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Updated: June 25, 2025
His hand grasped the stone balustrade, but he forced a smile to his lips. "I can not imagine who has started why you speak thus. Lord Ronsdale is an old friend of my uncle, and mine, too. But that is all; I am not have not been. You are mistaken." "Mistaken?" The word broke from him quickly; the strained expression of his face gave way to another he could ill conceal.
"Had one rare adventure together. One of the kind that cements a man to you." As he spoke, the light in the theater flared up; John Steele, no longer hesitating, uncertain, rose; his face had regained its composure. He regarded the slender, aristocratic figure of the nobleman in the background; faultlessly dressed, Lord Ronsdale carried himself with his habitual languid air of assurance.
John Steele tossed aside his coat. "Can't promise this contest will be as interesting as the other little affairs you speak of!" he laughed. Through the fine, white linen of his shirt could be discerned the superb swell and molding of the muscles, as he now, with the gleaming toy in hand, stood before Ronsdale.
"Good-looking beggar, isn't he," observed the nobleman suddenly, his gaze sharpened on her. "Who?" asked the girl. "That chap, Steele," he answered insinuatingly. "Is he?" Her voice was flute-like. "What is that noise?" abruptly. "Noise?" Lord Ronsdale listened. "That's music, or supposed to be! Unless I am mistaken, The Campbells are Coming," he drawled. "The Campbells? Oh, I understand!
On the table in an inner apartment, his study, something bright, white, met his gaze: a note in Jocelyn Wray's handwriting! Quickly he reached for it and tore it open. "A party of us ride in the park to-morrow morning. Will you join us?" That was all; brief and to the point; Lord Ronsdale frowned. "A party!" That would include John Steele perhaps.
"True, Lord Ronsdale!" said the other man, pausing before a great door. "But here we are." "'All ye who enter, etc'" laughed the girl. "Not if one comes just to 'do' it, you know," was the protesting answer. "Quite the thing to take in the criminal courts!"
Any plea he could hope to make," Lord Ronsdale spoke with studied deliberation, "to justify the act, he could not substantiate." The speaker lingered on the word then went on more crisply. "He stands in the position of a person who has broken one of the most exacting laws of the realm and one which has on all occasions been rigorously enforced.
Lord Ronsdale told himself Miss Jocelyn Wray was no better than an arrant coquette, but the next moment questioned this conclusion. Had she not really been a little taken by the fellow? Certainly she seemed not averse to his company; when she willed, and she willed often, she summoned him to her aide.
And Lord Ronsdale vanished down the narrow way. The others of the party entered the court room and were shown to the seats that Captain Forsythe had taken particular pains to reserve for them. The case, evidently an interesting one to judge from the number of people present, was in progress as they quietly settled down in their chairs at the back.
Lord Ronsdale gazed down; half-sitting on the corner of the table, he swung one glossy shoe to and fro. "Perhaps he's hiding his light under a bushel?" said the lady. The nobleman made a sound. "Perhaps!" "I was asking Captain Forsythe about his antecedents. No one here seems to know. Possibly you can enlighten us." "I?" Lord Ronsdale's tone was purring. "Why should I be able to?
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