Free The Lady Hellion by Joanna Shupe Page B

and Tolbert took offense to a Scotsman involving himself in a dispute between English gentlemen.”
    Quint’s eyebrows lifted, and MacLean nodded. “Indeed. I could not let that stand, you ken. Tolbert’s to meet me on a field of honor and Sir Stephen’s agreed to be my second.”
    Familiar pieces of information slid around in Quint’s brain: Duel. Buckskin breeches. MacLean. Young pup. Cousin to the Viscount Quint—and then they fell into place. Good God.
    She had truly gone too far this time.
    His fingers curled around the edges of the armrests. It was all he could do to stay seated, not to jump up and . . . what? Shake his fist in impotent anger? Pen a strongly worded note? It wasn’t as if he could charge through Mayfair, demanding answers. Christ, he was pathetic. “What does Sir Stephen look like?” he forced himself to ask.
    “Young. Scarcely out of the schoolroom, if you want to know the truth. A bit short, but then everyone seems short to me. Brown hair. Spectacles. Thin.”
    Hiding her eyes. Smart. No, not smart, he corrected. Nothing about her scheme showed intelligence. Did she have any idea of how utterly ruined she would be if discovered? A litany of questions peppered his brain, but no answers emerged. He could not imagine a single reason why she would be out and about in London Society dressed as a man. At a brothel , no less.
    Pending a tower with an impenetrable lock, there would be no stopping her—and he could do nothing. He’d never regretted his condition more than at this moment. To think of her out in London, at night, unchaperoned, dressed as a man . . . any number of unfortunate things could happen. She needed a keeper—only her keeper would not be London’s biggest rake. The last man Quint wanted in Sophie’s proximity was the one before him now.
    MacLean watched him closely, awaiting a response. On occasion, a reputation as a madman could definitely serve as a benefit.
    Quint snapped his fingers. “Of course, my cousin . How could I forget the lad? I mostly keep to my study and cannot keep track of his comings and goings.”
    “So he does live here?”
    “Yes, he has been known to knock about the place. But keep your distance from him.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “He’s unpredictable. Raves like a lunatic some nights. Other days he cannot get out of bed.” He tapped his temple. “ Non compos mentis. ”
    MacLean lifted a brow. “Well, I wanted to speak with him about Tolbert. He was supposed to call on me yesterday, yet he never showed.”
    Understandable. To pass herself off as a man would be infinitely easier at night than during the day. At least she employed some restraint. “And as the boy’s appointed guardian, I am afraid I cannot allow that. His mental status would make him an unreliable second. He might suffer a fit and shoot you instead.” MacLean frowned but nodded, and Quint asked, “Do you happen to know why Tolbert challenged Sir Stephen?”
    MacLean pushed his large frame out of the chair and grinned. “I dinna ken the whole story, but I heard it was over a woman at The Pretty Kitty.”
    Quint choked, which he quickly covered with a cough. “Is that so? I’ll be sure and ask the lad next time I see him. So take care, for your own sake, to give Sir Stephen a wide berth. I would not even approach him, were I you.” He stood up and held MacLean’s stare. “Stay far, far away from Sir Stephen.”
    MacLean held up his hands, his brows raised. “Not a problem. But he might get into less trouble if you can fatten him up. Lad’s skinnier than a fence post.”
     
     
    A large carriage waited in the alley behind the tea shop. The driver jumped down at Sophie’s approach. “Greetings, my lady.”
    “Good day, Biggins.” He flung the door open for her and set the step. “Thank you.” She climbed up and inside, the well-sprung vehicle creaking slightly in protest. The curtains were drawn and a lamp had been lit in the interior. Biggins closed the door behind