The Scot. Lyn Stone

staff. I was glad to do whatever I could for you. You will let me know if there is anything else you need?”

      James nodded. He felt humbled and not a little chagrined. He wished he were a wealthy man like Earl Eastonby so he could reward Thomas Snively properly. He found he didn’t much like being beholden, yet he would dislike it even more if he had to ask Susanna for funds. “I’ll owe you, Mr. Snively,” he said.

      “It’s Tom, sir. And I shall hold you to the debt if you don’t mind. For starters, you might write a letter of commendation on my behalf to the concierge. I’m due a raise in pay and that might clinch it.”

      “Good as done, Tom,” James promised. He trusted a man who understood obligation and the need to repay a good deed. “I want to thank you, too, for getting me through three days of fever.”

      The footman threw back his head and laughed. “That was no fever, sir. A bit perhaps, but not enough to lay you low.”

      “Nay?” James rubbed his aching head with the fingers of one hand. He realized then that the wound itself was barely sore, but the devil’s own cymbals were still clanging rhythmically inside his skull. “Then why do you think I was out for the count?”

      Thomas explained. “Had I discovered before last evening that her ladyship was pouring liquor down your throat with an invalid-feeder to kill your pain, I would have dissuaded her sooner. If you’ll pardon the expression, sir, you’ve been drunk as a lord for three days.”