Emily and the Dark Angel by Jo Beverley Read Free Book Online Page A

little red. “Well, Osbaldeston was always a bully and Swallowton . . . that was on my account. He was . . . bothering me, if you know what I mean.”
    “Oh,” said Chart. “Still, you can’t deny our families would throw fits if we’re forever in his company. Probably try to order us home. My mother almost had a spasm to have to be in the same room as him at Randal’s wedding.”
    “Doesn’t like dueling,” said Corny wisely. “Mothers are all the same.”
    “Oh, doubt she knows about that kind of thing. Man’s stuff, after all. And it never came to law or anything. Both his victims were warts on the body of society and everyone was delighted to see them go. And though Ver’s not exactly accepted, he’s damned rich and connected to all the right people. Even if,” he added thoughtfully, “they hope he won’t turn up to claim acquaintance ...”
    “But why?” asked Corny. “Rich, well-turned out, Meltonian .. .”
    Chart shrugged. “Stories. There was rumor at Eton he’d run away from home with his grandfather’s strong-box. But I ask you. If you were going to run away from home, would you run to Eton?”
    The other two shook their heads.
    “They say he won’t have anything to do with his mother. I just wish I could do the same to mine.”
    “I’ve heard,” offered Harry uneasily, “that she’s living in poverty in Ireland because he stole the family fortune. He’s here in luxury and she’s living on boiled potatoes.”
    “Not good,” said Corny, who was actually rather fond of his mama.
    “Doubtless a hum,” said Harry quickly. “After all, if he was a thief, the law would have something to say, wouldn’t it? People make up these stories about him and he won’t bother to deny them.”
    “As for what turns the matrons sour,” broke in Chart with a grin. “Just about everything. He’s rude to anyone if it suits him, has a damnable temper, and won’t tolerate fools. When the mood takes him he gambles madly, though he nearly always wins—”
    “Collects exotic mistresses,” broke in Harry, “and rarely just one at a time.”
    “Had the whole opera ballet at his Hampshire place once,” came back Chart. “Can you imagine?”
    It was obvious from Corny’s face that he was trying hard.
    “And a harem of Arabians.”
    “And two American Indians.”
    “And Swedish triplets.”
    “All at the same time?” asked Corny blankly, causing them all to dissolve in laughter.
    “In fact,” said Harry when he’d recovered, “one day I’ll pluck up the courage to ask Ver the truth.”
    “Well,” said Chart, “just don’t pick tonight. He may not be the most likely prospect, but he’s the only contact to the inner circle we’ve got as yet, so it’s clean faces and charming innocence, my lads!”
     
     
    That evening, Verderan found the meal at the Old Club drawing to a close without any obvious disaster having taken place. Well trained by Eton and Christ Church, his three guests had the precise blend of ease and deference which made them invisible to the lions they ate with. They listened with flattering absorption to the hunting tales of the old hands and made just sufficient contribution to the conversation to avoid being apostrophized as nodcocks.
    Verderan rather thought he could see them taking mental notes for their memoirs—or for tales for their grandchildren. “Did I ever tell you about the time I dined at the Old Club with Assheton-Smith ...?”
    Golden memories of the evening had been assured the trio when it was found that Lord Robert Manners had ridden over from Belvoir Castle and brought with him the great man himself, the legendary Thomas Assheton-Smith, who had succeeded Hugo Meynell as Master of the Quorn.
    Assheton-Smith was a tall, elegant man with a quiet reserved manner, which surprised people who knew only of his daring reputation in the field. He was known to disapprove of drinking and gambling, and his very presence had exerted a moderating influence on