Page 10 of An Enchanting Dare

“I’ve lamentable taste. That’s the trouble. Offends his sensibilities. French, you know,” Barnaby added in an all-too-audible whisper to Sylvester.

The comte snorted.

Mr Howard reappeared with Sylvester’s coat.

“Ah, well. At least you can give me your opinion on this,” Sylvester said as Howard helped him out of the one he wore and into the new. It was a very dark green frock coat, almost black, and fitted at the waist.

The comte eyed him critically as Mr Howard fussed about tweaking this and adjusting that.

“Oh, I say, very fine,” Godwin said, before casting the comte an anxious glance. “It is, ain’t it?”

“As you say, Barnaby. Very fine. The fit is excellent, Mr Howard, I commend you. Perhaps I might commission something from you in the future.”

Mr Howard blinked in disbelief before rallying. “I-I should be honoured, monsieur. Truly. I am at your disposal….”

The comte nodded before the fellow began fawning over him, though it would be a hell of a coup for an unknown fellow like Howard to dress the ton’s most elegant man.

“We will speak when we return for Mr Godwin’s order. That is the two frock coats as discussed, the tails, the sack coat, and the trousers too. They will be ready when, precisely?”

“A week for the frock coats and trousers, a few days extra for the rest, no more. My word upon it,” Howard said earnestly.

The comte appeared satisfied by this and turned back to Godwin. “Very good. Barnaby, are you done?”

“I am. I say, Cootes, we’re off to my club for a spot of libation. Care to come along?”

Sylvester glanced at the comte, whose expression revealed nothing to suggest either pleasure or irritation at him being invited.

“Well, I don’t wish to interrupt—”

“Not interrupting. Is he, Louis? You don’t mind, eh?” Godwin said blithely, patting Louis on the shoulder in a convivial gesture.

“Not in the least,” the comte said politely, and so Sylvester paid for his coat, arranged for it to be delivered to his rooms, and followed them to Barnaby’s club.

Grants was an elegant gentlemen’s club, but not one that aspired to the heady heights of Whites or Boodles. It had begun as a respectable establishment but was gaining notoriety of late. It catered more to young men with a hellbent desire for gambling and excess than the more illustrious haunts, which those with money but dubious reputations did not have a hope of joining. There were some infamous members who were giving the club a name for wildness and misbehaviour, and Sylvester admitted himself surprised to discover Godwin was a member.

“Been here for years, since before it became a fashionable venue for wickedness,” Mr Godwin explained, though Sylvester had not asked aloud. “It’s quiet during the day, though, as that sort don’t tend to show their faces in daylight. There’s only a few members who cause havoc, in truth, though they’re bringing in a lot more eager young fellows wanting to follow in their footsteps, so the club holds its tongue about their, er… activities.”

As they spoke, one such fellow entered the club and Barnaby lowered his voice.

“Ciarán St Just, Marquess of Kilbane,” he said, though Sylvester knew well enough who the man was. “A hell-born babe if ever there was one and the worst of the lot. Don’t ever play him at cards, he’s got the devil’s own luck. They say he’s the wickedest man in London.”

The man was tall and lean, with thick black hair that curled about his face, too long for fashion. Despite his youth, for he was certainly younger than Sylvester, there was an unmistakable air of menace and dissipation about the fellow; he was clearly someone best avoided. He glanced over at them as he walked past, perhaps aware of their scrutiny. Piercing eyes of a colour Sylvester could only describe as violet took them in and might have dismissed them until they settled upon the Comte de Villen and remained. The marquess’ mouth tilted up a little at one corner. He inclined his head, very slightly.

“You’re Villen,” he said, apparently not caring for the rules and whether he was offered an introduction or not.

Louis nodded. Kilbane’s uncompromising stare travelled over Sylvester and Barnaby, a somewhat contemptuous expression flickering in his eyes before returning his attention to Louis.

“If your charming friends have not already informed you, I am Kilbane. Enchanté,” he murmured, an amused glint in those strange eyes.

“As you say, delighted,” Louis replied, holding his gaze. Sylvester glanced at Barnaby as the moment stretched out.

“If you fancy a drink, I have a superb Burgundy just begging to be opened. I should like your opinion of it. I believe you are something of a… connoisseur?”

Louis shrugged. “I enjoy fine things.” “

Kilbane smiled broadly, showing even, white teeth. “I’m in the private rooms, but someone will show you the way.”

“Perhaps later,” Louis replied politely.