She shook her head. “He’s intent on regaining the title and cannot consider other matters at the moment.”
“Ah.” Jeremy looked down at his teacup, frowning.
Beatrice hurried to say, “He did speak highly of his men—the soldiers he led in battle—and that makes me a little optimistic that he might be sympathetic to our cause. The problem is convincing him to act, I think. I still haven’t figured out how exactly to do that.”
“He sounds rather selfish,” Jeremy murmured.
“I don’t think he is,” Beatrice said slowly. “Not truly. It’s just that he’s so focused on regaining what he’s lost, there doesn’t seem to be room for anything else right now.”
“Hmm. I think we all try to get back the life that we’ve left behind when we return home, we old soldiers.” Jeremy’s voice was growing weaker. “The problem is, some things can’t be regained once lost. I wonder if he’s realized that yet?”
“I don’t know.”
“In any case, you should speak to him soon. The bill will come up before parliament within the next month. Our time is growing short—so short.” Jeremy closed his eyes again as he leaned against the pillows.
She bit her lip. “You’re tired. I should go.”
“No, don’t.” He opened his eyes, so blue and clear against the white of his pillow. “I adore your company, you know.”
“Oh, Jeremy,” she said, touched enough that her throat swelled. “I—”
Something thumped loudly in the downstairs hall.
She looked at the bedroom’s shut door. “What—?”
Shouting came from below, advancing closer as a male voice bellowed, “I’ll see her, damn your eyes! Get out of my way!”
It sounded very like Lord Hope. Beatrice half rose from her chair. “I can’t believe he would—”
The voices were rapidly advancing closer. If she didn’t do something, he was going to burst into the room. Beatrice ran out into the hallway, closing Jeremy’s bedroom door firmly behind her. Coming up the stairs, looking like a charging bull, Lord Hope’s face was grim. Putley trailed him, several steps behind, his wig lost, his face frightened as he pleaded with the viscount.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“Discovering your lover,” he growled as he strode toward her.
“I don’t have a lover!”
He stepped to the side to go around her to the door, and she mirrored his movement.
“Go home!” she hissed. “You’re making a frightful ass out of yourself.”
“Brought it on yourself, miss,” Putley crowed somewhere behind Lord Hope.
“Do shut up, Putley!” Beatrice cried, and then squeaked because Lord Hope had eliminated her barrier by simply picking her up and moving her to the side. “Oh, don’t!”
But it was too late. He’d opened the door, barged into the room, and then stopped dead, blocking her view.
She heard a breathless laugh from Jeremy. “Lord Hope, I presume?”
“Goddamn,” the viscount said.
“Oh, get out of the way!” Beatrice shoved hard at his great big stupid back.
He moved obligingly to the side.
She hurried past him. “Jeremy, are you all right?”
“Quite all right,” he said, his color high and hectic. “Haven’t had this much excitement in years.”
“And it isn’t good for you.” She took his hand and turned to glare at Lord Hope, still standing by the door. The man didn’t even have the grace to look embarrassed. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“I told you”—he casually kicked the door closed behind him—“discovering you in a lover’s nest. It seems I might be mistaken.”
“Might be?” She balled her free hand and set it on her hip. “You’ve been a complete and utter idiot and have insulted both me and Jeremy. Obviously we aren’t lovers—”
“There’s nothing obvious about it,” he growled, eyeing the remains of Jeremy’s legs beneath the covers. “I’ve known men who’ve lost their legs but not their—”
“Don’t be disgusting!” She was shouting now, but it was completely out of her control. How dare he? What kind of woman did he think her? He’d humiliated her!
Behind her, Jeremy was making choking sounds, and she turned swiftly, alarmed.
He was trying to hold back big belly laughs and not succeeding very well.
“Oh, not you, too,” she said, thoroughly exasperated, even as she poured him a glass of water.
“Thank you, dear,” Jeremy said. “And I’m sorry. At this moment, I feel that I should apologize for my entire sex.”
“You should,” she grumbled. “You’re rotten to the core, all of you.”
“Yes, I know,” he said humbly. “You’re simply a saint to put up with us at all. But I have a boon to ask of you, dearest.”
“What is it?” she asked, not very graciously.
“Would you mind terribly going and seeing to Putley’s ruffled feathers? I know it’s a tiresome chore, but I’d rather not have him tattling to my parents about this matter.”
“Oh, all right.” She glared at Lord Hope. “But I’ll have to leave you here with him.”
“I know.” Jeremy adopted an angelic expression that didn’t fool her for a moment. “I’d rather hoped to have a chat with the viscount.”
“Humph,” she said. She stepped up to Lord Hope until they were nearly chin to chin—although she had to tilt hers quite far up—and poked him in the chest with her forefinger.
“Ow,” said Lord Hope.
“If you lay a single finger on him,” she hissed into his face, “or overexcite him in any way, I’ll tear that silly earring right out of your ear.”
Behind her, Jeremy went into peals of laughter, but she didn’t bother glancing at him again. She slammed the door behind her and stomped off in search of Putley.
Men!
REYNAUD RUBBED THE spot where Miss Corning had attempted to drill her forefinger through his breastbone. “I apologize.”
“’Tisn’t me who needs the apology,” the man in the bed said, still laughing. “I’ll give you a hint—her favorite flowers are lily of the valley.”
“Are they?” Reynaud eyed the door speculatively. He hadn’t brought a woman flowers in eons, but the situation might very well call for the formal English method of suing for peace from a lady. At the moment, though, he had other matters to settle. He turned back to the man in the bed. “Battle wounds?”