The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,79

right.”

“A delightful occupation. How do you come to be acquainted with Arthur?”

“He dropped into my shop last winter, and we got talking. Struck up a friendship.”

“Of course Arthur is a great bibliophile. Well, that explains it. What’s the phrase? Business makes strange bedfellows. Is that a fair description? Strange bedfellows?”

This would doubtless be what Kim had meant: veiled threats, verbal games, generally playing silly buggers. Will had known a couple of officers like that. “As you say, sir.”

“Oh, harsh,” Kim said. “I may be considered a queer fish by some, but Darling’s quite the petit bourgeois. The exemplar of Napoleon’s dictum that the English are a nation of shopkeepers.” He smiled back at Waring. “Which is perhaps a little dismissive on the great man’s part. After all, the shopkeepers won.”

“Hm. And how is business, Mr. Darling? Thriving, I hope? Your generation faces so many challenges. The struggling economy, the precarious nature of prosperity. It takes very little to make a small business fail these days. Could you survive if you were forced to close your doors?”

“Why would I have to close my doors?”

“So many things can happen.” Lord Waring’s eyes glinted. “Some misfortune to your shop, or yourself. Slipping and falling on a train platform, say. Accidents happen so easily, especially in wet weather.”

“And it often rains in this country, doesn’t it?” Kim said.

“I don’t know about that.” Will met the viscount’s eyes. Bugger not reacting: he wasn’t going to stand here and be threatened. “Summer’s coming.”

“Not soon enough,” Lord Waring said. “Not soon enough, I fear, for you.”

Will shrugged. Possibly you weren’t supposed to shrug at viscounts; he couldn’t make himself care. “It rained a lot in Flanders. Sometimes seemed like it never stopped. I made it through all the same.”

“Ah, but it’s peacetime now,” Lord Waring countered. “Quite different.”

“The shop’s a good way to remind me of that,” Will said. “It keeps me busy. If I was forced to close my doors, it would be a lot harder to remember I’m not at war right now.”

“Military Cross,” Kim murmured. “Three bars.”

“Admirable.” Lord Waring was smiling still, face relaxed. “One can truly respect a man who did his part.”

Kim’s bland, blank expression suggested he’d expected the taunt. Will took a leaf out of his book, looking past Waring’s ear rather than directly at his face, which meant he saw the coat of arms.

You have to be bloody joking, he thought.

“Something wrong, Mr. Darling?” enquired the viscount. “You look startled.”

“Not at all, your lordship. I was just looking at your fireplace. Excellent workmanship.”

“It’s over four hundred years old, and considered one of the in situ masterpieces of Hertfordshire. I’m honoured it meets with your approval.”

That was probably meant as a snub. “Well, I did a bit of joinery back in the day, so I can tell good stuff when I see it,” Will said cheerily. “Is that your coat of arms? What do you call that creature?”

Lord Waring turned, as if he needed to look at it. The central shield held an aggressive-looking goat with cloven hooves and curling horns; from the midsection down it had an elaborately curved and scaled fish-tail.

“A sea-goat,” he said. “Family legend holds that the first Viscount Waring was, before his ennoblement, a privateer.”

“A pirate,” Kim said. “One might even say, a murdering thief with a good press-agent.” He gave a little laugh as if that was a joke, and Waring laughed too. All friends together.

“If you are interested in heraldry, I’m sure Arthur can inform you further,” Lord Waring went on. “My daughter is less knowledgeable though she takes great pride in our name, as Arthur knows. That reminds me, Mr. Darling. I understand you’re great friends with Miss Jones.”

Will had almost started enjoying himself. Maisie’s name acted like a bucket of cold water. “That’s right.”

“A remarkable young lady. So much ambition. Talent too, Phoebe tells me. With my daughter’s help, I imagine she could achieve great things. I’m sure we all hope she finds her path clear in the future. It would be such a shame if she were forced to return home defeated and humiliated, with her hopes dashed and her prospects destroyed.”

“She’d better not be,” Will said, and he didn’t even try to make that sound like chit-chat.

Waring’s smile broadened. “It’s the way of the world, Mr. Darling. Young women—especially of her class and race—are very vulnerable.”

“And old houses are flammable,” Will said through his teeth. “Just like old bones are breakable.”

That got a reaction. It was contemptuous anger, but at