Free Anne Barbour by Point Non Plus nodrm Page A

Westhaven River at the request of George II’s wife, and so called because of its sinuous shape.
    Numerous duels had been fought on these grounds. Devon hoped that, as result of this outing, Beau wouldn’t challenge him to pistols at dawn.
     “I am amazed,” said Zoe, who was nothing if not tenacious, “that you have so low an opinion of yourself, after all those women and all those intrigues. Although you are growing older. I have the impression from my father that as a man grows older his fleshly prowess declines. I do not mean to indicate that Beau’s prowess has declined, because I don’t believe it has, but the possibility that it might do so periodically plagues his mind. It is my opinion that when a gentleman’s imagination is thus being exercised, it is to the detriment of his—”
    Devon ground his teeth. “Never mind!”
    Zoe swiveled toward him on the seat, disarranging Nell, who squealed. “What is going on between you and Cousin Wilhelmina? Don’t say nothing, like she did, because I can tell the difference between chalk and cheese.”
    Mr. Kincaid wasn’t encouraged to hear his amatory efforts referred to as ‘nothing’. “What did Mina say?”
    “What does it matter what Mina says? You should be more sympathetic, because my heart has been broke.” Zoe scooted closer. “Or maybe my heart was not, because I seem to be recovering nicely. Maybe I have yet to meet my own true love.”
    Devon inched himself, and his reins, away from Nell’s grubby, grasping fingers. “‘ Love is a familiar. Love is a devil. There is no evil angel but love.’ Shakespeare said that, I think.”
     “For someone who doesn’t believe in love, you know a lot about it,” Zoe huffed.
     “One can know about something without experiencing it first-hand.”
    “If something doesn’t exist, one can hardly know about it. You are a humbug, sir.”
    “Humbug,” echoed Nell. Having decided she liked this new word, she repeated it several more times.
    The poet Shelley’s pregnant wife Harriet drowned in the Serpentine. Devon was strongly tempted to introduce his passengers to a similar fate. “I am nota humbug.”
    “Yes you are!” insisted Zoe. “You lust after Mina, and she lusts after you, yet you both deny it, which makes no sense to me. Although Mina’s lovers don’t live long, so it may be for the best.”
    Mr. Kincaid muttered something beneath his breath. Zoe added, “You do not want her made unhappy, in any event. Mina would be made most unhappy were she to discover I went to Vauxhall without an escort.”

 
    CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
     
    All was quiet at Moxley House, neither Zoe nor Nell being on the premises. The remaining residents were enjoying this brief respite, each in his or her own way. Meg was in the scullery, cheerfully scouring pots. Samson was overseeing the army of servants who cleaned the gaming suite.
    Mina had taken refuge in the morning room. Grace the cat lay draped across her lap, while Romeo the goat sprawled at her feet. Romeo had tried to ingest a rhododendron bush and wasn’t feeling well. Mina kept firm hold on his leash lest he revive and try to eat the furniture.
    The room stank of goat.
    Mina wished people would start redeeming their pledges. The watches and rings she could dispose of, if at a fraction of their worth. An umbrella, in London, could always be put to good use. Romeo, she had come to consider a member of the household. As for Nell—
    She wondered what Devon was doing, and what Zoe was doing, and what Zoe was doing to Dev.
    And when Abercorn was going to reclaim his hell-born babe.
    Mina was annoyed with everyone. Devon, for taking Zoe up in his curricle. Zoe, for wanting to be ravished by every male she met. Beau, for playing least-in-sight. Moxley, for dying and leaving her in possession of his gaming hell. Quin for being Quin.
    Romeo raised his head and made a sound reminiscent of a creaking door. Mina rubbed the sole of her slipper along the goat’s