“Lightning Streak.”
“I love it.” They all named their curricles. Dane’s new one wasFirebrand.
“Been waiting for you before racingLightning Streakfor the first time.”
“You may want to schedule your first race without me. You have no idea the mess my lifeis right now. My uncles and their nervous solicitors are stuck with me as heir presumptive until Piety has her babe.”
“Does that mean we have to start calling you Rydell?” Somersby asked.
“Good God, not yet! Hopefully never. I know you ruffians avoid churches, but can you all fall on your knees every Sunday and pray that the babe’s a boy so I can return to my old life?”
Dudley’s eyebrows shot up. “Now, there’s a sobering thought. You, a duke. You’d become a boring stuffy old patrician like your brother with his parliamentary speeches and charity balls.”
“Never! I’m still the wild and wicked rake you know and worship.”
“Ha!” Dudley grinned. “That’s a relief.”
He’d always dabbled in dangerous pursuits, but now, with the threat from those cutpurses in the alley, he’d crossed a line. Knives pressed against his throat. Blackmail.
Any spare moment he had away from the ducal study was spent searching for the identity of his attackers, to no avail. He hated feeling out of control. Hated the feeling that they were watching him. Waiting to make their demands. What the hell had his brother become involved with?
“Actually,” Dane said, lowering his voice, glancing around at the chattering throng of theatergoers eddying around them, “my brother had some mysterious and questionable dealings with some shady characters, and I’ve got that to sort out as well.” He wouldn’t tell them all the details yet, but he knew he could relyon his friends to back him up if it came down to that.
“Difficult to believe that Mr. High-and-Mighty would be involved with criminals,” Kenwick scoffed.
“I know. He was always so morally superior, looking down his nose at us,” Somersby said. “But we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.”
“Sometimes I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Dane said with a catch in his voice. “As you know, there was no love lost between us, but I never considered that he would up and die. Death could claim any of us, my friends. Any day. It’s a sobering thought.”
Kenwick nodded and punched him on the shoulder again, but this was a soft punch, his way of showing sympathy.
Kenwick cleared his throat. “Whenever I think about death, do you know what I do? I get rip-roaring drunk. And that’s what we intend to do tonight. Are you with us?”
“I don’t think so,” Dane replied. He certainly couldn’t stagger about drunk in public anymore: he must keep his wits about him and be ever vigilant for signs of the blackmailers. “I should probably have an early night. See the play and go home.”
“Absolutely not,” Dudley said. “We won’t let you go soft on us. You need a reminder that you’re the most swaggering cock of the walk in town. If you don’t show yourself, all the lonely ladies in London will weep.” Dudley wiped away imaginary tears.
“Probably left some saucy widow weeping at the seashore, am I correct?” asked Somersby. “Spill your guts. We want to know all about it.”
“No saucy widows, I’m afraid.” Only one very sweet and very wholesome young lady who haunted his thoughts and dreams like one of her manor apparitions. She must be so angry with him for leaving with no goodbye, no explanation. He hated himself for what he’d had to do. He couldn’t reveal his identity now, since he was tangled up in the spider’s web of his brother’s dark financial dealings.
“Pity, that,” Somersby replied.
“The properties I inherited are worthless. Squalton Manor is a crumbling money pit that’s only fit to tear down. Though, it does command a sweeping view of the coastline.”
“My uncle is looking for investment properties. Perhaps he’d be interested in viewing the land,” Dudley said.
“I don’t care about the properties,” said Somersby, “I want to know about the village maidens!”
“Somersby, is that all you think about?” Dane asked.
Somersby thought about that for a moment. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“You’re hopeless.” Dane shook his head. “There was one young lady.”
“I knew it!” Somersby crowded closer. “Tell us about her.”
“The prettiest thing you ever saw, a heart-shaped face, a sweet smile, cornflower-blue eyes. I rescued her from drowning.”