Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 64

Two hours had passed by the time Charles had drunk himself beneath a card table.

"Looks like you need a hand, Lonsdale." James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke reached under the table and offered a hand to him. Charles gripped the hand and allowed himself to be hauled up on his feet. His vision cart-wheeled and he blinked rapidly, trying to get a steady fix on the man's face.

"Ready to go home, Lonsdale?" Pembroke asked.

"Suppose I ought to. Bloody hell, what a night."

Pembroke slid one arm around Charles's waist, supporting him outside to hail a hackney to get him home. Linley emerged from the shadows of a nearby mew and joined Pembroke in supporting Charles by ducking under Charles's left arm.

"There you are, lad," Charles greeted the boy.

Linley's disapproving scowl cut across him as the boy spoke to Pembroke. "How deep into his cups did he get tonight?"

Charles's friend laughed. "Enough to swim to France, I imagine, but he'll be fine on the morrow."

"You know, Pembroke, you're a good sort...good fellow," Charles mumbled.

Pembroke laughed. "Thank you, Lonsdale. You're not too bad yourself."

"No, I'm not, I'm a damned fool and a coward." Charles's words slurred as he stumbled over an uneven cobblestone. Pembroke lifted him up a little, and Charles's stomach roiled violently, but Linley helped catch him before he fell face down on the street.

Pembroke hailed a waiting hackney and assisted Linley with getting Charles inside, gave the driver his address and slipped the driver a handful of coins. As the hackney jerked forward, Charles slumped back against the seat, fighting off a wave of nausea.

"Won't be long before we're home, my lord. Then you can sleep it off."

It didn't surprise Charles that Linley knew exactly how unwell he felt. The boy had a talent for knowing what his master was feeling. He hoped the lad hadn't been too embarrassed by whatever had transpired at the club. He hadn't meant to upset the boy.

Charles was barely coherent by the time the hackney stopped in front of his townhouse. The driver hauled him to the door, muttering all the while about drunken louts.

"My lord, are you able to walk?" Linley's voice cut through the heavy fog of Charles's inebriation.

"Ah." He winced as the world spun around him when he attempted to put his feet one in front of the other. "Linley, be a good lad, make the floor stop moving, will you?"

He thought he heard a little chortle from his servant before a polite reply came out. "Of course, my lord, shouldn't be too hard to accomplish that."

Charles's legs gave out at the bottom step of the stairs and he sank to the ground, chuckling a little.