Page 38 of The Duke of a Thousand Desires

“What were you doing there alone at night?” Sir David asked suspiciously. “Anticipating a duel with a rival? I wasn’t the only guest who heard a gun go off in the garden. Did you kill someone? Was his body spirited away by the benevolent Society of Boscastle?”

“Funnily enough I heard a similar theory espoused last night. You played the corpse.”

“Good gracious.”

Simon had promised Ravenna he would not resort to bloodshed. That did not rule out other means of elimination. “If I had a gun,” he said, “I would have widened the crease between the blindingly white cheeks of your arse.”

“My -- my what?”

“You know the place. It’s where your head is evidently lodged. Any man who can’t keep his tadge in his trousers when he can be seen by all and sundry -- any man who would betray the lady he professed to love, with another’s wife -- well, you are a waste of skin.”

Sir David backed away, his mouth agape like a fish drowning in the scum of his own pond. “But – I -- I want another chance. Christian forgiveness.”

“Go to church. First you betray an enchanting woman at her cousin’s party. Then you have the brass to confront the man who has been forced to repair the harm you inflicted.” It made Simon cringe to imagine Ravenna sharing this mutton-head’s name, his bed. She’d been brave and wise to break their engagement.

“I do not follow you,” Sir David said.

“I don’t expect you to understand. Should I simplify my speech? You. Stupid. Lost. Woman. You deserve to be thumped into oblivion. To my regret, Ravenna has requested that I don’t spill your pallid blood. You have caused her enough misery.” Simon exhaled. “Just go quietly. Leave my sight. Leave London. I want to hurt you in vile unspeakable ways. Get out. Go in peace, or, if you insist, in pieces.”

A coach horn blared in the street. Simon suppressed the impulse to physically remove Sir David from his sight. Luckily for his unwelcome caller, Timpkins appeared in the doorway, obviously eavesdropping on the confrontation.

“The rag-and-bone man is here, your grace,” Timpkins announced.

“So am I,” Lord Rhys said over the estate steward’s shoulder. “Not that one should make a connection.”

Timpkins held open the door for Rhys to enter, all the while eyeing Sir David as if he emitted a bad smell. “Have we any rubbish to give the street fellow?” he asked Simon.

“How the dickens should I know?” Simon replied. “Ask around the kitchens.”

Sir David was scrambling to collect his hat and gloves from beneath the gaming table where the objects had fallen. Simon glanced away to resist the temptation to give the nuisance a boot in the rump to hurry his progress.

When he turned around again, the room was empty. Rhys, Timpkins, and Sir David had disappeared. He heard the front door slam and covered his eyes with his hand.

At least he had kept his promise to Ravenna. And he would not bear witness to whatever roguery was about to ensue.