Dudley nodded and eased himself down.
Grif bade him good night and made his way downstairs, fetched a bottle of whiskey from the drawing room, then settled in the small parlor off the main entry. He removed his coat, his neckcloth, and waistcoat, and loosened the shirt at his throat. Then he settled onto a large, overstuffed chair, where he intended to wait all night if he must to have a word with Hugh.
As it turned out, it was all night and part of a day.
The sound of a female voice raised over a male voice woke Grif, and he came out of the chair, grimacing in pain at the horrible crick in his neck from sleeping in the chair. He staggered to his feet and to the door of the little parlor, blinking into the dim light where Hugh and Miss Brody were arguing something fierce, Dudley standing by, hopping from one foot to the next as he tried to stop them.
“God’s blood, MacAlister!” Grif roared.
The three of them fell instantly silent and looked at Grif.
He glared at Hugh, who smiled unabashedly and pushed a hand through his hair. “Grif—”
“Save yer bloody breath,” he said through clenched teeth.
Hugh started toward him, holding his hands up in innocence. “I’ve an explanation—”
“Aye, one that involves gambling and whoring, I’d wager.”
“Now that’s where ye are wrong, lad,” he said pleasantly. “A wee bit of gambling, but no’ whoring.”
“How much did ye lose, then?”
Hugh shrugged. “A pittance. No’ more than forty pounds.”
Grif gave him a look of disgust, turned, and retreated into the foyer.
“Come now, Grif!” Hugh cried laughingly. “Surely ye’ll give me a chance to explain!” He followed Grif inside, with Miss Brody and Dudley on his heels.
“Explain it, then,” Miss Brody sniffed. “Tell his lordship how ye follow me about, sniffing at me skirts like a dog, then.” She looked at Grif. “Yer lordship, I’m naught but a poor Irish girl. I’m only trying to earn a bit of money for me family in Ireland. I’ve a good reputation and I’ll thank ye to help me keep it. Mr. MacAlister willna leave me be, what with his claims of love and devotion.”
“Keara!” Hugh exclaimed, his arms wide. “Ye wouldna want to alarm his lordship with silly gossip!”
“I’m already quite alarmed, thank ye,” Grif snapped. “I’d no’ be even a wee bit surprised if Lady Worthall has sent for the constable by now!”
“Ach, that old bat’s no’ worth yer fretting,” Hugh said dismissively. “I told her to mind her own affairs.”
Grif lifted his aching head and glared at his old friend. “Ye did what?”
Hugh shrugged. “I’ve grown weary of her meddling, lad.”
“Have ye lost yer bloody mind?” Grif exploded. “Have ye any idea what trouble she could bring if she were of a mind?”
“I havena lost me mind,” Hugh shot back, his expression darkening. “I’m sick unto death of her! And how in God’s name do ye expect me to sit about, waiting on ye hand and foot like yer bloody slave?”
“Ye agreed to be me valet!”
“Aye, but I didna agree to be a prisoner in this god-forsaken house! I’ll come and go as I please and I’ll speak to whomever I desire!”
That was it, the last straw. Whether it was his fatigue or his general disgruntlement with the situation, Grif hardly knew. All he knew was that his feet were moving ahead of his brain, and he took a swing at Hugh without really thinking.
Hugh ducked his swing and lunged for him, but Grif easily sidestepped Hugh at the last moment, then fell on him. He heard Miss Brody cry out, heard Dudley plead with them to stop, but he and Hugh were upon one another, arms flailing, legs kicking, rolling about the carpet into furniture. He heard one crash, then another, felt a wooden chair as it fell onto his back, but his mind was wrapped around Hugh and his determination to kill him.
It wasn’t until he heard Dudley shout, “Ye’ve a caller, milord,” and felt a kick in the small of his back with another, desperately hissed, “Caller!” that he finally let go of Hugh’s neckcloth, and Hugh let go his hair. For a moment, a very brief moment, the two men stared at one another, wide-eyed, as what had just happened sunk in. And then suddenly they were both desperately moving, clambering ungracefully to their feet.
Grif quickly wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and looked to the door.
And his heart stopped cold. Cold.
There, between a very angry-looking Miss Brody and a very frantic-looking Dudley, stood Miss Anna Addison, her bonnet dangling from her fingers, her parasol fallen to the floor in front of her, and her mouth agape.