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‘Severe and funereal black, as shall befit my page. You will procure them. No doubt you will prove yourself equal to this occasion. Take the child away, and show him the bath, the bed, and the nightgown. And then leave him alone.’

‘Very good, your Grace.’

‘And you, Léon, rise. Go with the estimable Walker. I shall see you to-morrow.’

Léon came to his feet, and bowed.

‘Yes, Monseigneur. Thank you.’

‘Pray, do not thank me again,’ yawned the Duke. ‘It fatigues me.’ He watched Léon go out, and turned to survey Davenant.

Hugh looked full into his eyes.

‘What does this mean, Alastair?’

The Duke crossed his legs, and swung one foot.

‘I wonder?’ he said pleasantly. ‘I thought that you would be able to tell me. You are always so omniscient, my dear.’

‘Some scheme you have in mind, I know,’ Hugh said positively. ‘I have known you long enough to be sure of that. What do you want with that child?’

‘You are sometimes most importunate,’ complained Justin. ‘Never more so than when you become virtuously severe. Pray spare me a homily.’

‘I have no intention of lecturing you. All I would say is that it is impossible for you to take that child as your page.’

‘Dear me!’ said Justin, and gazed pensively into the fire.

‘For one thing he is of gentle birth. One can tell that from his speech, and his delicate hands and face. For another – his innocence shines out of his eyes.’

‘How very distressing!’

‘It would be very distressing if that innocence left him – because of you,’ Hugh said, a hint of grimness in his rather dreamy voice.

‘Always so polite,’ murmured the Duke.

‘If you wish to be kind to him –’

‘My dear Hugh! I thought you said you knew me?’

Davenant smiled at that.

‘Well, Justin, as a favour to me, will you give me Léon, and seek a page elsewhere?’

‘I am always sorry to disappoint you, Hugh. I desire to act up to your expectations on all possible occasions. So I shall keep Léon. Innocence shall walk behind Evil – you see, I forestall you – clad in sober black.’

‘Why do you want him? At least tell me that?’

‘He has Titian hair,’ said Justin blandly. ‘Titian hair has ever been one of – my – ruling – passions.’ The hazel eyes glinted for a moment, and were swiftly veiled. ‘I am sure you will sympathise with me.’

Hugh rose and walked to the table. He poured himself out a glass of burgundy, and sipped it for a time in silence.

‘Where have you been this evening?’ he asked at length.

‘I really forget. I believe I went first to De Touronne’s house. Yes, I remember now. I won. Strange.’

‘Why strange?’ inquired Hugh.

Justin flicked a grain of snuff from his great cuff.


Tags: Georgette Heyer Alastair-Audley Tetralogy Romance