouse the earl, but that was all. No, Tommie, Harewood is nothing but a cipher, following orders, doing what he’s told to do. He couldn’t care less—like a dog at his father’s wake. Totton has to be the one of the four that’s in command. I don’t see what you’re getting at, truly I don’t.”
Thomas tossed off the last of the wine and turned to smile at Dooley. “And that, dear Paddy, is why I’m in charge of this little expedition. Totton is not the leader of our lovely group of wishful traitors. But then, neither is Harewood, although I believe that’s the impression I’m supposed to have. Not that Harewood’s harmless. I don’t trust a man who tries so hard to appear colorless. He has to be hiding something.”
“Maybe he drinks,” Dooley suggested, seating himself in Thomas’s chair. “My Uncle Finney, Lord rest his soul, sopped up gin like a sponge, but you wouldn’t have known it. Stood straight and sober as a judge, never cracking a smile or losing his temper. Couldn’t. He was too busy trying not to fall flat on his face.” He shifted on the chair when Thomas looked at him owlishly. “Well—it’s possible! Besides, if it ain’t Harewood, and it ain’t Totton—and not even you could make me believe that it’s Mappleton—who is in charge, Tommie? Lord Chorley? There’s only the four of them.”
Thomas swept the newspapers from the striped satin couch and laid himself down on it, his stockinged feet dangling off one end, his arms crossed behind him to pillow his head. Maybe he’d think better on his back. “Chorley is interesting, Paddy. He isn’t involved with any of the ministries, like the other three. But he is a bosom chum to the Prince of Wales—or so I’ve heard. I understand the prince even calls him Stinky, which has to be a measure of his affection for the man. Friends can be very influential, Paddy, dropping hints as to who might best serve the Crown—or Chorley’s private treason. But, no. It can’t be him. Chorley is just another cog in the wheel.”
Dooley clapped his hands together once, then hauled his short, squat frame to his feet and began to pace. “Well, now, Tommie—you’ve gone and done it this time. I can see why you say you’re the one in charge. Congratulations, boyo—you’ve just eliminated every last one of them. According to you—and I’d be the last man to think you’ve muddled your brains with this Balfour creature—there is no leader. All we’ve got are four men trying their best to ruin their country. Four none-too-young men, left with nothing to do one night but gaze at their own shoetops, who decided to commit treason. Makes sense to me. And now that I think on it—so what? We’re only here to help ourselves to whatever they’re stupid enough to offer us. What does it matter if we don’t understand why they’re doing it?”
Thomas pulled his hands from behind his head and pushed them out behind him, arching and stretching his long frame like