“Americans are always telling one where they’re all the way from. So helpful.”
Mr. Cassidy went still.
Angelique held her breath.
A beat or so of too-interesting silence ensued.
“I suppose it’s just that we enjoy reminding Englishmen of all the fine places you lost in both wars,” Cassidy said finally, easily. “Especially since I helped defend New York against the British just a few years ago.”
Lord Bolt’s faint, pleasant smile remained in place as he regarded Mr. Cassidy in unblinking silence.
Intriguingly, this wasn’t something Mr. Cassidy had yet shared with any of them. He’d have been not much more than a child, surely, when the British burned the American capitol. One caught glimpses of something steely beneath the amiability now and again, like scenery flashing past a carriage window.
There really was reason the little hairs on the back of Angelique’s neck should stand up. Then again, men were such perverse creatures that exchanges of insults could lead either to fast friendships or duels.
“The farther one travels across the world, the more one realizes the futility of any empire attempting to prevail. The exception will be England, of course.”
But Lord Bolt said this ironically, and Mr. Cassidy smiled, and Angelique exhaled. No blood would be shed. Yet.
Men.
“So you’re the chap clever enough to claim the best room here before anyone else could!” Delacorte was still a little too full of bonhomie from the earlier gathering. “Or ought I to bow, as you’re a lord?”
“I shall accept a bow or a handshake in the same spirit. I leave the choice to you, Mr. Delacorte.”
“If you bow, I expect you can see yourself in his boots, Mr. Delacorte,” Mrs. Pariseau offered, rather wickedly. “I had a look meself and quite liked what I saw.”
Angelique exchanged a startled glance with Delilah. They’d all known Mrs. Pariseau was spirited, but a frisky Mrs. Pariseau was unanticipated.
“AndIcan see an entire column of myself in your waistcoat buttons!” Mr. Delacorte sprang forward, bent, and peered roguishly at Lucien’s sternum. “Just what the world needs! Three more Stanton Delacortes!”
Either the silence—abrupt and total—or the sudden twenty-degree drop in temperature in the room made Mr. Delacorte flick his gaze up.
To find Lucien’s expression rather reminiscent of an executioner measuring the neck of a criminal to determine which axe to use.
Mr. Delacorte cleared his throat and took a step back.
Total silence reigned for another startled moment.
Lord Bolt ignored the eye daggers aimed at him by Angelique.
“What brings you to The Grand Palace on the Thames, Lord Bolt?” Mr. Cassidy was not easily daunted.
“Revenge.” He said this with a little smile as if this was entirely self-evident. “You know, the same reason one goes to Brighton or Bath.”
Angelique clamped her back teeth.
“I’m sure we’ll all grow accustomed to Lord Bolt’s sense of humor. And if you find the adjustment a bit of struggle, rest easy, because he won’t be here forever. Lord Bolt, you might like to have a seat near the gas lamp in the corner.” She gestured to a little table in the far corner. “Perhaps reading quietly would suit you better than polite conversation.”
He fixed her with a stare that teetered on the mutinous.
She returned it with an “off you go” eyebrow hike that brooked no argument.
He turned and went.
Everyone watched him go, then sank back into their chairs.
“Mrs. Breedlove, may I ask you a question?” Delilah said sweetly from her own chair in the corner. But the words emerged through gritted teeth. They barely just escaped being a hiss.