Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

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      Archer mumbled, ‘I sort of rescued him this morning.’

      ‘You abandoned me for a horse? I could have been killed,’ Nolan exclaimed.

      ‘And yet it was your knife in his shoulder. You were doing fine on your own,’ Archer replied drily, moving his gaze to the window.

      The drive to the docks was short despite the foggy dawn, and the horse was still with them, running alongside the carriage. Nolan clambered down from the coach, letting Archer deal with the horse. He sighted a tall, lone figure on the docks and let out a whoop, calling to Archer, ‘What did I tell you? There he is. I win! Look at that, he’s even got his case with him.’

      Haviland strode towards them and Nolan clasped him affectionately on the shoulder. ‘Good morning, Old Man. Is everything loaded to your satisfaction? I told Archer you’d be here overseeing.’

      Haviland laughed. ‘You know me too well, the coaches went on an hour ago.’ Nolan was glad Haviland was handling the details. If it had been up to him, he’d simply have packed a trunk, jumped on board a ship and left everything on the other side up to fate. He was far more spontaneous than Haviland and Archer. It was the one gift of having to live an imperfect life. He’d learned early to be one step ahead of the blow so that when it fell, he was miles away.

      The other benefit in not having an ideal family life was that he had nothing to live up to, not like Haviland, who was going to inherit the Englishman’s perception of Heaven on Earth, or Archer, whose family owned the most successful and expensive stud farm in Newmarket—for fun. Yes, they’d inherit perfection but they’d also have to spend their lives maintaining it for future generations. That was a lot of pressure.

      He had no such pressure to conform to family tradition. The only perfection he’d inherited was his memory. He could count cards, three to four decks’ worth if he had to, and he could calculate odds. That inheritance was quite portable. Of course, he’d inherited plenty of imperfections along with it. Those were in no short supply, starting with a puritanical father who firmly believed in beating excellence into his children at all costs and ended with the reality that choice created: his family hadn’t seen each other in ten years. As soon as he and his brother had come of age, they’d scattered just as they had in the summers home from school—they’d never actually come home from school. They’d always arranged to spend the summers with friends. School might not have been intellectually edifying to him, but Nolan had found it freeing in other ways. He’d met Haviland, after all, and it had been the saving of him.

      Archer was ribbing Haviland about keeping his case with him when Nolan’s thoughts re-engaged the conversation. ‘I told you that, too. I know these things, I’m a student of human nature.’ He laughed.

      ‘Too bad you couldn’t study that at Oxford,’ Archer joked. ‘You might have got better marks.’

      Nolan laughed. He and Archer had been sparring for years. They had each other’s measure. When he hadn’t been spending summers with Haviland, he’d been spending them with Archer. ‘What can I say? It’s true. You two were the scholars, not me and Brennan.’ Nolan looked around, realising the absence of their fourth member. ‘Is Brennan here yet?’ Time was getting dear.

      ‘No.’ Haviland shook his head. ‘Did you expect him to be? Scholar of human nature that you are.’ He ribbed.

      Nolan gave Haviland a playful shove. ‘A scholar of human nature, yes, a psychic, no.’ He grinned. He was looking forward to this trip more than he realised, the four of them back together again. It would be like old times. Indeed, they saw each other in London during the Season, but it wasn’t the same. The four of them were never all together at once. Archer was always in Newmarket these days. It was either he and Brennan or he and Haviland. Even then it was usually just for drinks at the club or a quick greeting at a ball.

      All of them were approaching thirty, that most important age for men of their birth, when they were expected to marry and settle down. This trip might very well be their last time together as bachelors unencumbered by the responsibility of wives and children. Haviland would marry—it had already been arranged. Archer would follow. A man who loved breeding horses would surely love to breed his own children. As for Brennan? It would depend on who would have him on a more permanent basis. He was probably with a woman right now.

      The captain of the vessel approached and urged them to board, making it clear he would not wait for the rest of their party. Haviland blew out a breath after the captain left, blaming himself for Brennan’s tardiness. ‘I should have stayed with him.’

      Nolan murmured something encouraging. Brennan would be here. He had to be. Brennan was always late, always on the verge of trouble. Not too unlike himself. He was just better prepared for it. Brennan never saw it coming until it was too late. Perhaps that was why he liked Brennan, they were kindred spirits of a sort. They both had messy, imperfect lives. They both lived in the moment. Brennan wasn’t a planner and that was certainly working against him this morning. Nolan could imagine him oversleeping in some woman’s bed only to wake too late and realise he’d missed the boat.

      Waiting was a luxury they couldn’t afford. It wasn’t an issue of just catching another boat. Channel crossings didn’t run on schedules, they ran on the weather. Nolan knew they were lucky their own crossing today was proceeding like clockwork. He opted to keep spirits up. He clapped a hand on Archer’s back as the three of them moved towards the boat. ‘I’ll wager Brennan misses the boat,’ he announced with forced joviality. ‘Archer, are you in? If I’m wrong, you can win back your losses.’ Please let me be wrong. He had every hope Brennan would come dashing up at the last minute.

      They took up positions at the rail facing the dock. Nolan knew they were all hoping for a glimpse of their errant companion, but time was slipping away. He started at the sound of chains in motion. ‘They’re pulling the anchor. He’s not going to make it,’ Nolan said quietly, leaning on his arms. ‘Dammit! I didn’t want to win that bet.’ He exchanged glances with Haviland and Archer as the boat slowly nudged away from the dock. The trip was off to an ominous start.

      Then he saw it—commotion on the pier, a figure racing towards them, shirttails flapping. Suddenly, Haviland was shouting, ‘It’s him, it’s Brennan!’ And he wasn’t alone. Nolan could make out two men behind him, one of them armed as they gave very hearty chase. Whoever they were, they meant business.

      Haviland moved first, sprinting towards the back of the boat. Nolan stayed rooted where he was, his eyes focused on something else moving behind the men, something dark and swift. Next to him, Archer made it out first. ‘My horse!’

      Nolan and Archer thundered down the length of the boat behind Haviland who was waving his arms and shouting commands to Brennan. Impossible commands, really, such as ‘jump’ and ‘don’t jump here, it’s too wide, jump at the back of the boat where it hasn’t left the dock yet. Hurry!’

      It was insanity, by the time they reached the stern, even that part of the boat had left a gap between the dock and the deck. Brennan would never make the jump. If Brennan missed... There was no time to contemplate the consequences. ‘The horse, Archer, look!’ Nolan shouted. The bay had come up alongside Brennan, matching his stride to the running man.

      Archer took the idea from there, cupping his hands around his mouth. ‘Get on the horse, Bren! Jump him!’

      Nolan felt the moment suspend itself in time. He watched Brennan grab the mane and swing himself up bareback. It would be a mad jump even with stirrups and a saddle. But Brennan was an excellent rider, as good as Archer and far more reckless.

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