The Temptation of the Night Jasmine by Lauren Willig Read Free Book Online

remembered guilt.
    That, however, was not something he was going to admit to Tommy. ‘If Wrothan did it once, what makes you think he won’t betray us again? Who will die next time? Are you willing to take that risk?’
    ‘You make it bloody hard to argue with you,’ muttered Tommy from the depths of his collar. ‘It’s deuced unfair.’
    ‘Maybe that’s because I’m right.’
    ‘Or just bloody-minded.’
    ‘That, too,’ agreed Robert genially. ‘Are you in?’
    ‘I’m here, aren’t I?’
    ‘Are you sure it’s not just for the feather beds?’
    Tommy sunk his chin deeper into his scarf. ‘I’ll let you know when I see one,’ he said dourly.
    Robert clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. ‘Good chap. Once this business is done …’
    And there he stuck. Once Wrothan had been brought to justice, preferably on the point of his sword, he hadn’t the foggiest notion what to do next. He had sold his commission before leaving India, selling with it the only life he knew. There was a big blank stretch beyond, terra incognita, as forbidding and faceless as the winter-dark grounds of Girdings House.
    If he had any sense, he would take Tommy’s perfectly logical suggestion and make his pretended return to Girdings a real one, settle the ducal mantle around his shoulders, and … what? He hadn’t the foggiest notion of what a duke was supposed to do. He wasn’t even sure if dukes wore mantles.
    He was a mistake, a fluke, a duke by accident, and when it came down to it, he’d rather face an oncoming Mahratta army. At least he would know what to do with the army.
    For a moment, it almost seemed as though his wish had been granted. As they rounded a curve in the path, heading towards a stand of trees, torches flared into view and what had been a low rumble escalated into a full-fledged din.
    Man-high torches sent orange flames into the sky, casting a satanic glow over the men disporting themselves about the edge of the forest. If it was an army, it was an unusually well-dressed one. The flames licked lovingly over silver watch fobs and polished boot tops, scintillating off signet rings and diamond stickpins. Charcoal crackled in low, three-legged braziers, emitting heat and plumes of sullen, dark smoke. To add to the confusion, dogs darted barking underfoot, worrying at fallen leaves, snapping at boot tassels, and getting in the way of the liveried servants who circulated among the mob offering steaming glasses balanced on silver trays.
    Judging from the raucous tone of the men’s voices, the liquid was not tea but something much, much stronger.
    ‘Ah,’ Robert said smoothly. ‘We seem to have found the rest of the party.’
    Tommy eyed the dogs and torches with deep suspicion. ‘They look like they’re about to hunt down a head of peasant.’
    Robert stuck his hands in his pockets and assumed a superior expression. ‘Don’t be absurd. Peasant is too tough and stringy. Hardly worth the bother.’
    He wished he felt quite so sure as he sounded. For all his urbane words, there was something distinctly off-putting about the pampered lordlings prancing along the edge of the forest. The torchlight distended their open jaws and lent a yellow cast to their teeth, making exaggerated caricatures of their features, turning them into something predatory, primal, their faces florid in the flaring light of the torches.
    These were the sort of men Arthur Wrothan had collected around him in India, the spoilt, the bored, the wealthy. That was how Wrothan had operated. He had battened on the young aristocrats playing at soldier, winning their loyalty by introducing them to all the vices the Orient had to offer. He had made a very special sort of club out of it, one that operated by invitation only. It was a group Robert had steered well clear of – he had no use for amateur officers dabbling in debauchery and even less for bottom-feeders like Wrothan – but in such a small world, it was impossible not to know of