Guy raised his left brow.
"Look, her eyes were totally blank and she didn't have a pulse . . ."
Harry raised his right brow.
Lucas sighed and tilted back his head, his elegant, if rather grubby fingers caressing his throat.
"OK, OK-I'm--pretty--sure she's dead."
Guy gave a dark laugh. "You'd best make certain of such things, my Spy Friend. I was 'pretty sure' the Treacherous Troll . . . and my Sinister Sister and her Magical Tree Elf Bobbin . . . were all dead, too." He gave another manly sniff.
"And look what happened THERE."
"Well, don't you all look like a cheery group." John Porter strode in and grabbed one of the kitchen stools.
He grabbed a banana from the island and peeled it. "Might as well get used to tropical treats. I've got a honeymoon cruise coming up."
Harry nodded with a smile.
"Ah, that's why you're kitted out in that nice Hawaiian shirt. You and the Lovely Lieutenant. How wonderful . . ."
Harry gave a contented little sigh as he thought of his darling Gerri.
"It's a grand thing when you find the right lady."
John gave him an almost shy lop-sided grin, the warmth shining in his eyes. "I'll have to agree with you . . ." His glance strayed to Guy. John frowned and tilted his head.
"Pardon me, Milord, but are you playing with Lady Writer's makeup?"
John's gaze swept coolly up and down Guy's seated figure.
"And are you kitted out in yet another fancy outfit?"
Guy flicked back his hair and gave another aristocratic sniff.
"As to your first question, no. I am not 'playing with' LW's cosmetics. We sometimes discuss-eyelashes--that's all."
Guy shot him an imperious look. "And-liner."
John grinned cockily. "Yeah, just the thing I'd want to use to chat up the ladies."
Guy narrowed his eyes at John, his lips curling derisively.
"My smouldering gaze happens to be part of my persona, Soldier Boy. You have your weapons to play with-while I devastate with a mere look."
John's brows flew up as he clapped his broad hand to his chest and cried out with mock horror.
"Oh, bloody hell, you are right! I feel so-devastated--right now . . ."
Guy clenched his teeth. God's blood, but when was that dratted woman ever going to return his sword? Or give him a proper pistol?
~Even Preachy Tuck's mace thingamajig would be acceptable. I could wipe that confounded grin right off Soldier Boy's smug face~
"That IS a very fine-looking outfit you are wearing tonight, Sir Guy," Harry interjected. "Suits you."
Guy glanced down at his black velvet frock coat with matching waistcoat and breeches and adjusted his black velvet cocked hat with its handsome (black) plume.
"Yes," he drawled.
"This happens to be my actual working highwayman's costume."
He plucked a mask from his pocket and placed it against his face, a smile playing about his shapely lips.
"To allow me to blend into the night for my daring holdups when I ask the well-heeled gentlemen and their lovely ladies to stand and deliver."
Harry grinned. "Now, won't you be a treat for the ladies, Sir Guy. Have 'em swooning at your feet, I reckon."
YOU ARE READING
Inspired by a comment made on Servetus' excellent blog Me + Richard Armitage, this is a series of humorous stories based around the premise of "What if RA's characters hung around my house, eating my junk food, watching the telly, sparring, and in g...