The Heir - Catherine Coulter [102]
“Yes, but what precise news of the Peninsula?” the comte pressed on, his eyes battened on Lord Graybourn.
Arabella nearly leapt out of her chair at him. She sucked in her breath, preparing to fire cannon at him, but the earl, winking at her, said smoothly, “Did I not tell you, comte? Massena is now in Portugal with sixty thousand men under his command. From my information, I understand that Wellington will launch an offensive against him in the fall. With the experience and pluck of Wellington’s men, I believe we will taste victory. Forgive me, Lord Graybourn, but there was no way for you to know this. It is just now being doled out in very small amounts to the public.”
Lord Graybourn nodded, and thanked the heavens that the earl was here and thought him wise enough to assist out of this quagmire.
The comte sat back, furious, wondering what had happened. He’d had the stupid fat fellow on the floor, the boot of his heel on his neck, and yet the earl had rushed in to save him. He had always heard that military men hated the ignorance of their countrymen. Certainly the French military men were contemptuous of anyone who ever dared question them or pretended they knew anything that was going on.
And the new earl was a proud bastard, every inch of him. Of course Gervaise knew, deep in his belly, he knew—it was the cursed loathsome English—they protected each other. Not to mention that the earl hated him. He had realized that even though he didn’t know the reason for it. Well, he would take care of that soon enough and he would very much enjoy himself doing it. He looked over at Elsbeth and his eyes narrowed. She was smiling toward Lord Graybourn. How could she do this to him?
Damn her.
Damn all of them. He couldn’t wait to wash the dirt of England off his boots. Filthy cold heathen country.
Lady Ann added, “Let us also hope that Wellington will not have to turn his eyes elsewhere. Do not forget that with Napoleon’s marriage to Marie Louise only four months ago, Austria now owes no loyalty to England. The French emperor is very carefully scattering England’s friends to the four winds. Nothing good will come of this, particularly if Marie Louise becomes quickly with child.”
The earl was impressed. Finally, Crupper directed two footmen in with the tea and cakes. He watched Lady Ann pour the tea. It seemed that everyone watched her, took their tea, and sipped in pleasure. He himself loved the lemon seed cakes. He nodded, accepting a cup of tea from her, as she said, “I feel so very sorry for the young empress. The poor child had no say in anything, I am certain.”
“French emperor indeed,” said Lady Talgarth as she ate her second piece of lemon seed cake. She was eyeing the earl, for he had just taken a second slice also. There was only one left. She cleared her throat, hoping to distract him as her fingers inched toward that last slice, “I have heard it said that the Corsican has deplorable manners. What is a man if he has no manners? What do you think, Lord Graybourn?”
Lord Graybourn nearly choked on his tea. “Manners do tend to civilize,” he finally said, and took the last slice of lemon seed cake.
Arabella said with a twinkle in her eyes, “My dear ma’am, judging from the continuous string of mistresses, right under the nose of Josephine, it would seem that not everything about the man is deplorable.”
The comte laughed immoderately.
The earl was on the point of picking the comte up by his high shirt points and hurling him through the French windows when Arabella jumped to her feet and said, “Oh dear, Justin, I fear I have spilled tea on my gown. Would you please see that it will not stain?”
It was well done of her. He watched her come toward him, holding the material of her sleeve, her eyes on his cravat. He felt a powerful kick in the gut. God, but she was beautiful. She was also a termagant, loyal, brave, and he would forgive her. He would tell her tonight and then he would make love