Page 2 of Regency in Color

Instead of pain emanating from his knuckles, there was a constricting, dull ache in his forearm. Colin looked at the pained area. A brawny hand latched onto his arm in a grip so tight its fine, black hairs stood out against the contrasting milky-white knuckles. Colin followed the line of the arm up to the face of its owner.

His lips spread into a wide, lopsided grin. “Ah, Hamon, my old friend.”

Richard Clarke, the Earl of Hamon, was one of Colin’s closest friends since their time at Eaton. Hamon returned the greeting with a scowl that made most delicate young ladies quiver, and most men mousy versions of their formerly lionhearted selves. But Colin had known Hamon since the time his adolescent bladder couldn’t hold its contents through the night, thus nullifying his fear of the other man. Even the portion it would be wise for him to maintain during moments such as these.

Colin used his free hand to pat Hamon on the shoulder. “I was in the middle of winning a few pounds. How rude of you to interrupt.”

Hamon shook his head at Colin, disappointment hewn into each crease in his brow. He released Colin’s arm but kept his hands poised at his side, ready to intervene again if necessary. “More like saving you from your idiocy. Come along. It’s time to go.”

The gathered men grumbled amongst themselves, not appreciating the thwarting of their entertainment. They dispersed, many complaining about all the ways they could have spent the assured winnings they would have received from Lord Emsbury’s defeat.

Lord Emsbury’s shoulders slackened, his entire body nearly convulsing as he sighed in relief. He quickly scurried back to his seat, collected his chips, and relocated to another card table.

“Go?” Colin pulled a peevish face, sloppily shaking his head. “Nonsense. I still have several more hours of gambling left before retiring for the evening. It is still evening, is it not?”

Colin stepped around Hamon, heading back to his table. The large quantities of alcohol he’d consumed made his movements slow, giving his friend the advantage. Hamon quickly blocked his escape. He retrieved Colin’s discarded coat, hat, and gloves and held them out to him.

“Your grandmother awaits you at Torridune House. After returning from Lady Alborn’s ball and finding you not at home, she sent a footman to my townhouse asking me to retrieve you. Needless to say, we both knew there were only two places you would be at this hour.”

Colin stepped back, pinching the bridge of his nose to ward off the impending headache that, as of late, always followed the mention of his grandmother. “If Lady Herstshire is at home, I have many, many, many more hours of gambling left. And why do you still not possess the ability to tell her no?” He shot Hamon a bleary-eyed, withering glare. “We’ve been friends for far too long for you not to have learned how to do so from me. It must be nearly midnight by now. Your excuse was built into the inappropriate hour for calling on a person to ask for favors.”

Hamon lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “Because unlike her ungrateful grandson—that would be you—I know the value of a caring maternal figure, seeing as how I grew up without one. Thus I respect her and have no qualms assisting her plots to mold you into something resembling an upstanding gentleman, when and where I can.”

Colin made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a snort. Some friend he had. Hamon had abandoned him in favor of becoming his grandmother’s champion. The treacherous lout. He should have never invited him home over the school holidays.

“Look at you. Using guilt to try and sway me. You grow more like her by the minute. I forbid you from visiting my grandmother for at least a fortnight. Maybe two.”

“And I chose to ignore you. Now let’s go.” Hamon thrust Colin’s garments out with more force, his stony expression leaving no room for further arguments.

Colin snatched the offered items and clumsily put them on. “I am coming with you only because you’ve ruined my mood. Now I must seek the company of a more agreeable, and preferably more buxom, companion to revive my spirits.”

Hamon didn’t reply. He stepped to the side and swept an arm out, prompting Colin to precede him. Colin eyed his friend suspiciously as he passed. If his grandmother awaited him, there was no way Hamon would allow him to do anything other than go straight to her. His silence generally preceded a diabolical maneuver that forced Colin to do as he bade.

It was no surprise to Colin that his carriage awaited him right behind Hamon’s when they stepped out of Brooks. No doubt, his driver had been given strict instructions to bring Colin straight home. Fortunately, Colin didn’t economize when it came to paying his staff, which had the marvelous effect of making them very loyal and swift to carry out his requests. Including swallowing their timidity and ignoring the threats against their lives that Hamon had a habit of issuing to deter disobedience.

Stepping up to the coach, Colin paused in front of the door held open by a footman and looked at Albert, his devoted and trustworthy driver. Albert inclined his head, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. A devilish grin pulled at the corner of Colin’s mouth—he’d meet no opposition to overruling Hamon’s instructions. He’d be burying his face in the exquisite Miss Catherine Griffith’s Cupid’s kettle drums soon enough.

Colin turned to Hamon, working to keep the glee of winning this clash of wills from his expression. “I believe this is where we part ways old friend. Enjoy the remainder of your evening.” A hint of gloating entered his voice. “I know I shall.”

Hamon crossed his arms over his chest, his expression neutral. “You’ll go straight home then?”

“Not a chance,” Colin scoffed.

Hamon’s lips curled into a humorless smile, his visage turning fiendish. “I hoped you’d say that. This is for your own good.”

Before Colin could work past his inebriated confusion to form a coherent response, Hamon cocked back his fist and punched him in the face. Clearly, he’d learned a thing or two from his lessons at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing academy. Colin crumpled to the ground. Hamon’s command to Albert to take him home followed him into the darkness.

Chapter Two

Colin slowly emerged from his slumber, immediately wishing to plunge back into the nothingness of sleep. Throbbing spasms rippled from the back of his head, along his scalp, until they exploded behind his eyes. He squeezed them shut. The tight skin around his left eye pulsed with sharp, stabbing pain. He touched the no doubt bruised, swollen area, and hissed.

“Oh, good. You’re awake,” a familiar imperious feminine voice said.

Colin groaned, fighting off a new pain located auspiciously close to his arse. “Hello, Grandmother. Did you watch me while I slept?”

“More like watched over you to make sure you didn’t leave this world while you slept. The way you poison your body with alcohol I wasn’t sure how you’d fair. I’ve been here a short while. If you didn’t wake soon, I planned to rouse you. By force if necessary.”

“I don’t doubt it.”