Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page B

Again.”
    “Damnation, Scuddy, this one visit ain’t going to send you up the River Tick. And as for you, Lord Harry, I begin to wonder if you’ve ever even been to a house of pleasure. Just what is it you chaps do in the North Country?”
    “Chaps in the North Country do much the same as you do, I suspect.” How the devil was she going to get out of this? “Actually, we tend to marry before we become old men. Solves a lot of problems, you know.”
    It was Scuddy who turned upon her, his eyes filled with disbelief. “Damned silly notion. M’father is forever telling me that marriage has nothing to do with pleasure. Don’t tell me you’re that old fashioned?”
    “Scuddy’s quite right, Lord Harry. A man’s got to have his pleasure. It has nothing to do with marriage, either before or after. Well, what do you say, chaps? I’m off to Lady Buxtell’s. Do you have red blood in your veins or are you all talk and excuses?”
    Scuddy painstakingly calculated the remainder of his allowance until the first of the next quarter, brightened and said, “I’m with you, Harry.” He downed the rest of his port and turned an owlish stare at Hetty.
    In that moment, Hetty knew she couldn’t refuse, for to do so might plant suspicious seeds in her friends’ minds that Lord Harry Monteith really wasn’t the lusty young man they believed him to be. She had to be manly and that meant not complaining about her sore arm muscles and going to a brothel. She tossed down her wine as Scuddy had done, thumped her glass on the table and rose with a swagger. “Well, my lads, the night grows late. Lead on, Harry. I, for one, am ready to sample Lady Buxtell’s wares.” She turned and allowed a hovering footman to assist her into her cloak.
    Sir Harry frowned. He should be the one leading Lord Harry, not the other way around. It had been his idea, after all. He clapped Scuddy on the shoulder, recovering his good humor at the thought of a lovely young woman pleasuring him and said to Lord Harry, “We’re right behind you.”
    Hetty cudgeled her brain as street after street melted away beneath her boots, bringing her nearer and nearer to Millsom Street. Somewhere, she thought, there must be some humor in this ridiculous situation.
    She was momentarily surprised at the somber picture Lady Buxtell’s establishment presented to the passerby. It was a huge, three-story brick structure that dominated a street corner, its façade of Georgian columns unpretentious to the point of austerity. No more than a modicum of candlelight shined through its front windows, and for an instant, Hetty thought that Harry had made a wonderfully welcome mistake. Perhaps it was closed for the night. Both wishes were soon dashed when Harry stepped smartly up the stone steps and loudly sounded the heavy brass knocker. Only deep silence followed the echoing knock, and again, Hetty allowed herself the hope that Lady Buxtell was not receiving gentlemen this evening.
    She heard a slight grating sound and realized someone was looking at them. More minutes passed before the heavy oak door was eased smoothly open, and a tall, gaunt-looking man, all dressed in severe black, stood silently before them. As the man’s eyes rested briefly upon her, Hetty felt her heart thump madly. She had the uncanny sensation that somehow he knew her to be an imposter. But then the man stepped back, offered a negligent bow, and motioned for them to enter. How strange, she thought, that I am relieved to be allowed to enter a brothel. Another man, also clothed all in black, took their canes and cloaks. Hetty would have sworn that the rheumy old eyes leered as he silently pointed them down a long, narrow hall toward the back of the house.
    “Very discreet,” Hetty said to Harry, trying to keep condemnation from her voice. She wondered if the Marquess of Oberlon would be in attendance tonight. Stupid thought, she realized but an instant later. His grace kept his mistresses privately. She