It had been years since Lucien had felt a twinge of shame.
“It is,” Lucien said shortly. “It is a sad thing.”
He realized he very much didn’t like to think about people leaving.
“But no,” he added. “She doesn’t haunt my memories. Thank you for your concern.”
Delacorte nodded. “I like how you talk, Bolt. ‘Haunt.’” He quoted dramatically, as though Byron might have written it.
“What bringsyouto London, Cassidy?” Bolt asked.
Cassidy took a deep breath and sighed it out. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, which intrigued Lucien just a little.
“I am searching for a woman. You both may lower your eyebrows. It’s rather after the fashion of... an assignment. For the sake of the lady in question, I am not at liberty to divulge more than that.”
“Naturally,” Lucien said gravely. “I believe I understand.”
“Flew the coop, did she?” Delacorte chortled.
Lucien laughed.
Cassidy scowled quellingly.
Silence descended again.
Standing here with these two was indeed a bit more interesting than Lucien had anticipated.
Lucien wondered what the women of the house were doing now. Had they gone up to their rooms, to read, to laugh, to talk about all the men? He thought about Mrs. Breedlove unpinning her hair. He imagined the golden waves of it fanned over a white pillow.
In the midst of this reverie Delacorte’s voice crashed. Lucien suspected he was frequently a reverie crasher.
“Lord Bolt... there is something we are wondering... that is, Mr. Cassidy and I... if we may be so presumptuous...”
Lucien sighed. “Yes, Mr. Delacorte. Nearly everything you’ve read about me is true.”
Cassidy whistled, long and low. Teasing him.
And Delacorte seemed to have nothing to say. Which he supposed made it worth it.
“That was a decade ago. As you can see, I’m a grown man now. Do I look as though I intend to race a horse down Bond Street? Challenge a man to a duel? Make absurd wagers?”
Neither of them looked prepared to commit to the answer “no.”
“Apart from revenge, I can’t be bothered now with the rest of it.”
This wasn’t an answer designed to make anyone feel comfortable. Lucien had never been in the business of making anyone feel comfortable.
“There was never any question about your character in my mind, you see. Your character must be sound if Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Breedlove think so. Such delightful people walk through that door.”
He smiled tautly. “That is such a relief to hear, Delacorte.”
“Where did you end up after you wound up in the drink, Bolt?” Delacorte wanted to know.
“China.”
“Floated there on the currents, eh? Ha ha!”
Lucien eyed him with great, strained patience. “Was picked up by a ship. Learned everything about ships and imports and exports. And fighting. Made a pile.” His cheroot was almost finished.
