![]() ![]() Gregory could tell by the tense line of Hart’s lips, the drumming of his fingers . . . He’d never heard that the marquess’s son was a heavy drinker, soldier or no. Hart called for another brandy, and Gregory raised an eyebrow. The next time he saw John, he’d give his feckless brother another lecture about the importance of reports. John could at least have sent him an update Gregory should have received a report days ago. His younger brother, John, and Hart were best friends, and had both been posted to Gibraltar with their respective regiments until recently, when Hart’s regiment was sent home briefly in anticipation of their new posting. When Hart said nothing more, Gregory asked, Have you no messages for me from Gibraltar? From John? It shouldn’t take more than a few days if the weather holds. Gregory slipped them into his greatcoat pocket. You will be able to get them to my cousin soon, won’t you?" Hart pushed a package wrapped in string across the table. ![]() What was that about? This was supposed to be a simple delivery. Hart knocked the brandy back as if it were cheap ale. Not that his companion, Captain Lord Hartley Corry, seemed to appreciate the liquor. And the taproom of this particular Dieppe inn provided the best, even if he had to pay far too much for his room to get it. Drinking decent spirits was one advantage of passing through France on his travels. Gregory Vyse, Baron of Fulkham, sipped a glass of fine brandy, savoring its smoky bite. ![]()
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