Chapter Eleven

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Chapter Eleven

The man was at least five years his junior, Cole thought as he scrutinized the other gentleman across from him. Not that age should dictate whether one had adequate capabilities to fulfil a task or not, but there was an air of youthful freshness about this one. Cole, on the other hand, felt weathered and rough about the edges, almost as if he had been dragged across jagged rocks and his external appearance had toughened for yet more assaults of similar torture.

A genteel smile wavered upon the younger man’s lips. “Captain Stanley,” he said amiably, “I’ve heard much about you.”

At that, Cole slid a glance at Rhys who appeared to hide his own amusement with the swift swipe of his palm across his jaw. “Have you?” Cole asked, directing his query more at Rhys than anybody else in the chamber.

“Yes,” the young pup replied a tad too confidently for Cole’s liking. “Lord Ashcroft-”

“Ashcroft?”

“Perhaps,” Rhys suggested smoothly, “I could offer everybody some port?”

“I would not decline such an offer,” Gabriel Sinclair, Duke of Hawthorne, remarked from where he reclined in one of Rhys’s regal wing-backed chairs that flanked the hearth. “Would it not be out of character?”

“Indeed,” Rhys muttered, procuring the other man a glass, “the plagues of sobriety.”

Sinclair snorted but accepted the dark liquid without preamble, along with several others that were occupying the earl of Ashcroft’s study. When Cole had received his own, he did not immediately toss the port back. He caught Rhys’s gaze intently and raised his brows. “Lord Ashcroft, would you care to explain something to me?”

“Mr Stephen Wood has been on my service for several years,” Rhys said gruffly. “He has served as First Mate on The Serpent and has recently managed the successful negotiations between myself and a prosperous textile merchant from India. He comes highly recommended.”

“To replace me?” Cole murmured under his breath.

Rhys hesitated imperceptibly before he turned slightly away from Mr Wood and spoke earnestly, quietly. “Cole, use this time to acquaint yourself with the man. He is young yet, but driven and eager. He has proven his worth and has specified his anticipation to excel yet.” He gestured briefly at the occupants in the crowded study. “My wife’s little soiree has allotted you the time to make a decision.”

“A decision?”

“Regarding Oriana,” Rhys said emphatically.

“Christ-”

“I am damned exhausted,” the earl growled, halting Cole’s vehement outburst, “of watching you two throwing doe-eyed glances at each other. Do you not think Danielle and I have not noticed? I’m grateful that the organisation of this bloody event has taken her mind from the possibility that Oriana is no longer an honourable woman because it certainly has not alleviated my concerns. Now, decide whether you want to marry the girl or not, and in the meantime I would like you to assess the credibility of your possible replacement.” With that, Rhys joined Sinclair near the hearth where he conversed with several other gentlemen of his acquaintance.

Mr Wood cleared his throat politely, drawing Cole’s gaze. “A girl?” the young man said and there was a decidedly good-natured glint of humour in his blue gaze. “You are considering relinquishing your most notorious of titles and positions for a girl?”

Instead of berating him, Cole merely smiled. “What would you do, Mr Wood?”

The young man shrugged and Cole became aware that he was astonishingly tall, more so than any other presence in the room- all of which were all their very own brand of masculine virility. Let it not be said that the Earl of Falmouth invited slender fops to his castle to woo his women. “Probably the same, Captain,” Stephen Wood answered humbly. “Probably the same, were I in love.”

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