Until You

"And me!" exclaimed his companion with a hiccup.

Baskerville was appalled by their youthful misconception of civilized manhood, and he felt obliged to point out their gross lack of understanding. "Langford and DuVille would never stoop to settling matters with their fists, my good fellow! That's the difference between you hotheaded young pups and gentlemen like DuVille and Langford and the rest of us. You ought to study the excellent ma

"Thank you, Baskerville," idly murmured Nicki because Baskerville seemed to be waiting for some sort of affirmative response.

"Welcome, DuVille. I speak only the truth. As to Langford," Baskerville continued, waiting for his turn to bet, "you couldn't have a finer example of refinement and gentlemanly arts. Fisticuffs to settle a disagreement, indeed!" he scoffed. "Why, the very thought of it is offensive to any civilized man."

"Ludicrous to even discuss it," the Duke of Stanhope agreed, studying the faces of the other players before he decided whether to wager on his rather poor hand of cards.

"My apologies, sirs, if-" the sober one of the young pair began, but he broke off abruptly. "Thought you said Langford was rusticating," he said in a bewildered tone that implied there was evidence at hand that proved otherwise.

All five men glanced up and saw Stephen Westmoreland heading straight toward them wearing an expression that, as he came nearer, looked far more ominous than amiable. Without so much as a nod to acknowledge acquaintances calling out greetings to him, the Earl of Langford stalked purposefully around tables and chairs and gamblers, bearing down on the five men at Baskerville's table and then circling around their chairs.

Four of those men stiffened, eyeing him with the wary disbelief of i

Only Nicholas DuVille seemed unconcerned with the tangible danger emanating from Langford. In fact, to the population of White's, who were all turning to watch in incredulous fascination, Nicholas DuVille seemed to be positively inviting a confrontation by his deliberate and exaggerated nonchalance. As the earl stopped beside his chair, DuVille leaned back, shoved his hands deeply into his pockets, and with a thin cheroot clamped between his white teeth, he acknowledged the earl with a sardonic questioning look. "Care to join us, Langford?"

"Get up!" the Earl of Langford bit out.

The challenge was unmistakable and imminent.

It caused a minor commotion as several young bucks sprinted for White's Betting Book to enter their wagers on the outcome. It caused a lazy, white smile to work its way across DuVille's face as he slouched deeper into his chair, thoughtfully chewed the end of his cheroot, and appeared to contemplate the invitation with considerable relish. As if he wanted to be certain his hopes weren't unfounded, he quirked a brow in amused inquiry. "Here?" he asked, his smile widening.

"Get out of that chair," the earl snarled in a dangerously soft voice, "you son of a-"

"Definitely, here," DuVille interrupted, his smile hardening as he shoved up from his lounging position and jerked his head in the direction of one of the back rooms.

News of the impending fight reached White's manager within moments, and he rushed out from the kitchen. "Now, now, gentlemen! Gentlemen!" the manager entreated as he shoved through the crowd exiting in polite haste from the back room. "Never in the history of White's has there ever-"

The door slammed in his face.

"Think of your attire, gentlemen! Think of the furniture!" he shouted, opening the door just in time to hear the savage sound of a fist co

Yanking the door closed, the manager spun around, his faced drained of color, hands still clutching the door handle behind his back. A hundred male faces eyed him expectantly, all of them interested in the same information. "Well?" said one of them.

The manager's face contorted with pain as he contemplated the possible damage to the back room's expensive green baize faro tables, but he managed to gasp out a quavering reply. "At this time…I would suggest… three-to-two odds."

"In whose favor, my good man?" demanded an impatient, elegantly dressed gentleman who was standing in the long line, waiting to write his wager in the Betting Book.

The manager hesitated, cast his eyes heavenward as if praying for courage, then he twisted about and opened the door a crack, peeking inside at the same moment a body collided with a wall with a thunderous crash. "In favor of Langford!" he called over his shoulder, but as he started to pull the door closed, another explosion like the last one rattled the rafters, and he took another look. "No-DuVille! No, Langford. No-!" He jerked the door closed barely in time to avoid having it snap off his head as a pair of heavy shoulders slammed into it.

Long after the sounds of human combat finally ended, the manager remained with his spine riveted against the door, until it suddenly gave way behind him, sending him careening backward into the empty room as the Earl of Langford and Nicholas DuVille walked out. Alone in the room and dazed with relief, the manager slowly turned and surveyed a room that, at first glance, looked miraculously undisturbed. He was uttering a fervent prayer of gratitude when his eyes beheld a polished end table resting upon three sound legs and a fourth that was badly splintered, and he clutched at his heart as if it, too, were splintering. On shaking limbs he walked over to the faro table and removed a tankard that oughtn't to have been on it, only to discover that the tankard concealed a dreadful gouge in the faro table's green baize top. Narrowing his eyes, he inspected the room more closely… In the corner of the room, four chairs were neatly arranged around a circular card table, but now he noticed that each chair possessed only three legs.

An ornate gilt clock which normally graced the center of an inlaid serving board was now on the right end of it. With shaking hands, the manager reached out to slide the clock back to its rightful place, then he cried out in horror as the clock's face fell forward, its hands swinging limply from side to side.

Shaking with outrage and anguish, the manager reached out to brace himself and grabbed the back of the nearest chair.

It came off in his hand.

On the other side of the wall, in the main room of White's, an outburst of u

Either indifferent to, or unaware of, the u

The two young men answered in unison that it was, the Duke of Stanhope courteously replied that he wasn't entirely certain, but Baskerville was in high dudgeon over having been made to look a fool before the young gentlemen, and he brought up the subject on everyone's mind. "You may as well tell these two what happened in there, since they won't be able to concentrate or even sleep without knowing the outcome," he said testily. "Disgraceful behavior, I don't scruple to tell you, DuVille. On both your parts!"