~~~~
By week's end, however, Gareth needed more than bucolic walks around the Lambourn Downs. He missed his friends. He missed doing things with those friends. By the time Saturday night came around — and with it, Perry and the other Den of Debauchery members — the Wild One was ripe for trouble.
"You're looking fit as a fox," Perry drawled, flicking open his snuff box and taking a pinch. "Never thought you'd want to go out and raise hell again so soon."
"I am hardly an old woman," Gareth returned, standing in front of the looking glass and carefully tying his cravat. He wore a tailored coat of plum silk, cream breeches, and a waistcoat embroidered with gold thread. His hair was tied back and lightly powdered, his sword already at his hip. Unlike his friends, Gareth had spent most of the last two weeks cooped up and bored, and he was not about to pass another day, let alone this night, in similar fashion. "Besides," he added derisively, "it was little more than a flesh wound — a scratch, as Lucien called it. Now." His gaze met theirs in the mirror. "Where to tonight?"
"Whist at Cokeham's?" suggested Sir Hugh Rochester hopefully.
"Boring," said Gareth.
Neil Chilcot pulled out a half-shilling and began flipping it in the air. "I hear Broughton's having a cockfight in his barn...."
"I hate cockfights," Gareth declared.
"Lord Pemberley's mistress is rumored to be doing her famous 'forbidden fruit' act tonight. I say we attend that," murmured Tom Audlett, grinning and elbowing Hugh.
"No, no, none of that," Gareth muttered impatiently, still standing before the looking glass and pulling at the frothy lace until it lay just-so against his shirt and waistcoat. He turned, perfectly handsome, perfectly tailored, and perfectly innocent.
Looks were deceiving. There was nothing innocent about Lord Gareth de Montforte at all.
"I am bored with endless rounds of drinking, whoring, and gaming," he announced. "There must be something else, something more exciting we can get up to without taking ourselves all the way off to London...."
"Speaking of excitement, how's that fine bit of muslin who saved your life, eh, Gareth?"
"Yes, have you made a suitable impression upon her yet?"
Gareth grinned. "I am working on it."
"Ha! I can imagine what your despot of a brother thinks about that!"
"Who gives a damn what he thinks? Lucien may be Blackheath's master, but he sure as hell isn't mine. Now come, let's go. The evening waits, and I simply cannot abide being in this place another minute."