Seconds

So this was the lair of the dragon.

Certainly the sitting room was a trifle exotic, but it was in a simple, tasteful way. There was nothing overblown or garish or frightening about it. Indeed, it looked liked the parlor of a man who genuinely enjoyed the items displayed.

Or maybe the unholy hour at which he was awake was warping his thoughts.

Honestly, he was going to kill Henry himself. Young men were entirely too exhausting to be endured, especially at a quarter past three in the morning.

Leaving off his sulky thoughts, he gave himself over to studying an exquisite fan made of jade and silk, a delicate watercolor of lotuses painted upon it. Beautiful.

The door opened in the middle of his minute examination, and he looked up to see that while the lair was rather anticlimactic, the dragon himself was not.

He had long ago sworn off anything which did not require coin, having been burned too badly to trust any pleasure freely given, but he was not above idle admiration. Beauty was to be admired, in all its forms.

Haven Linwood, the notorious bastard son of the late Earl of Chelsea, was certainly living up to the rumors. Half-oriental, the rumors said, and had lived abroad until only a year or so ago – it showed. The eyes were definitely oriental, and positively stunning in a face that perfectly blended two wholly separate and distinct cultures. His size was entirely his father’s – tall and broad, and quite fit, if the way his shirt and breeches clung to him was any indication. The hair, deep brown or black, was just touched with silver and in need of a trim. He had not even bothered to comb it, and to judge from his casual state of dress, he had not been expecting visitors.

Society had exploded with scandal when the dying Earl had claimed his bastard son and declared him heir. They were still gossiping about it, likely for lack of anything better to talk about.

How the new Earl of Chelsea had managed to get tangled up in this affair, he did not know. It was none of his business, so he did not intend to find out.

Linwood looked at him with eyes the color of good whiskey. “You are the Viscount Knox?” His accent was almost perfect, but not quite. There was a…lilt to it, an almost sing-song quality, though not the sort of music to which Alexis was accustomed.

He smiled in reply. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Alexis Mariemont, at your service, my lord. I do apologize for the ungodly hour at which I have disturbed you.”

“Ungodly?” Linwood’s mouth quirked in amusement. “I suppose that depends on which gods one follows.”

Alexis laughed, surprised. “I prefer gods who bid me sleep at half past three in the morning.”

“Then I suppose the hour is ungodly, indeed,” Linwood replied. “What brings you here at this unholy hour, my lord?”

He quirked a brow. “I confess I am astonished you have to ask, my lord.”

Linwood frowned, brows furrowing. “Well, I shall have to confess my own confusion. I am at a loss as to why you would be here. Has something transpired of which I am unaware?”

Alexis coughed to hide a laugh. “Indeed, my lord. I believe a self-proclaimed good friend of yours declared you his second after he was challenged to a duel by a young man who is a friend of the family.”

“Otis,” Linwood said with a groan. “No lad that young should be allowed to open his mouth unless given direct order.”

“My sentiment exactly,” Alexis agreed, laughing openly this time. “As we are the seconds in this little drama, I thought perhaps our cooler heads might prevail.”

Linwood nodded. “Of course. Come, we can speak in my study. I was working upon translations when you called.”

Turning, he led the way from the sitting room.