The Beast's Bluestocking (The Bluestocking War), Eva Devon [e textbook reader .TXT] 📗

as if weighed down with the heaviness of his sense of honor and duty. “I am not about to condone my friend’s behavior if what I think is happening. . .is happening.  My friend—and he is my friend, though at this moment, that is in jeopardy—has taken advantage of you.”

“No,” she said, sighing as she put down her butter knife. “If anything, one could argue, I have taken advantage of him.”

Merrill let out a strangled sound of dismay. “How is that possible? You are a lady and he—”

“A gentleman,” she stated, nodding before she took up her napkin and wiped the nonexistent crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “Yes. But he is in a most precarious state, and I have played upon his emotions most strongly.”

A tight note of frustration came out of Anthony. “That is not true,” he said. “You make me sound like a damsel in distress.”

“Shush,” Phillipa said with an arched brow. “I am defending your honor, lest you have to go and fight Mr. Merrill in a duel. After all, that does seem to be the track that Lieutenant Merrill is on. Is that not true, sir?”

Merrill scowled. “I do not like the idea of calling my friend out for a duel, but I believe that he shall act with honor. So, such an act will not be necessary.”

Merrill pinned Grey with what could only be called a death stare as he challenged, “Correct, Grey?”

Anthony's hand tightened around his knife as if he was contemplating plunging it into his friend at that particular moment, though she did not believe he was so bloodthirsty or impulsive.

“Please,” she said, holding her hands up. “I pray peace. I have not come here to make enemies of friends.”

“It is not you,” Merrill bit out, “that could do such. It is but Anthony's behavior.”

Clara let out a cry of frustration as her cheeks blazed a frustrated red. “Have done. All this silliness transpiring is beyond ludicrous. My brother has found some happiness with my friend. My friend has found some happiness with my brother. Merrill, you are the only one who seems displeased by this situation. Sit down and have some tea.”

Merrill gaped at Clara. “I beg your pardon,” he said.

She pulled an unused porcelain teacup towards her and hoisted the delicately painted pot. “You heard me, sit down. Would you like sugar in your tea or perhaps you prefer coffee? I can have some sent for.”

Merrill cleared his throat and stared at Clara as if she had grown another head. “Tea,” he said, “will do.”

“Good,” Clara said. “Now sit down and tell my brother what you've come here for. Clearly you had some ulterior motive when you arrived, rather than accosting us all before we've had a proper chance to have enough of the congenial beverage to make the day possible.”

Merrill tugged at his waistcoat, then smoothed his cravat. “If you insist, Lady Clara, I shan't make your morning more difficult than it must already be, seeing your brother act so shamefully.”

“Sit down,” Lady Clara all but growled.

Merrill did, clearly taken aback.

As he adjusted his chair, Clara poured out a cup of tea for him.

“Would you care for sugar?” she asked, even as she put it in whilst he began to say no.

She added a great deal more sugar and then poured milk in. He had a most distressed look upon his face, and Phillipa had the decided that he did not take milk at all.

Still, Merrill swallowed back his protests and took the offered cup of tea. He sat quietly, staring at the beverage.

“What is it that has brought you here so early in the morning?” Anthony asked.

Merrill swung his gaze up to him, his jaw on edge. “I have news of Captain Adams.”

“Have you, by God?” Anthony asked, pressing his forearm against the table’s edge.

“Indeed.” Merrill looked decidedly uncomfortable. “Don't you think we should go to another room so we don't disturb the ladies?”

“Disturb the ladies indeed,” Phillipa said as she took a sip of her tea. “You make me feel as if I am a hot house plant that is about to be exposed to a cold gale.”

“It is a cold gale,” Merrill warned factually. “The man that I speak of is the devil.”

“The devil,” she repeated. “That seems rather dramatic.”

Anthony’s face darkened. “Actually, quite the contrary. I do think Merrill is correct in his summation. Adams is one of the most evil men that I've ever come across.” His face tightened, and his eyes. . . Memories seemed to dance through them. Terrifying, cruel memories. “A sadist,” he added.

“A sadist?” she echoed, trying to understand. Her father had been horribly manipulative and unkind, but she’d never known physical violence. “That is a most strong word.”

“Yes. And it’s warranted,” Anthony replied with little emotion, as if he could not yield to feeling lest he lose control of himself. “Adams takes a pleasure in hurting those beneath himself.”

Anthony’s hand tightened into a fist on the table. “What is your news, Merrill?”

Merrill unfolded the cream-colored, creased paper, smoothing it. “It seems that Captain Adams was spotted not going north as we first thought.”

Merrill sat silently for a moment, then added pointedly, “He is coming to Cornwall.”

“I beg your pardon?” Anthony said, his face hard.

With little change in expression, Merrill continued, “My runner caught sight of him not far from Devon. God knows if he's coming this way.” Merril shook his head. “He might simply be seeking a ship to take him away from England.”

“There are many better ports he could choose,” Anthony gritted. “He wouldn’t need to come this way, don’t you agree?”

“Possibly,” allowed Merrill. “It's hard to know with a man like that. He also might know we're following him and be trying to throw us off his scent.”

Anthony looked to the windows and the expression that crossed his face was frightening to behold. An angry god could not be more foreboding.

“We cannot allow him to escape England without justice,” Anthony pronounced.

“Agreed,” said Merrill.

“Such a thing would