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)
‘Where are you going at this hour?’ the Duke calls. ‘Pray do tell I will not be forced to venture into town and drag you from the arms of any naked light skirt.’
I scowl at the darkness and rub at my sore head before looking back, finding an irritatingly cocky smile. He is a fine one to speak, as I know he too has frequented the rooms of Kentstone’s before he courted Eliza, so if I am being made to feel disgraceful, I shall extend the same kindness to His Grace. ‘I hope you have cancelled your membership now that you are a taken man, Your Grace.’
His face drops. ‘What the hell happened to your forehead? It’s as red as a baboon’s arse.’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘And where the hell are you going?’
‘To rescue another sister from the arms of another highly unsuitable male.’
The Duke smiles, starting the walk across the square to number one. ‘I do so hope you have better luck this time, Melrose.’
‘I will,’ I reply quietly, walking on, my head beginning to pound, and, let it be known, it is not through alcohol. Clara has a lot to answer for.
When I reach Fitzgerald’s house, I stomp up the steps and bang on the door with little finesse or care for disturbing anyone sleeping in their homes nearby. It swings open rather swiftly, and Fitzgerald’s butler looks me up and down. ‘Mr Melrose?’
‘I must see Fitzgerald,’ I say, pushing past him, hearing movement at the top of the stairs where I find Fitzgerald pulling on a robe.
‘Melrose, what of this ungodly hour?’
‘Have you seen Clara?’
His sleepy face scrunches up as he takes the stairs to join me in the hallway. ‘Young Miss Melrose? Should she not be in bed at the hour?’
‘Indeed she should, except she is not.’
‘And why, may I ask, would you believe I would know of her whereabouts?’
I falter in my approach. Hell, to openly ask about the stable boy, I risk ruining Clara, especially if my suspicions are correct and she is, indeed, with him. Why didn’t I consider that before? Perhaps because I am full of champagne. Or because your mind is elsewhere! ‘Ummm,’ I clear my throat, coughing into my balled fist. ‘I believe she had a question she was quite insistent on asking your fine self.’ What question? I must think on my feet once more, for I am certain I will only get away with this ridiculous performance if I act it well. ‘We were discussing it earlier, you see, and, impatient as she is, she wanted an answer to her enquiry quite promptly, so I thought perhaps when I noticed she was missing from her bed, she had come here to clear up the mystery.’ What on earth am I rambling on about? Fitzgerald must think me mad. Or ape-drunk. And on that thought, I start rocking back on my heels, hoping to convince him I am, in fact, totally foxed.
Fitzgerald shakes his head in dismay. ‘Let me see if I can perhaps put her mind at rest.’
‘Thank you.’
His head tilts, and he waits, silent, while I wait, confused. ‘The question?’
‘Oh, yes, the question.’ Damn it. ‘Yes, the question.’ What is the blasted question? For Christ’s sake, I will kill her at this rate, so what does it matter if my little sister is ruined?
‘Yes, the question. And make it good, Melrose, so I may return to my bed at least satisfied I was awoken for a worthy reason.’
‘Thirteen!’ I blurt, something coming to me, something I have actually wondered myself but never thought to ask.
‘Thirteen, what?’
‘There is no number thirteen Belmore Square,’ I say, turning and going to the door, passing Fitzgerald’s baffled-looking butler. I open it and motion to the beautiful square, where the finest properties circle the lush, colourful square gardens that are contained by shiny gilded railings. ‘One through to fourteen, but you miss number thirteen and I …’ I hesitate. ‘Clara has often wondered why, and now she has piqued my curiosity too.’ I face him with a smile, quite proud of myself for thinking so quickly, especially when I am quite top heavy. I’m even prouder when I find Fitzgerald smiling broadly. I believe I may have dug myself, and Clara, out of this little hole.
‘I was wondering when someone might ask.’
‘You were?’
‘Yes, albeit I never expected it to be in the middle of the night.’ He comes to me and looks proudly out at his square. ‘There are a few reasons, if you must know.’
‘Oh?’ I look out on the square too, admiring it with Fitzgerald.
‘I’m rather religious, Melrose,’ he says. ‘And a tad suspicious, I suppose, so, you see, I omitted the number thirteen for fear of cursing it. Judus Iscariot was the thirteenth guest at the Last Supper and went on to kill Jesus Christ. Also, Loki, who was notoriously terrible and suspected to be the root of all evil in the world, was the thirteenth god to arrive at the party in Valhalla, destabilising the twelve gods who were rather enjoying themselves up until his entrance.’ He smiles. ‘Add to that the fact that two houses on my previous projects have burned down, I decided to eliminate the number from my life.’