Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [59]
Of course he did. His head valet had provided the address, after all.
Castleford completed his errands by two o’clock. The show over, Hawkeswell finally departed to go to his meeting at the White Swan. Castleford was left to wonder what the hell he was going to do between now and five o’clock, when he would meet with Daphne.
He could go to one of his clubs, but of late everyone was in high temper about the inevitability of insurrection in the north by month’s end. He doubted he could listen to that nonsense for long without telling them all that they were idiots. That would probably start an argument, which could lead to insults, which might result in a challenge.
The way life was going these days, he would probably lose a duel for the first time in his life and be shot in the balls no less, thus making all these disruptions to his habits in the interests of seducing Mrs. Joyes a tragic waste.
Instead of visiting a club, he could return home and work on his manuscript, he supposed. Except she was ruining that too, wasn’t she?
Recently, when he wrote, he found himself resorting to the kinds of euphemisms and poetic allusions in his prose that might not embarrass a woman like Mrs. Joyes too badly, if she picked up the guide by accident and read it.
The results, evident once he took an objective, critical look at the chapter in progress, had been boring, ambiguous, and horribly fourth-rate, when the whole goal was to be daring, frank, and refreshingly clever.
It now read as if the real author—the fun, bad one, who knew well of what he wrote—had died halfway through composing the guide, and his virginal vicar of a cousin had taken up the pen in his stead after the burial, in the hopes of bluffing through to the end and making a few pounds.
He finally decided that following Hawkeswell to the White Swan was the least boring of the boring choices he had, which alone reminded him why he did not live like normal men most times. However, if Hawkeswell could interfere in his morning, he could interfere in Hawkeswell’s afternoon.
Along the way, he plotted the final chapter in a book titled “The Seduction of Daphne Joyes by the Decadent Duke of Castleford (A History of London Life, complete with appendices, glossary, and maps chosen to enhance the reader’s edification).” He fully expected to bring the story to its conclusion this evening.
Entering the White Swan, he spied Hawkeswell sitting alone. Hawkeswell laughed when he walked over.
“What in hell are you doing here, Castleford?”
“Planning to drink some ale. What are you doing here alone? I thought you had a meeting.”
“Latham should be arriving soon enough. There is a matched pair in the stable here that he is thinking to buy, magnificent cattle from the talk, and he asked my opinion on them and—”
“Damnation. Are you good friends with Latham now? He is an unbearable ass. Have you no pride at all?”
Hawkeswell looked taken aback. “We stumbled upon each other yesterday. In talking he mentioned the horses and remembered I have an excellent eye for them, so I agreed to give my opinion.” His astonishment gave way to annoyance. “Why am I explaining myself? Hell, I am friends with you, aren’t I? That is proof that I am not too particular. One ass is as good as another, it seems to me.”
This talk of horses piqued Castleford’s curiosity. He ignored Hawkeswell’s bluster and got to his feet. “This pair is in the stable?” Without waiting for an answer, he headed toward the door.
He might have found something fun to do this afternoon.
“Damnation, here he comes,” Hawkeswell muttered.
Castleford looked into the tavern’s yard, where Latham was dismounting from his horse. Then he turned away and stroked the nose of one of the huge white geldings that he had just bought. They really were magnificent and worth every pound of their considerable price.
“If you actually care a farthing for your friendship with that scoundrel, and I don’t know why you would, tell him you have been threatening me with bodily harm if