“Certainly,” the duke said, making note of it on the paper before him. At least Ewan assumed that was what the man had written. “There will undoubtedly be nights when it is best to have you here. These balls early in the Season do tend to last until sunrise.”
Ewan was less worried about staying out past his bedtime than he was about what Francis would do when he realized Ewan was protecting the woman Francis had targeted for his latest scheme, but Ewan saw no reason to alarm the duke.
“Will you join us for dinner tonight?”
“You will eat dinner in?”
“We have no plans for tonight. Gladstone,” the duke called, and the library door opened immediately, revealing a small man in a dark coat.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“My schedule.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” He withdrew a paper from his coat and slid small round glasses on his long nose. He consulted the paper before looking nervously at Ewan. “You declined invitations to the Althorpe dinner party and the Buckingham’s fete—”
The duke waved a hand. “Just the acceptances, Gladstone.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Tomorrow night you have tickets to the opera. I believe Handel’s Oreste is playing. The duchess, Lady Lorraine, and Lord Neville will be attending with you.”
“Add Mr. Ewan Mostyn to the list,” the duke instructed. “Mr. Mostyn, this is Gladstone, my secretary. Gladstone, this is Lady Lorraine’s new…bodyguard, shall we say?”
Ewan nodded.
Gladstone scribbled vigorously on the paper he held in shaking hands. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mostyn,” he said with a brief glance up. “And should I add Mr. Mostyn as a fourth to your party for the Regent’s ball on Thursday?”
“I think that would be best. Mr. Mostyn?”
Ewan wanted to groan. The opera and the Prince Regent. He’d rather walk unarmed into battle. He’d rather have the enemy pull his toenails out. But neither of those sacrifices would make Francis suffer. If screeching sopranos and tolerating Prinny for a few hours were what it took to thwart Francis’s plans, then Ewan would do it.
By the time Ewan had left the Ridlington’s town house, dusk was settling over the already gloomy streets of London. Ewan pushed through the fog and shadows until he reached the Draven Club.
Porter opened the door, his silver hair shining in the lamplight. The Master of the House took Ewan’s coat and hat. “Mr. Mostyn, would you like dinner?”
For once, Ewan’s thoughts were not on food.
“Who is here?” he asked.
“Mr. Wraxall and Mr. Beaumont are in the card room. Lord Phineas is in the reading room. You just missed the Lieutenant Colonel.”
Damn, Ewan thought. He would have liked to see Draven. He started away, and Porter followed. Ewan waved a hand, dismissing the Master of the House. Ewan knew the club as well as he knew any home where he’d ever lived, and he didn’t want the trouble of waiting for Porter to open doors right now.
In the card room, Neil and Rafe looked up from their game as Ewan entered. Beaumont resembled a fallen angel with his tousled hair and fine features. Neil, dark and brooding, sat straight and tall, still looking very much the leader he had always been. Beaumont smiled, which told Ewan all he needed to know regarding the card game. Rafe was winning.
Wraxall turned over another card, swore, and tossed his cards on the table. Beaumont pulled the small tower of coins to the little pile he’d already amassed. No one played for high stakes at the Draven Club, and most of the coins before Beaumont were shillings and six pence.
“Come try your hand, Protector,” Wraxall ordered. “I’ve been soundly thrashed.”
“I’ll wager you two shillings he didn’t come to play cards,” Beaumont said, tapping his fingers on his chin thoughtfully. “He came to ask us about the Lady Lorraine.”
Ewan had been about to take a seat at the table, but he paused and frowned at Rafe. Was there a woman in London the Earl of Haddington’s son did not know?
“I see by your expression I am correct. And before you rip my head off,” Beaumont said, holding up a hand, “I don’t know her personally. Her name came up when I was making inquiries after the duke.” He looked at Neil. “And before you ask for a report, she’s reputed to be well-liked by other ladies and is said to be lively and vivacious.”
Neil put his hands up as though attempting to ward her off. In the meantime, Rafe closed his eyes and pressed a finger to his temple. “What are you doing?” Neil asked.
“Trying to imagine the Protector entertaining this lively and vivacious chit. I can’t manage it.”
“I don’t have to entertain her. The duke wants me to act as her bodyguard.” Ewan took a seat at the table.
“Too bad. I would have liked to have seen it,” Beaumont said, lifting the deck of cards and shuffling them deftly between his hands. His fingers moved quickly, cards disappearing and reappearing as though he were a magician. “I would not have connected the two of you at all, if I hadn’t heard she was smitten with Francis Mostyn.”
“Your arse of a cousin?” Wraxall asked.
Ewan gave a curt nod. Even the thought of his cousin was enough to make his jaw tense and his blood thrum in his veins.
“She needs more than a bodyguard.” Wraxall sipped from the glass at his elbow. “She needs taste.”
“Why doesn’t the duke just forbid the marriage?” Beaumont asked.
“He did. She tried to elope.”
“She sounds like trouble,” Wraxall declared.
“She sounds interesting,” Beaumont argued. “The elopement was foiled?”
Ewan wished it were that simple. But he knew his cousin too well. He could have told the lady even before the assignation that Francis would not show. “Francis told her he changed his mind about the elopement. He claims he wants the duke’s blessing.”
“More likely he wants the duke’s daughter’s dowry,” Wraxall added.
As usual, Neil had hit the mark dead center.
“You’re to protect the lady from another elopement attempt by your cousin?” Beaumont asked.
“And from any other fortune hunters. I understand her dowry is substantial enough to attract attention.”
“And how does she feel about her new bodyguard?” Beaumont smiled.
Ewan didn’t answer questions everyone knew the answer to.
“Don’t tell me you have to escort her to balls and garden parties,” Wraxall said, ever practical.
So Ewan didn’t tell him.
“Is she at least attractive?” Beaumont asked.
Ewan rubbed at the building tension between his brows.
“What does she look like?” Beaumont asked. “Brunette? Blond? Redhead?”
“A female,” Ewan said.
Beaumont waved an arm as though washing his hands of Ewan.
“What’s your first engagement?” Wraxall leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“The opera.”
Wraxall groaned, but Beaumont leaned forward. “Which one?”
When the other two men just stared at him, Beaumont shrugged. “I enjoy the opera.”
“You enjoy opera singers,” Wraxall corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Beaumont ignored him. “You’ll have to wear a cravat and pumps. You do own a cravat?”
Ewan cringed. “I own one.” After all, he was a son of the Earl of Pembroke. His gaze narrowed on Beaumont. “How do you stay awake? I can’t ever understand them.”