Never Kiss a Toad

Chapter One: Part One

Both men had told Toad that themselves, separately and together.

Toad had to physically restrain himself from shrinking and grasped the edges of the tub with both hands. He was a man now, and should act the part, even if two dukes had barged into his dressing room. He couldn't keep the quiver out of his voice, however. "Er... Your Graces?"

"You have a good explanation for being here in London, not at Cambridge, Sirrah?" his father demanded.

"Er... no?" He had been trying to think of one for three days.

Uncle Haverford repressed a snort of laughter, which gave Toad some hope of leniency.

"No, I do not imagine you do." Wellbridge threw a towel at his son's head. "Cover yourself and come into the sitting room."

It might be an easy discussion; the old reprobates, now thoroughly tamed by their respective duchesses, loved to live vicariously through Toad and his exploits, especially with women. They had been teaching him the ways of the bed over brandy and cigars since he was fourteen, when the interest of a willing chambermaid at Haverford Castle led him to seek his godfather's counsel before trying his luck for the first time. Uncle Haverford always tried to look stern on occasions like this, but his own son was too young to act the rake yet, and he was too proud of Toad to scold.

But clemency didn't seem likely, with the tone of things so far. His father did not do him the courtesy of leaving the room, just waited with arms crossed, his spotless boot holding the open door.

Toad stood, without hiding an inch of his newly lean and muscled physique. He was well aware that fencing and boxing and rowing and riding, not to mention less mentionable exercise, had made a man's body of a boy's, and he would certainly not hide himself from anyone who had pushed into a marquess' dressing room uninvited. He casually wrapped a towel around his hips and stepped out of the tub, reaching for the thick silk banyan.

"Hurry up, boy," Uncle Haverford called through the door to Toad's private sitting room. "It won't be easier for delaying it."

Toad loped past his father, tying the sash, rubbing the water out of his hair with the towel, as he entered the other room.

"Yes, Sir. I'm here." He sidled to the drinks cart and poured three brandies, then handed one to both his father and godfather.

Uncle Haverford nodded his thanks and continued to try to suppress a grin. Toad risked a grin back, and Uncle Haverford's face went stiff and cold. No, he would not get off lightly this time.

Wellbridge took the glass from Toad's hands. "The last thing you need is more drink, you sotted wastrel."

"You were drunk, I take it?" Uncle Haverford asked, deceptively softly.

Toad shrugged. "Not entirely. It was mid-afternoon."

"Stupid, then," Uncle Haverford said, and shrugged.

"That is the truth," Wellbridge said. "Unbelievably stupid! What in the name of Hades were you thinking? A million places you could make up with two chambermaids, but you choose your don's desk? Have you run mad?"

"Perhaps," Uncle Haverford said, with a restraining hand on Toad's father's arm, "he could explain it to us in his own words, Nick. It was an odd choice of venue, Abersham."

Toad looked away, heat rising in his cheeks. "It was where they turned up. None of us were doing anything more interesting. And he wasn't supposed to return for three more hours."

Uncle Haverford turned to look out the window, his shoulders heaving. Clearly, he had been warned not to let Toad see him laughing, but he couldn't contain himself. He was probably laughing at Toad's restraint. Before he ascended to his title, Uncle Haverford had once carried out a wager with Baron Overton, documented in every gossip column in London, wherein they had two women each, per day, for seven days, each time in a different position. Toad's chambermaids would have been an appetizer for the Merry Marquis before an orgy, when he was Toad's age. He had heard the stories a million times.

"I had plenty of time to play with the maids and still get his annotating done. If he had stayed away like he said he would."

Wellbridge stared at his son, dumbfounded. "You would blame the man for returning to his own study? Rather than place it where it belongs—on your shoulders? What kind of man have I raised? Have you no sense of decency?"

"Of course I shouldn't have done it there and then. I know that. Of course I know that. I'm not an idiot."

"Truly? That is your defense? 'I am not an idiot'?"

"You are, in fact, an idiot," Uncle Haverford informed him, kindly, but with a sardonic chuckle. "The evidence is in.

"And likely to remain so," Wellbridge snapped, "if you keep getting yourself sent down. Twice now! Both my alma maters have sent down my own son, both times for playing games with the maids. Do you have any idea what it cost to keep Eton from expelling you outright? And what favors I had to call in to convince Cambridge to take you, after naught but rumors of your poor conduct? I do not understand it, Sirrah. Is there some problem with the buttons on your falls? You needn't try to match our exploits, boy, for it cannot be done, and should not. Not by you, especially."

Uncle Haverford nodded, but his lip quirked and his voice choked a bit on his ruthlessly curbed laughter. "I trust you cleared the manuscripts you were working on from the desk before you..." He stopped talking and spun to stare again out the window, his shoulders heaving.

Toad muttered, bitterly, "Of course I did. I'm not a heathen."

Uncle Haverford pulled himself together without too much ado, though Wellbridge was not even close to a hint of amusement. He merely seethed, his canines showing and his fierce anger plain.

"You are a heathen," Uncle Haverford said, "or you would not have had your pants down in another man's study. Take the lesson, my boy. You cannot control the comings and goings of other people, especially in their own homes. Keep your clothes on unless you are paying for the room you are in."

"And keep in mind, young man, you pay for nothing at the moment. Not in Cambridge, not in London, for every penny in your pocket is mine." Wellbridge yelled, his temper finally breaking the leash, "I suggest you do not remain comfortable here, for you and I and a large bank draft will be leaving for Cambridge in the morning to buy your way back into school. Your money, not mine. Your barony does well enough, and I have done with paying to clean up your messes, Abersham!"

"That's fair," Uncle Haverford mused, once again placing his hand on Wellbridge's arm. Toad imagined he did so a lot in the House of Lords. "And let it be a lesson to you, Abersham. Your Auntie Cherry is very disappointed in you."

Of course. The mothers had found out and made life miserable for Wellbridge and Haverford, who, in turn, would make Toad's life miserable next. "You told her? And Mother?" He felt himself blush at a sudden thought and turned away from them. "You didn't tell Sal, did you?"

Uncle Haverford frowned. "Sally? Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." Suddenly, he was not the indulgent uncle remembering his rakish youth, but the stern father of a young girl. "Lady Sarah knows nothing about such goings on. The idea." Uncle Haverford shuddered.

Toad nodded. Exactly. And as it should be. He hated to think what Sally would think of him, if she knew what he had been up to.

"She does not know you have been sent down," Uncle Haverford added. "Nor will she, until you have left London."

Toad's shoulder twitched and he ground his teeth. "I will be sorry to miss her."

"You might consider what your mother and aunt would think," Uncle Haverford said, "and Sally, too, if she knew, before you do these things, Abersham." He must have heard that line from Aunt Cherry. It had her voice written all over it.

"Your mother is horrified at your behavior, and rightly so!" Wellbridge picked up his tirade again. "I cannot think what you can do to earn her trust again. I will leave you now to ponder it, and the consequence to your purse and your honor. Be prepared to leave at first light. I will have your word you will not leave the premises, as I will not have you embarrass me further this day. Need I post guards?"

"No, Sir."

"Very well. I will take you at your word as a gentleman. I will have Blakeley bring up a tray."