The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)

The Leopard Prince (Princes #2) Page 25

No wonder Violet was hiding. She must’ve sent letters to all three of their brothers. George narrowed her eyes. Her sister was probably in the hills at this very moment, trying to figure out exactly how one went about drinking dew.

“You’ve been reading my mail again.” Oscar selected a tart from the tray, apparently having forgotten the bun, and shook it at Ralph. “That letter was to me. Yours said nothing about sheep.”

Ralph opened his mouth and closed it a few times, like a mule unsure of the bit between its teeth. “How would you know that if you hadn’t been reading my letters?”

Oscar smirked in a loathsome way. One day someone was going to hit him. “I’m older than you. It’s my duty to keep tabs on my impressionable young brother.”

Crash!

Everyone jerked around to the fireplace, where shards of glass lay on the hearth.

Tony leaned on the mantel and frowned sternly back. “I hope you didn’t care for that crystal vase, George?”

“Uh, no, not at—”

“Good,” Tony clipped. “Now, then. Edifying as this display of brotherly love is, I think we’ve wandered from the main point.” He held up a hand and ticked off his large-knuckled fingers. “One, do you think Harry Pye is a madman going about the countryside killing Granville’s sheep?”

“No.” That might be the only thing she was sure of.

“Fine. Ah. Ah.” Tony shook his head at Ralph, who’d begun to protest. “Do you both trust George’s judgment?”

“Of course,” Ralph said.

“Implicitly,” Oscar replied.

Tony nodded, then turned back to her. “Two, do you want to marry Harry Pye?”

“But, Tony, a land steward!” Oscar burst out. “You know he’s only in it for…” He stopped and looked flustered. “Sorry, Georgie.”

George tilted her chin away. She felt as if something fluttered in her throat, impeding the air.

Only Tony met the objection head-on. “Do you think he wants your money, George?”

“No.” Beastly, beastly brothers.

He raised his eyebrows and stared pointedly at Oscar.

Oscar threw up his arms and pushed his open palms at Tony. “Fine!” Oscar went to brood by the window, taking his plate of food with him.

“Do you want to marry him?” Tony persisted.

“I don’t know!” She couldn’t breathe. When had it come to marriage? Marriage was like a fluffy coverlet that enveloped its occupants closer and closer, the air growing thin and stale, until they stifled to death and didn’t even realize they were already dead.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. “I know you’ve avoided marriage thus far, and I can understand. We all can.”

At the window, Oscar shrugged one shoulder.

Ralph looked at his feet.

Tony just stared at her. “If you’ve given yourself to this man, don’t you think the choice has already been made?”

“Maybe.” George got to her feet. “Maybe not. But in either case, I won’t be pushed. Give me some time to think.”

Oscar looked up from the window and exchanged glances with Tony.

“We’ll give you time,” Tony said, and the sympathy in his eyes made her want to cry.

George bit her lip and turned to a nearby wall of books. She trailed a fingertip over the spines. Behind her she heard Ralph say, “Up for a bit of a ride, Oscar?”

“What?” Oscar sounded irritable—and like his mouth was full again. “Are you mad? It’s begun to rain.”

A sigh. “Come with me, anyway.”

“Why? Oh. Ooh. Yes, of course.” Her two younger brothers quietly exited the room.

George almost smiled. Oscar had always been the least perceptive of her siblings. She turned to look behind her. Tony was frowning into the fire. She winced. Oh, damn, she’d forgotten to tell him yesterday.

Tony must have uncanny peripheral vision. He glanced up sharply. “What?”

“Lord, you’re not going to like this. I meant to tell you right away and then…” She turned over a palm. “I’m afraid there’s another sisterly problem you must deal with.”

“Violet?”

George sighed. “Violet has gotten herself into a bit of a fix.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“She was seduced this summer.”

“Bloody hell, George,” Tony said, his voice more sharp than if he’d yelled. “Why didn’t you tell me at once? Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. And I’m sorry, but I only got the story out of her yesterday.” George blew out a breath. She was so weary, but it was best to get it over with. “She didn’t want to tell you; she thought you’d make her marry him.”

“That is the usual response to a lady of good family being compromised.” Tony frowned at her, his eyebrows ferocious. “Is the fellow suitable?”

“No.” George pressed her lips together. “He has been threatening her. He says he’ll expose her if she doesn’t marry him.”

He stood still for a moment before the fireplace, a big hand propped against the mantel. One forefinger tapped slowly on the marble. She held her breath. Tony could be unbelievably stuffy and conventional at times. It probably came from growing up the heir.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he said abruptly, and George let out her breath. “Who is this man?”

“Leonard Wentworth. It took me forever to get it out of her. She’d only tell me when I promised that I wouldn’t let you force her into marriage.”

“Glad to know I’ve been cast as the choleric father in this drama,” Tony muttered. “I’ve never heard of Wentworth. What is he?”

George shrugged. “I had to think about it, but he must be one of the young men who came up with Ralph this summer. Remember when you had that hunting party in June?”

