Free Gayle Buck by The Desperate Viscount Page A

hypocrisy of society. He drew in a breath to steady himself. “My name makes the rounds, is that it, Captain?”
    Captain Hargrove balled his fingers on the table. “However reluctant I am to say it, yes, my lord.”
    “It is not unexpected.”
    Lord St. John rose abruptly, flinging his napkin to the table. He saw the gentleman opposite squaring his shoulders as though preparing to receive a blow. “No, I have no intention of brawling with you, Captain. I am not an ancient Greek to punish the bearer of unpleasant tidings. Instead, I accept the gesture that you have made on my behalf. It is a rare thing to find friendship in my present position.”
    Lord St. John’s lips twisted, then eased into a genuine smile, faint though it was. “Are you up to seconding a race, Captain?”
    “A race, my lord?” Captain Hargrove’s eyes reflected startlement, then the instant of his understanding. “I should like nothing better. When do you leave?”
    Lord St. John’s glance raked the captain’s figure, still attired in evening clothes. “I shall take you up at your lodgings in a half hour. That should be time enough to effect a change.”
    “More than ample, my lord! I shall be awaiting your arrival,” said Captain Hargrove with the flash of a grin. He gave the viscount his address at an hotel that catered to military gentlemen when they were on leave from the Peninsula.
    Lord St. John went around the table and clapped the gentleman’s broad shoulder. “Good. I shall alert a few of my acquaintances to the start of the race and then be with you.” He showed his twisted smile. “Though I am somewhat out of favor in certain quarters, I can yet command attention over a sporting wager.”
    Captain Hargrove shook his head. After shooting a keen glance at the viscount’s flinty expression, he wisely did not attempt to express his sympathy. Instead, he said, “I trust that the book is not yet closed, for I should like to place a small wager of my own. I have a shrewd notion that one could pocket a tidy sum from backing you, my lord.”
    Lord St. John glanced at his companion as he reached for and opened the breakfast room door. He felt a vague disappointment. He had not thought the gentleman to be a toad-eater. As he crossed the threshold into the entry hall, Captain Hargrove matching his steps, he said with cynicism, “Surely that is a far-reaching assumption, sir. You have never seen me drive.”
    “But I have seen your team, on the occasion of our duel. I’ve never laid eyes on a finer set of cattle. As for your driving skill”—Captain Hargrove smiled faintly as he met the viscount’s cold eyes.—”I am a fair dab at judging my man, and in addition I have had the rare privilege of measuring a length of steel against you. Aye, I think it safe enough to risk my blunt on you, my lord.”
    Lord St. John cracked a laugh as he accompanied Captain Hargrove to the front door. He saw the gentleman out, much to the astonishment of his wooden-faced porter. “I am humbled, indeed. Captain, I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”
    “As shall I, my lord,” said Captain Hargrove, flashing his dazzling grin once more. He ran lightly down the steps to the curb and hailed a hackney.
    Lord St. John turned back into the town house, a rare smile easing the severity that had lately come to deepen his characteristically cynical expression.
     

Chapter 8
     
    Lord St. John took up Captain Hargrove at the curb in front of that gentleman’s lodgings. Several fashionable acquaintances, some of whom had given the viscount a scarce nod of recognition in the days just past, and many unknowns had gathered on the walk in front of the hotel to witness the beginning of the race. A brisk business was done in the placing of last-minute wagers.
    Captain Hargrove placed his own wager, remarking that there was nothing he liked better than a contest whose outcome could not be in doubt. His cheerful declaration aroused a fury of competition