tell me about your houseguests.” Devlin glanced up from his perusal of the auction pamphlet.
The two men reposed in one of Tattersalls subscription rooms enjoying a brandy. The auction holding their interest wouldn’t start for another hour and there would be many other animals for bid before Trumpington’s horse took the block.
“After the morning I experienced returning from Brighton, breaking my fishing reel—”
“Not the Nottingham rod I just gave you?”
His friend’s immediate interjection voiced disappointment that mirrored his own and Phineas cursed himself for the slip of tongue.
“Unfortunately that’s the one. My entire morning proved unbearable, but it didn’t end there.” Phineas released a sigh of frustration. “I arrived home to find Jenkins with his smalls in a twist, my entire staff bustling about readying the house for the unexpected visit of Maman and her new friends.” He took a sip of brandy, his voice dropping lower. “Penelope Rosebery and her younger sister do seem lovely ladies.”
“Do I detect a note of interest?” Friendly mockery laced Devlin’s question.
“You sound like your wife, except you know I’m in no hurry to marry; although Penelope is pretty in an unusual sort of way. She has the most extraordinary eyes.” Phin didn’t mention the long list of other attributes rushing to mind. He wondered if Penelope had freckles elsewhere on her body or were the charming little spots designed exclusively for her perfectly kiss-worthy nose.
Devlin smirked and finished his brandy.
“What?” Phineas shook his head. “What did I say?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. You’re as transparent as glass and as forthcoming as a waterfall, so let’s hope you weren’t of the same mind in front of said female.” Devlin smothered a grin.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. Penelope’s in London to locate someone in particular. She confessed she has strong feelings for the gentleman.” Phin didn’t share his theory concerning her interests. He’d be every kind of fool to offer further ammunition to his far too witty friend.
“There you are!” Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, approached their table with wholehearted greetings. Lord Harold Chadling followed closely behind. The two gentlemen attended Cambridge with Phin and had come to fetch him as the Trumpington horse was going up on the block earlier than expected.
“There’s a rumbling in the crowd that the horse is unfit.” Harold offered this as the men walked toward the auction house. “The earlier time is meant to avoid further speculation that the animal is damaged goods.”
“Complete rubbish.” Phin knew the rumor as an old ploy to try to diminish bidding. “Have you heard the same, Con?”
Constantine Highborough held the favor of the ton. The folds of his starched white cravat were as perfectly formed as every feature of his face. He moved in all the right social circles and provided the perfect resource for confirming or deflating a rumor.
“Only as of today. Have you met the newcomer Ridley? I’ve heard more speculation about that man than Trump’s horse.”
“In reference to what exactly?” Devlin leaned against the doorframe of the private area where they waited.
“It is said he’s not to be trusted and you can almost see it in his eyes when you look at the man. He doesn’t hold for very long. I would wager he started the rumors concerning today’s auction.” Constantine always cut straight to the truth. “He’s an odd looking man, with that misplaced patch of white against his dark hair. He reminds me of a badger and badgers are sneaky.”
All four men reviewed Ridley. He lingered near the auction platform and appeared overeager. Phineas fingered his lucky coin, safely tucked in his trouser pocket. He intended to win this auction, no matter the extended interest by those out to strengthen their stable. Ridley’s presence did not deter his purpose and Phin wasn’t one to entertain ludicrous harbingers or speculative gossip.
Devlin agreed. “I don’t like him. He interrupted our inspection of the grey earlier and hadn’t the decency to initiate proper introductions or refrain from rude questions. He also stated he didn’t have the pockets for such an animal, so what purpose would be served by deflecting others with rumors about the horse’s health?” Unmistakable dislike furrowed Devlin’s expression.
The conversation proceeded no further as the auctioneer began to call, his deep tenor settling the crowd with alacrity, although a tremor of tentative anticipation reverberated throughout. Bid after bid, the offer for Trump’s horse climbed to an impressive high, the room fell silent and Phineas stood poised to win. The gavel sounded with a second fall. One more strike and Phin would own the horse, but when a male voice objected from the front row, the agent paused. An obstreperous rumble rushed through the room, while the same boisterous voice interrupted with what could only be a higher amount.
The new offer nearly doubled the suspended bid and Phineas, caught off guard as he’d become lost in consideration of Penelope’s fine qualities, jerked to awareness, unsure of what occurred. If Devlin hadn’t rapped his arm he would have missed the opportunity altogether, but instead he whipped his arm upward and dropped the auction paddle. The gavel fell while he attempted to muddle through the occurrence and recover.
“It was Ridley. There’s no way he can sustain that kind of funding and have remained so invisible here in London. The man is proving to be a nuisance.” Harry couldn’t keep the contempt from his voice and Harold Chadling rarely voiced an unpleasant word against anyone. Devlin and Con agreed.
“I would go to him even though he underhandedly won this auction, but without a doubt I am sure it is expected.” Phin threw an angry glare in Ridley’s direction. The crowd had surrounded the man in congratulations and the scene stoked his temper. “Let’s go, gentleman. Ridley played me the fool and I will not easily forget it. I am done here.” He dropped the auction pamphlet and left Tattersalls without another word.
It was half past midnight when Phineas fumbled for the key in his pocket as he stood on the lantern-lit porch of the East End apartment. He didn’t fear for his safety, his fists as lethal as any weapon, but one needed to stay alert during the dead hours, most especially in this section of London.
The curtain fluttered in the window to his left and then the door cracked open far enough for him to see the illuminated smile of the lady within.
“You’ll catch a chill. The dampness of this fog burrows straight to the bones.”
Her concerned tone caused him to grin despite she continued to chide him. He knew her words held a note of affection.
“And where is your coat and cravat? I suppose you thought it would be quicker this way?”
She tugged him off the porch and into the hall, as if her admonishment wouldn’t serve its purpose.
“It is most efficient given I’m restricted to this ungodly hour under the cover of the night, still I couldn’t wait to get here. I’ve had more than my share of disappointment today. A little pleasantness would serve me well.”
She laughed softly as she led him to the back of the house, the rustling swish of her skirts followed by his boot heels, the only sounds to be heard in the hall.
“Cursed imagination. I do not need another problem.” Muttering, Phineas slit his eyes the sufficient width to see the gilded clock on the mantel in his bedchamber. It read half six in the morning. Even his valet would be hesitant to wake him at such an early hour, yet his nightly dreams upheld no such reluctance in gulling him awake with vigorous suggestions concerning his new houseguest.
Her hair reminded him of cinnamon biscuits and her fetching smile made his heartbeat quicken. How would she taste were he to kiss her lips or nibble on her graceful neck? Was