Amanda Quick: Dangerous

"That's the plan."

"Incredible." Garrick shook his head in admiration. "No one will believe for a single instant that you're actually afraid to meet the boy, of course. Your reputation is too well known. People will say you are merely amusing yourself again. Merryweather will become a laughing­stock."

"Perhaps. That's not my problem."

"The club betting books will fill up with wagers on when you'll finally get tired of the game and put a bullet in him," Garrick said.

"What goes down on the betting books is not my concern, either." Sebastian helped himself to a small swallow of Garrick's untouched port. "In the meantime you'll see that my apologies are conveyed to my worthy opponent?"

"If you insist. This is a first for you, though, Angelstone. And not in your usual style."

"Who knows? Perhaps I'm changing my ways. It's just barely possi­ble that I am becoming more responsible as I advance into my mature years."

Garrick eyed him with some concern. "You're in a strange mood tonight, my friend. Mayhap it's time you indulged yourself again in your little hobby. It's been a while since the last occasion, I believe."

"Perhaps you're right. Then again, perhaps I'm in a strange mood because it's been a rather strange night."

"And getting stranger," Garrick muttered. His gaze shifted to a point behind Sebastian's left shoulder. "Your cousin just walked into the room. Odd. He rarely visits this particular club."

"Only because he knows I can frequently be found here."

"Precisely. So what, one might ask, is Fleetwood doing here to­night?"

"That's easy enough to guess." Sebastian set down his glass. "He has no doubt come to wish me luck on the field of honor."

"Not bloody likely." Garrick frowned. "The opposite, no doubt. Fleetwood would not weep any tears if someone were to put a bullet in you, Angelstone, and everyone knows it. As far as he's concerned, you usurped the title, and he's never forgiven you. He and his over­bearing mama both assumed for years that he was next in line."

Sebastian shrugged. "As did everyone else in the family."

Garrick fell silent as Jeremy Fleetwood came up behind Sebastian.

"Angelstone." Jeremy's voice held the raw, brittle tone of a young man who knows he is facing an older, more powerful male. It was a tone balanced between fear and bravado.

Sebastian ignored the interested hush that fell over the crowd at the nearest gaming tables. He knew everyone in the room was strain­ing to hear the confrontation without appearing to do so. The entire ton was aware of the icy feud between Sebastian and his relatives.

It was highly unusual for either side to even speak to the other. The fact that young Fleetwood was here in Sebastian's favorite club and had actually addressed his cousin by name would no doubt fasci­nate the gossips every bit as much as the rumor of a duel.

"Was there something you wanted, Fleetwood?" Sebastian turned slowly to face Jeremy. "Aside from my title, that is? Or have you come to wish me good fortune on the morrow?"

Jeremy's handsome face flushed. His eyes were a much darker shade than Sebastian's, brown rather than gold. His hair was lighter in color, a deep mahogany rather than midnight black. Nevertheless, Sebastian knew the family resemblance between himself and his cousin was unmistakable. He also knew that obvious fact irritated the rest of the Fleetwoods. They would have preferred him to have resem­bled his fair-haired mother.

"You bastard." Jeremy doubled a hand into a fist. "One of these days someone is going to put a bullet through your cold heart and it will serve you right."

"Thank you." Sebastian inclined his head politely. "Always nice to know one's family is behind one in a time of crisis."

"It's true, then?" Jeremy demanded, appalled. "You're going to subject the family reputation to another round of scandal by engaging in a duel with some country yokel?"

"You'll be happy to learn that the rumors of a duel are false."

"I don't believe it."

"It's the truth, cousin." Sebastian smiled. "Tell your doting mama to cancel her order for mourning clothes. I imagine she has already selected something appropriate in black on the off chance that her fondest wish might come true on the morrow. Unfortunately for her, I intend to live yet another day."

Jeremy scowled. "I heard that the brother of the Merryweather chit challenged you."

"Did you? Amazing how gossip flows through the ton, isn't it? A pity that so much of it is false."

"Damn it, man, what are you up to this time?"

"Nothing that need concern you, Fleetwood."

"You're an arrogant bastard, cousin."

"Arrogant I may be, but I am most definitely not a bastard." Se­bastian smiled again. "And that, dear cousin, makes all the difference, doesn't it?"

Jeremy's mouth worked, but in the end he seemed to be unable to find words. He spun around on one well-shod foot and stalked out of the room.

The buzz of conversation resumed at the card tables. Sebastian turned back to pour himself another glass of port. He stopped when he saw the thoughtful expression in Garrick's eyes.

"Don't worry, my friend," Sebastian said. "Fieetwood and I have an understanding. Long ago we both made a pact to detest each other."

Garrick's gaze remained on the door. "I believe he truly hates you."

"Not entirely his fault, I suppose. His mother has taught him to do so from the cradle. She never forgave my father for running off with my mother and thereby soiling the family name for all eternity. When I came into the title last year instead of her precious Jeremy, she nearly keeled over with apoplexy."

"I am well aware of your family history. Be careful, Angelstone. I swear there was murder in Fleetwood's expression just now."

"Calm yourself, Sutton. Your imagination is running riot."

"I'm not so certain. I have the distinct impression that if Jeremy Fleetwood could find a way to do you in without making himself look guilty in the process, he wouldn't hesitate a minute." Garrick smiled suddenly. "There's a solution to your dilemma, you know."

"And that is?"

"Do your duty by your title, man. Get yourself a wife and then get yourself an heir as quickly as possible. Once the title is secure for another generation on your side of the family, the Fleetwoods will cease praying for your demise. If you have an heir, there would no longer be any point in hoping you'll kick the bucket."

"I congratulate you on your pragmatic approach to the situation," Sebastian said. "Perhaps I shall give your notion some consideration."

Garrick gave him a sharp, inquiring look. "What's this? Don't tell me you've finally decided to be sensible."

"I have been told that at my age a man should begin to demon­strate the qualities of wisdom and responsibility, Sutton."

Garrick shook his head again. "You truly are in an odd mood tonight."

"Yes. Perhaps you'd better convey my apologies to young Mer-ryweather before I change my mind."

Sebastian ignored the gossip that swept through the ton the following afternoon as the haut monde learned of his apology to Trevor Merryweather. Instead of making himself available to the curi­ous in his club or retreating to the privacy of his library, he took himself off to keep an appointment at a certain coffeehouse near the docks.

Whistlecroft's message had reached Sebastian just as he had sat down to a leisurely late breakfast. The note had been short and to the point. Whistlecroft's messages generally were brief, as the Bow Street Runner did not read or write with any great skill.

Sir,

There be a matter of interest I wish to discuss with you. If it be agreeable with you, I suggest the usual place at three.

Yrs. W.

At three o'clock Sebastian walked into the coffeehouse and found Whistlecroft waiting for him in his customary booth. The Runner raised his mug in greeting. Sebastian went forward to join him.