Free Lucien Tregellas by Margaret McPhee Page A

Earl Tregellas’s curse drew the attention of several of the surrounding gentlemen dotted around the room.
    â€˜Lucien?’ Guy watched the rigidity grip Lucien’s jaw and saw the telltale tightening of his lips. He leaned forward from his chair, all previous lounging forgotten, keen to know exactly what was printed in today’s copy of The Morning Post that had wrought such a reaction from his brother. Lucien normally preferred to keep his emotions tightly in check in public.
    Lucien Tregellas threw an insolent stare at those gentlemen in White’s lounge area who were fool enough to be still expressing an interest. The grandfather clock over by the door ticked its languorous pace. A few newspapers rustled. The chink of porcelain and glass sounded. And the normal quiet drone of conversation resumed. ‘Come, Guy, I’ve a mind to get out of here.’ He folded the newspaper in half and threw it nonchalantly on to the small occasional table by his elbow.
    Both men rose, and, with their coffee still unfinished on the table, left the premises of White’s gentlemen’s club without so much as a backward glance.
    Lucien’s curricle was waiting outside, the horses impatiently striking up dust from the street. ‘Do you mind if we walk?’
    Guy shook his head. Things must be bad.
    A brief word to his tiger and Lucien’s curricle was gone, leaving the brothers alone in the late winter’s pale sunlight.
    They walked off down St James’s Street. ‘Well?’ said Guy.
    Lucien made no reply, just clenched his jaw tighter to check the unleashing of the rage that threatened to explode. To any that passed it would seem that Earl Tregellas was just out for a casual morning stroll with his brother. There was nothing in his demeanour to suggest that anything might be awry in his usual lifestyle. Lucien might disguise it well, but Guy was not indifferent to the tension simmering below the surface of his brother’s relaxed exterior. That Lucien had failed to prevent his outburst in White’s was not a good sign.
    â€˜Are you going to tell me just what has you biting down on your jaw as if you were having a bullet extracted?’
    Lucien’s long stride faltered momentarily and then recovered. ‘Lord Farquharson entertained a small party last evening in Bloomsbury Square to announce his betrothal to Miss Madeline Langley, elder daughter of Mr Arthur Langley and Mrs Amelia Langley of Climington Street.’
    Guy stopped dead on the spot. ‘He means to marry her?’
    â€˜It would appear so.’ There was a harshness in Lucien’s features, an anger that would not be suppressed for long.
    â€˜But why?’ Guy turned a baffled expression upon Lucien.
    â€˜Keep walking, Guy.’ Lucien touched a hand briefly to his brother’s arm.
    â€˜Why not just turn his attention to another, easier target? By Hades, I would not have thought him to be so desperate for Miss Langley above all others. The girl has nothing particular to recommend her. She doesn’t even look like—’ Guy caught himself just in time. ‘Sorry, Lucien, didn’t mean to…’
    â€˜I warned him if he ever tried to strike again that I would be waiting. Perhaps he thought that I was bluffing, that I would just sit back and let him take Madeline Langley. I did not think he would resort to marriage to get his hands on her.’
    They walked in silence for a few minutes before Guy slowly said, ‘Or he may have misinterpreted your defence of Miss Langley.’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous,’ snapped Lucien. ‘Why on earth would he think that I have any interest in the girl?’
    Guy raised a wry eyebrow. ‘For the same reason that half of London did only yesterday.’
    â€˜What else was I supposed to do? Watch him run his lecherous hands all over her? Let him force her to a dance she did not want…and more?’
    â€˜It seems that