The Reluctant Suitor by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss Page B

changed much since that memorable day of his departure. It seemed as if a century had passed since she had overheard his vehement protests. Had the agreement met with his approval, they would have been wed soon after her seventeenth birthday, but the idea of that proposal had set him at odds with his father, so much so that he had left home. She really had no wish to be around when he learned that Lord Sedgwick had carried through with his plans and signed documents committing his son to a term of courtship prior to a formal betrothal actually being initiated. If her ears had burned red hot from Colton’s first diatribe, then surely, this time, they’d be singed black from his explosive anger.
    “The English were bound to win,” Roger declared loftily, touching a pinch of snuff to his nose, an affectation he had recently acquired in his efforts to emulate wellborn dandies. Yet, as much as he had
    thought the practice widespread, he was just beginning to suspect that none of the men presently occupying the great room cared for the habit, for he usually educed an amused smile or two whenever he went through the process of using it. Struggling hard to maintain a dignified mien in spite of an encroaching urge to sneeze, he snapped the small, enameled box shut and forcefully pressed a handkerchief to his left nostril where the sensation was more pronounced. Gaining some relief, he sniffed and, with watery, reddened eyes, offered a succinct smile to the other man. “As they say, my lord, right shall always prevail.”
    “I’d like nothing better than to know for certain that that premise would always be the case, Mr. Elston, but I’m afraid it isn’t,” Colton rejoined soberly. “As for the English, I cannot declare with any degree of truth that we’re always right.”
    Roger was taken aback. He had never traveled beyond the shores of England, and had been led to believe that all foreign powers were not only inferior but contemptible in comparison. “I say, my lord, that
    ’s rather unpatriotic of you to doubt our country’s integrity. After all, we’re the greatest nation in the world.”
    Smiling rather sadly, Colton offered some insight into observations he had made during his career as an officer. “Far too many Englishmen trusted in the logic that right would prevail, but they were buried where they and their men fell. I know, because a number of them were close acquaintances of mine, and I helped bury them.”
    Roger cocked a quizzical brow at the man. For nigh on to a year now, he had repeatedly been subjected to tales of Colton Wyndham’s daring exploits on the battlefield. Although envious of such fame, he had admired the nobleman, yet some months ago genuine hatred for the man had taken deep root when he had learned that the beautiful Adriana had been selected by the late Lord Sedgwick to become the wife of the very one who stood before him now. The inevitability of their meeting had solidified Roger’s aversion well before he had ever laid eyes on the one who would claim the marquessate. After hearing the man voice such feeble inanities, he felt justified for having come to despise him. Colonel Lord Colton may have been considered a hero by the standards of many, but Roger had formed his own opinions as to what made one a champion among men, and it was his belief that his lordship fell far short of that sterling crusader who rode his charger into the thickest of frays and, sparing no quarter, wet his sword time and again with the blood of the enemy.
    Curling his lip sardonically, Roger dared to present an inquiry in tones not altogether respectful. “And what fine logic did you take into battle, my lord?”
    Unable to ignore what had every element of being a disparaging challenge, Colton made a point of elevating his brow to a skeptical level. Considering the fact the apprentice was more than half a head shorter and probably lighter by as much as two or three stone, he decided the fellow was as