Tony nodded. “There were three or four friends with Ralph. Two of them I know, the Alexander brothers; they’re from an old Leicestershire family.”

“And Freddy Barclay was there; he didn’t bag any grouse, and the others teased him about it unmercifully.”

“But one of the others shot ten birds,” Tony said thoughtfully. “He was older than the rest of Ralph’s party, nearer my own age.”

“Violet says he’s five and twenty.” George grimaced. “Can you imagine a man of that age seducing a girl not even out of the schoolroom? And he’s pressing her for marriage.”

“A fortune hunter,” Tony said. “Damn it. I’ll have to question Ralph about him and find out where to look for this scoundrel.”

“I’m sorry,” George said. Nothing she did recently seemed to work out well.

Tony’s wide mouth softened. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t get cross at you for this man’s sins. Oscar, Ralph, and I will sort this out, never fear.”

“What will you do?” George asked.

Tony frowned, his heavy brows drawn together. He looked just like Father. For a moment he didn’t answer, and she thought perhaps he hadn’t heard. Then he looked up, and she drew in her breath at the steel she saw in his blue eyes.

“What will I do? Make him understand how very foolish it is to threaten a Maitland,” he said. “He won’t be bothering Violet again.”

George opened her mouth to ask for details, then thought better of it. This was one time when it might be better to mind her own business. “Thank you.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “It’s one of my duties, after all, to look after the family.”

“Father didn’t.”

“No,” Tony said. “He didn’t. And between him and M’man it’s a wonder that we survived at all. But then that’s part of the reason I vowed to do better.”

“And you have.” If only she had done as well with her own responsibilities.

“I’ve tried.” He smiled at her, his wide mouth curved boyishly, and she realized how rarely he smiled anymore. But then his smile died. “I’ll take care of Violet’s problem, but I can’t do the same for you until you tell me which way I should start. You need to make a decision about Harry Pye, George, and you need to make it soon.”

“DOES SHE HAVE A GOLDEN cunt, Pye?”

Harry stiffened and slowly turned to the speaker, his left hand flexed and loose by his side. He’d taken the boy on his rounds this morning after Lady Georgina had left his cottage; then they’d ridden to West Dikey. He’d hoped to find a pair of shoes for the lad.

The oaf who’d spoken was the big-fisted man from the brawl at the Cock and Worm. The knife wound that Harry had given him stood out a livid red on his face. It started at one side of his forehead, slashed across the bridge of his nose, and ended on the far cheek. He was flanked on either side by two big men. They’d chosen a good place to confront him. A deserted lane, not much more than an alley. The stink of the open sewer running through the middle of the lane was powerful in the sun.

“You ought to put a poultice on that,” Harry said, nodding at the crusted scar on the man’s face. It was oozing pus.

The other man grinned, stretching the end of the scar on his cheek until it broke open and leaked blood. “Does she give you pretty things for your stud work?”

“Maybe she dresses his pud with gold rings.” One of the man’s cronies giggled.

Beside him, Harry felt the boy tense. He laid his right hand on his shoulder. “I can open that wound for you, if you like,” Harry said gently. “Drain the poison away.”

“Poison. Aye, you’d know about poison, wouldn’t you, Pye?” The scarred man sneered in amusement at his own wit. “Hear you’ve turned your poisoning from animals to women now.”

Harry frowned. What?

His opponent correctly interpreted his frown. “Didn’t you know, then?” The man cocked his head. “They found her body on th’ moor this morning.”

“Who?”

“That’s a hanging offense, that is. Murder. There’re those who say your neck should be stretched right away. But you’ve been busy with your mistress, haven’t you?”

The big man leaned forward, and Harry’s left hand dropped to his boot.

“Does she tell you when to spend, Pye? Or maybe she doesn’t let you spend at all. Would soil her fine, white body, wouldn’t it? Having common spunk on her. Don’t bother with that.” He gestured to where Harry’s hand hovered near his knife. “I wouldn’t want to hurt a man-whore.”

The three men walked off, laughing.

Harry froze. Whore. The name they’d called his mother so long ago.

Whore.

The boy moved beneath his hand. Harry looked down and realized he was clutching his shoulder too tightly. The boy didn’t complain, just shrugged a bit.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked.

“Will.” The boy looked up at him and wiped a hand across his nose. “My ma’s a whore.”

“Aye.” Harry released Will’s shoulder. “So was mine.”

GEORGE PACED THE LIBRARY THAT EVENING. The windows were black mirrors, reflecting the darkness outside. For a second she paused and studied her ghostly reflection. Her hair was perfect, a rarity, but Tiggle had redressed it after supper. She wore a lavender gown, one of her favorites, and her pearl drops. Perhaps she flattered herself, but she felt she looked well, almost handsome, in the frock.

If only she felt as confident inside.

She was beginning to think that the library was the wrong place for this meeting. But what other choice was there, really? With her brothers in residence at Woldsly, she couldn’t ask Harry to her rooms, and the last two times she’d gone to his cottage… George felt her face warm. They hadn’t done much talking, had they? So there wasn’t an alternative. But still. The library felt somehow wrong.