Yankee Earl Read Free Page B

Demned tradesmen don't know how to behave in the presence of their betters.”
           Jason looked over the shorter man's head and met those disquieting yellow eyes, almost certain the future duke had put his friend up to this. “If you're wagering for Arless, I should like to place my money on his opponent. Say, one hundred pounds?”
           Suddenly the conversation about them quieted as heads tilted in Jason's direction. Few men in the room were as tall as Beaumont, but he and Forrestal were of a height. The Englishman uncoiled his body from the wall and quite literally shoved his short, rotund companion out of the way.
           “My, my, chaps, what have we here, hmmm?” He circled Beaumont like a shark, gliding smoothly in spite of his advanced state of inebriation. “Speaks like a foreigner.”
           Beaumont felt Drum's cautioning hand on his arm but shrugged it off. “I was raised in America.”
           One thin pale eyebrow arched sardonically. “Ah, you must be Cargrave's heir. The Yankee earl,” he said with a sneer.
           Jason's patience was about at an end. “Do you take my bet or not?” he asked the short fellow, ignoring Forrestal.
           Before his companion could reply, Forrestal purred, “Of course he will, and how about another with me? Something a bit headier…just to make it interesting. Say a monkey? That is, five hundred pounds…if you have it?”
           “Oh, I have it. Unlike your father, my grandfather trusts me with the purse strings,” Jason replied with a wolfish grin. “Five hundred it is.” As he turned away, he was pleased to see an angry flush darken the Englishman's face. “I have the feeling that His Almost-Grace arranged for that fellow to waylay me,” he murmured to Drum.
           “Perhaps. But Forrestal would resent any foreigner inheriting Cargrave's extensive titles. Xenophobic, don't you know?”
           Jason chuckled. “What Englishman isn't? Arless' opponent had better be good or Grandfather will cane me for squandering six hundred pounds.”
           “It was not politic to cross swords with Forrestal, even though he is a stiff-rumped lout,” Drum replied.
           “I know little about politics—but I'm skilled enough with a sword.”
           Drum harrumphed and corrected his companion. “Cutlass. Forrestal would cut you to fish bait with a foil.”
           “Don't place any wagers on that,” Jason said softly as the exhibition began.
           The two combatants were evenly matched, both highly skilled with foils, but Arless' foe began to steadily outpoint him. By the time the contest was over, sterling flasks of spirits were being upended all around the room in celebration or consolation.
           “It would be wise to send a servant to collect your winnings on the morrow,” Drum advised.
           “Recall, I'm not a politic fellow.”
           Sighing, Drum followed his impetuous American charge. He did not like the glint in Forrestal's eyes when they alighted on Beaumont. What the deuce put the bee in his britches over Jason?
           “Ah, the Yankee earl come to collect his winnings,” Forrestal slurred, taking a long pull from a pocket flask embossed with his family crest. “Just like the rest of the tradesmen…crass moneygrubbers, the lot of you. But I forget myself. After all, you're to be excused, being raised in a land without nobility.”
           "There are many definitions of nobility, sir. In America, one of those is a man who pays his debts without whimper."
           Several of the Englishman's companions shuffled nervously, exchanging whispers behind their hands. Forrestal made a swift, cutting gesture with his arm and all fell silent. “Do you intimate that I would default on a debt of honor?” he purred to Beaumont.
           Jason simply held out his open palm. Unsmiling, he said, “Do you whimper?