Just returning after a week’s absence from the village, Bram paused outside the red-painted door of the establishment formerly known as the Rutting Bull. Which had been formerly known as the Blushing Pansy.
The gilt-lettered sign hanging above the door might be new, but when he threw open the door of what was now the Bull and Blossom, Bram encountered immediate proof that some things never changed.
His cousin remained a troublemaking idiot.
The entire tavern had been cleared of chairs and tables. Colin stood with his back to the door, directing men in two opposite corners of the room as they hoisted some sort of soldered frame toward the ceiling, using an elaborate network of pulleys and ropes. Bram had no idea what they were doing, but he knew it couldn’t be good.
“Hold your ropes, now,” Colin ordered, motioning with both arms like an orchestra conductor. “Thorne, pull it a hair or two closer to your corner. Not too far! That space will get smaller once the stage curtains are hung, and we need to leave the fair Salome plenty of room for her dance of the seven veils. Can’t have her skimping and only giving us six.”
Bram cleared his throat.
Colin wheeled in a brisk half turn. His countenance was purposely, studiously blank.
Bram could tell his cousin meant to look innocent.
He wasn’t fooled.
“Salome and her seven veils? What, precisely, is going on here?”
“Nothing.” Colin shrugged. “Nothing at all.”
Behind him, the two men strained and sweated to keep the frame immobile. He viewed their guilty faces. Scheming bastards wouldn’t even meet his gaze. He looked from Thorne, to . . . “Keane?”
The clergyman’s face flushed red.
Bram glared at his cousin. “You’re dragging the vicar into debauchery now? Good God, man. Have you no shame?”
“Me? Shame?” With a gruff noise, his cousin directed the men to secure their ropes. Then he turned back to Bram, wearing a resigned expression and scratching the back of his neck. “Bram, you weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
“Well, judging by this scene, it’s a bloody fortunate thing I came early.”
“I give you my word. Nothing untoward is going on here.”
Fosbury walked into the room, wiping floury hands on his apron. “All finished with the cake, my lord. She’s a work of art, if I do say it myself. Used almond paste for the skin tone; came out lovely. Nice, big bubbies of puffed meringue. Had a difficult time deciding whether to use pink rosettes or cinnamon drops for the ni**les, though. When it comes to those, a man does have his individual tastes, you—” The man finally took note of Colin’s frantic “shut it” gestures. His gaze snapped to Bram, and he gulped with recognition. “Oh. Lord Rycliff. You’re . . . here.”
Bram fixed his cousin with an accusing gaze. “Nothing untoward?”
Colin raised his open palms. “I swear it on my life. Now if you’d only—”
At that moment, a breathless Rufus dashed into the room. “Lord Payne, your delivery’s arrived. Where did you want the tiger?”
This time, Bram didn’t bother waiting for a denial. He lunged forward and grabbed Colin by the lapels. “Didn’t you learn your lesson after that first debacle? This is precisely why I won’t give you a penny to live on elsewhere, you worthless cur. If you wreak this much havoc in quiet little Spindle Cove, the devil only knows what mischief you’d be up to somewhere else.” He gave his cousin a shake. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Planning your stag night. You dolt.”
Bram froze. Then frowned. “Oh.”
“Satisfied? Now you’ve ruined the surprise.” Colin raised a brow. “Had it not occurred to you that your men might want to give you a party? Or had you forgotten you’re getting married in a matter of days?”
Bram shook his head, chuckling to himself. No, he hadn’t forgotten he was marrying Susanna in a matter of days. He’d spent the past month thinking of little else. And having only just returned to the neighborhood after spending a week in London, he was growing damned well desperate to hold his bride.
What the hell was he doing holding Colin, then?
Bram released his cousin’s lapels. “Very well. I’m going to back out of this room the way I came. And pretend I never saw this.”
“Excellent.” Colin gave him a helpful shove to start him on his way. “Welcome back. Now get out.”
Bram abandoned the long, curving lane to Summerfield and decided to walk overland instead, cutting directly across the bands of farmland and gently rolling meadow.
Just a week since he’d seen Susanna last. Lord, it felt like a year. How had he ever imagined he’d be able to leave her behind while he went to the Peninsula?
Despite the lingering pain in his knee, he picked up his pace as he crested a sloping, grassy hill. Here his path dropped into a little green valley, traversed by a stream. He cast his eyes downward, in order to choose his steps with care.
“Bram!”