Lord Libertine. Gail Ranstrom
gave her that infuriating grin when he should have been mumbling an apology. “If I cannot escort you, allow me to have Biddle hail you a coach.”
With a snap of his fingers, her cloak appeared and he draped it around her shoulders. At his nod, Biddle hurried ahead of them and stepped into the street with a raised hand to summon a coach. And before she could protest, he was handing her up and asking her address. She opened her mouth to reply when she realized what he’d done.
“Tell the driver to turn right on Whitehall and I shall call to him where to stop.”
Again came that infuriating grin. “’Twas worth a try, Bella.”
She was saved the trouble of a reply when the coach lurched into motion.
Edwards cleared his throat for the third time, and Andrew realized the valet was not going away. He sat up and pushed his fingers through his snarled hair—testament to a restless night. “What is it, Edwards?”
“A note, sir.’ Tis urgent.”
He pushed the bed curtains back and winced at the midmorning sunlight, then swung his legs over the side of his bed and took the letter from Edwards. He recognized the handwriting and the seal. Bryon Daschel, Lord Humphries. What could have gotten him up so damn early? He broke the seal and read the short letter.
Whatever cobwebs remained from his sleep were wiped clean. He stood and went to the basin to splash water on his face. “Tell His Lordship I will be down when I’ve dressed, Edwards. Have Cook make coffee.”
“Coffee, sir?”
“Yes, coffee.” For once, it was too early to start drinking. And too damned important.
Edwards bowed and closed the door behind him with a mercifully soft click.
Andrew dried his face on the soft cotton towel and regarded his reflection with disgust. No time to shave. He ran a comb through his hair and stepped into the trousers that Edwards had laid out for him the night before. He was dressed in record time and hurried to the library.
“Tell me you’re jesting, Dash.” He crossed the room to the coffeepot that Edwards had just delivered and poured them both a cup. Disdaining cream or sugar, he took his cup to his desk and sat, looking for a sheet of paper and a pen.
Dash brought his cup to sit across from Andrew. “Not jesting, Drew. And I believe I’ve already notified all our mutual friends,” he said in a quiet voice.
Andrew stilled and sat back in his chair. “What happened?”
“After you left us last night, Jamie and Charlie decided to go to Thackery’s and see what ladybirds might be available. McPherson and I went looking for friends down by the docks. You know McPherson’s fondness for opium dens.”
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