Richard shuddered at the coarse suggestiveness of Lot’s words. There was something in his cousin’s manner that made him see of a sudden how cunningly the Lady Letitia had forecasted the future. Jilian’s comeliness had suffered, and the Hardacres were prepared to hold him like a culprit to his oath.
“I can promise you, cousin,” he said, bluntly, “that I shall not fail in doing my duty.”
There was an unconscious tinge of irony in the retort that penetrated Mr. Hardacre’s skin. He reddened a little, thrust out his lower lip, and looked at Jeffray with sinister shrewdness.
“Duty, sir; that is a damned poor word for a lover to use!”
Jeffray flushed.
“I meant it in the honorable sense, Lot,” he said, more kindly.
“Egad, sir, I should hope so,” quoth the fire-eater, thrusting his chin forward over his cravat. “You gave my sister the small-pox, sir, and if you are anything of a fellow you will behave decently to her and not from any confounded sense of duty. I am right there, Richard, I reckon.”
Jeffray, feeling humiliated, shackled, yet inwardly rebellious, looked his cousin full in the face, and gave him his answer frankly and with some heat.
“I am a gentleman, Lot, and therefore you may spare your hectoring.”
“Deuce take you, sir; I suppose I may feel for my sister, eh?”