Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
NOT A PENNY TO RUB BETWEEN THEM
As I pass through the gilded gates of the royal park, I wonder to myself, on a smile, I admit, whether I will be permitted to ride here after tomorrow’s headline is released. To speak ill of the Prince might also find me without an invitation to any of the parties he can’t afford to throw. ‘Such a shame,’ I muse, ambling along at a leisurely pace, admiring the never-ending stretch of rich green grass and trees bursting with fat leaves. I see Mama in the distance chatting with Lady Blythe and Lady Tillsbury. ‘Good afternoon, ladies,’ I say as I reach them. ‘Whatever are you plotting now?’
Mama laughs, loud and high enough to makes one’s ears bleed. ‘Oh, Francis. We were just discussing the Prince’s party tomorrow eve.’
Another lavish affair that the Prince cannot afford to hold. Marvellous. ‘Or what to wear, yes?’ I cock a wry smile at them.
‘Perhaps,’ Lady Blythe says coyly.
‘Am I coming?’ I ask.
‘Of course, he invited you personally!’ Mama’s hand hits her chest, her eyes bright. He invited me personally, did he? I laugh under my breath. Call me suspicious, but could the Prince be trying to keep me sweet? ‘How handsome you look today,’ Mama goes on, looking out the corner of her eye to Lady Blythe and Lady Tillsbury, her lioness senses obviously tingling, telling her some hungry eyes are on her cub. ‘I cannot wait for you to find a young, fresh bride.’ With her tongue in her cheek, Mama coughs and snaps her two friends from their daydreams – her two not so young and perhaps not the freshest friends. ‘Let us continue, ladies,’ she says, motioning them on. ‘I have much to share about tomorrow’s edition.’
She does? That’s odd, because I have not shared anything about tomorrow’s edition. She’s merely enticing them away, distancing the claws, and, perhaps, maybe, probably, removing temptation from me. She need not worry; I am a changed man. I frown and shift in my saddle. Yes, a reformed man, but even a reformed man needs a release. My breeches are becoming tighter by the day. I may have to take matters into my own hands. Literally.
‘Good day to you, Melrose,’ Fleming calls, approaching on his horse, which, I must say, I feel incredibly sorry for. He looks like a sad old struggling donkey that’s weighed down with too many saddle bags. ‘Do you have any news for me?’
‘No news,’ I say, giving Figaro a subtle kick, moving him on faster. He’s asked every day, but until numbers start moving back in the right direction, I will be avoiding in-depth talks with Fleming.
‘The offer won’t stand forever, Melrose. I’m leaving for Scotland next week, so pull your finger out.’
I wince. ‘You’ll get your name and twenty thousand copies,’ I assure him, and probably myself too, while throwing a little prayer up to the sky. When I drop my eyes again, I find myself in the path of a black stallion, and quite a handsome one at that, with an enviable muscled physique and a glossy mane. And upon his back, the cheeky, charming Sampson Winters, a man, I’m sure, who could give the most rakish of rakes a run for their money. I admire his green velvet jacket, a purchase from Mr Jenkins, I’m sure, for I had my eye on that green material myself. ‘Good day to you, my lord,’ I say.
‘And to you, Melrose.’ He pulls his horse to a slow stop. ‘I just saw your father.’
‘Gladstone’s?’ I ask, thinking I may join him.
‘No, he was creeping through the back door of Lady Dare’s.’
I baulk at Winters, astounded. What? Is there a man in the land that Scarlet Dare has not got her claws into? Fuck. I find myself in quite the muddle with not any words coming to me that I might use to defend my father. Christ, the last thing we need are those kind of rumours spreading, even if they are not rumours. Of course, it is commonplace for a man to take a mistress, more common than not, but, actually, I prided myself on having parents that had that rare and precious thing called true love. In fact, deep down, it rather inspired me, and I know it did Eliza. I have, I concede, had many dalliances with many women, but every encounter has lacked wonder. There has been excitement, yes. Charging blood, yes. Anticipation, yes. But never, not once, has there been awe. I should like to experience that one day, for I can only imagine it would heighten all of the pleasures of attraction.
You’ve had it, Frank, and you scarcely touched her lips!
I push that thought away as Sampson regards me closely, and I continue to scratch around in my brain for the right words. I find not one, so, instead, I decide to talk to Sampson man-to-man. ‘My father is a good man, Winters.’