Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [50]
Fate was conspiring against him tonight. That it should do so on a day when he had shown uncharacteristic consideration toward a woman, much to his own inconvenience, seemed very unfair.
“Hell, Latham, did the French teach you to eavesdrop?” Hawkeswell snapped.
“One does not have to eavesdrop to hear two men having a loud argument.”
Castleford sighed and turned around. The Earl of Latham, now the Duke of Becksbridge, beamed a bright smile. His expression said Here I am. I know that everyone wants to welcome me back. Isn’t it wonderful to see me again?
The exaggerated bonhomie did not become him. Latham’s face had always been a bit soft and given to ruddiness, and living in Paris had taken its toll. So his bright blue eyes, which tended toward glassiness even when sober, peered out like two shallow pools sunk in a rosy sand landscape. His tawny, sedately dressed hair formed some surrounding brush.
“Latham,” Castleford said. “I had no idea that paragons of virtue visited Vauxhall Gardens. Isn’t it a sin to enjoy yourself?”
Latham laughed, as if it had been a joke. “I came to witness people of all classes mixing freely, enjoying their commonalities. As for paragons of virtue, I cannot claim to be one, but my uncle the bishop is here with me, along with his wife, so I trust there is no sin in it.”
“Only one of your family’s bishops is here?” Hawkeswell said. “Makes one wonder what the other one is doing.”
“Perhaps he is enjoying a quiet evening of marital bliss,” Castleford said.
Hawkeswell craned his neck to look over the crowd. “We should find the ladies and relieve Albrighton.”
“You go. I will join you soon.”
Latham’s smile grew sardonic with Hawkeswell’s departure. “I have a supper box. Come join me for some wine.”
The boxes were not far away, and Latham’s was near the end of the row. The bishop and his wife had left, so they had the box to themselves.
Castleford stretched his length on the chair and looked out at the passing crowd that in turn looked in at him.
Latham poured some wine. It tasted off. The man had no taste, among other deficiencies. Castleford set the glass on the table.
“What are you really doing here, Latham? Looking for a servant to grab and rape on a dark path?”
Latham’s lids lowered. “Are you still fussing like an old lady about that, after all these years? I told you long ago that you misunderstood what you saw.”
“I misunderstood nothing, or the way that girl ran for her life when I pulled you off her.”
“She was embarrassed, that is all. She wanted it. You know how it goes. She came back for more later, after all.”
Castleford did not need to hear that. He did not want to know that his silence on what he saw had left that girl vulnerable to more of the same.
“I hear that you did not attend my father’s funeral,” Latham said.
“Nor did you. Too busy settling your affairs in Paris?”
“An unavoidable matter delayed me a few days, and it is best to bury quickly in summer. I was at the reading of the will, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And so, also of course, I am aware that my father left you a bequest.” He cocked his head. “How odd.”
Castleford shrugged. “I took it as a very small token of his very small affection.”
Latham laughed. “Rather like damning with faint praise, eh? I have remembered you in my will, and this is what I remember your being worth.”
“Of course, he could not do the same with you. He could not keep you from the bulk of it, no matter what he thought you were worth.” Castleford gathered his limbs and sat forward. He gave Latham a good look. “Did you get anything that was not yours by entailment? Or did he make sure it went elsewhere, with these small bequests?”
Latham’s face flushed. His eyes glinted. “Of course he left me more. Among other things, he left me his power.”
Castleford laughed heartily. “Damn, you sound like the villain in a bad comic opera, Latham. His power. The only power you will have is what your birth always gave you, and the only people who will tremble in awe are