Free Gayle Buck by The Desperate Viscount

wakened, he lay still for a moment wondering why he should feel a hint of anticipation for the day. Then he recalled his unexpected visitor and swung himself out of bed, calling for his valet, Tibbs.
    A short while later Lord St. John entered the breakfast room. He saw that Captain Hargrove was already before him. The gentleman’s coat was rumpled and his cravat bore the signs of having been unsuccessfully smoothed, while his hair stood up in unruly waves. The captain was morosely staring at a cup of coffee.
    “Good morning, Hargrove. I trust that you slept well?” asked Lord St. John, crossing to the sideboard to make his selection.
    Captain Hargrove, having glanced up quickly at the sound of his voice, grimaced. “Aye, as well as any man could stone-drunk on a sofa too short for the purpose.”
    Lord St. John laughed as he filled his plate. “I apologize for my remiss hospitality. Perhaps I might make up for it with a decent repast.” He looked round with a hint of mockery in his eyes. “The kippers are particularly good, I think.”
    Captain Hargrove gave a perceptible shudder. “Thank you, but no. I could not look a kipper in the face. I shall stick with coffee.”
    Lord St. John took his plate to the table and seated himself. He started on his kippers with every appearance of appreciation, while Captain Hargrove, somewhat green about the mouth, watched him with revolted fascination.
    At length, Lord St. John said, “I must admit to curiosity, Captain. I had not thought us such particularly good friends that you would feel able to make free with my settee.”
    Captain Hargrove flushed. “My apologies, my lord. I had no intention of doing so. I meant only to call on you briefly. Though now that I am sober, it seems a dashed stupid thing to do at all.”
    Lord St. John leaned back in his chair, having finished with his breakfast. He waved aside the footman’s offer of coffee. Drawling, he said, “Not at all, sir. I am quite willing for you to call on me, for I enjoyed immensely our last encounter. Are we to try pistols at twenty paces with the pips of playing cards for targets?”
    Captain Hargrove laughed. “Not this morning, my lord. My head is not in it and I fear my hand would shake so that I would disgrace myself.”
    “A pity, for I would like nothing better than such a contest.” Lord St. John regarded his guest for a moment. He dismissed the footmen and when the door had fallen shut behind their retreating backs, he then asked softly, “Why have you come, Captain?”
    Captain Hargrove again flushed. He looked uncomfortable. “As I said before, it was a dashed stupid thing to do. I had a notion, you see, that—well, it is neither here nor there now. Pray disregard the intrusion, my lord. I should get back to my quarters before my batman decides I have been abducted.”
    Lord St. John played with his knife. He looked up as the captain rose from the table. “But I fear that I cannot disregard it. Captain Hargrove. We are scarcely acquainted; yet you felt so strongly about this notion of yours last night that you insisted upon waiting for me to return. I really cannot let you go without understanding something of what was in your thoughts.”
    Captain Hargrove appeared acutely uncomfortable. “My lord, I would rather not say.”
    Lord St. John smiled thinly. The bare warmth in his eyes had disappeared. His voice turned cold. “Indulge me, Captain.”
    For a moment the gentlemen measured each other.
    Captain Hargrove smiled then, and shrugged. “You will likely plant me a facer for it, but I suppose that even with this head I shall survive. The plain fact of it is, my lord, I come to offer you whatever might be in my power to give. I-I have heard of your reverses and having taken a liking for you, I determined that I, at least, would not turn my back.” There was resolution, as well as an underlying echo of anger, in his voice.
    Lord St. John heard it and understood. He felt a surge of fury at the