Free Lord Harry's Folly by Catherine Coulter

Indeed, it was inspiration. Dear Louisa was always complaining how Little John wore her to a frazzle and then it was Big John’s turn. Were not Louisa’s letters full of how she wished for a younger person to chase after him when his mother fell exhausted onto a sofa? Well, she now had the perfect solution. She felt rather smug for coming to such a neat resolution so quickly. She couldn’t help but remember though that she hadn’t felt one single whit of smugness the night before, when she’d had to face down that dragon, Lady Buxtell, at four o’clock in the morning. Oh God, she thought even now, remembering how she’d watched Lady Buxtell standing in the empty drawing room, undoubtedly relishing her success in dispatching all the gentlemen either upstairs with her girls or politely removing them from her establishment. Hetty had approached her with a brisk stride, a frown on her face.
    “My Lord Monteith,” Lady Buxtell had said, managing to dredge up a brittle smile, not forgetting or forgiving his sneering rudeness upon his arrival. “You leave us very early. You were with Mavreen, were you not? So untouched she is, so innocent yet skilled, so”
    Hetty interrupted with all the contempt she could muster, “Yes, I had the misfortune to be with that whining, fearful little fool. I was told, my dear Lady Buxtell, that a gentleman would not leave your house unsatisfied. I shall regret telling my friends that your establishment is sorely lacking in service, ma’am.”
    Lady Buxtell’s thin face grew alarmingly red and Hetty knew a moment of fear. To her surprise, Lady Buxtell’s wrath fell instantly upon Mavreen’s head. “That damned ungrateful little tart. And here I picked her out of the gutter, I did. Gave her the best of everything, held nothing back, I did. I should have known when Sir William did not approve of her that the little wretch would cause me nothing but trouble. I’ll kick her arse back in the streets, where she and that skinny arse of hers belong.”
    “It’s what she deserves,” Hetty said. “I’m glad that you agree with me.”
    Lady Buxtell realized with some irritation that she had allowed her carefully polished speech to slip. She turned her eyes to Lord Monteith, and said in a tone that licked his lordship’s boots, “Dear Lord Monteith, of course, there is no charge at all for the evening, let me assure you. Perhaps you have a fondness for redheads? I shall install another such a one for your pleasure, but this time, I shall find a girl who knows her place. I would hope, my lord, that with my assurances to make amends, you won’t feel it necessary to inform your friends of this incident.”
    “Another redhead for my pleasure, you say?”
    “Oh yes, my lord.”
    Hetty flipped an indifferent hand. “Very well, ma’am. I shall say nothing if you promise that this one blighted specimen is out of your house this very day. I want none of my friends to make love to a sniveling, limp excuse for a female. I require more creativity in my pleasures, just as, I understand, does Sir William.” Hetty realized instantly that she had scored a master stroke with this added glaring lie. Lady Buxtell’s eyes gleamed and she smiled slyly. “Ah, so, my lord, now I quite understand you. It will be just as you say, my lord.”
    Hetty bowed slightly and made as if to take her leave, then stopped and said sharply, “Well? Do you plan to wait until noon? Perhaps you won’t toss out the little slut until three o’clock? I want to see the wench thrown out now, madam. Not of course that I disbelieve that you will do what you agreed to, but”
    “This very instant, my lord.” Lady Buxtell walked briskly from the room, gritting her teeth at the officious young man.
    Moments later, a well-coached, sobbing Mavreen was roughly dragged down the stairs, her arm painfully held in Lady Buxtell’s very strong grip. “Here’s the little trollop, my lord. As for you, you ungrateful little wretch” She