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Lord Ruin

Lord Ruin

Description : Lord Ruin
London, 1818

Cynssyr glared at the door to number twenty-four Portman Square. “Blast it,” he said to the groom who held two other horses. “What the devil is taking them so long?” He sat his horse with authority, a man inmand of himself and his world. His buckskins fit close over lean thighs, and the exacting cut of his jacket declared a tailor of some talent. A Pink of the Ton, he seemed, but for eyes that observed more than they revealed.

“The Baron’s a family man now, sir.” The groom stamped his feet and tucked his hands under his armpits.

“What has that to do with anything?”

A handbill abandoned by some reveler from one of last night’s fetes skimmed over the cobbles and spooked the other two horses, a charcoal gelding by the name of Poor Boy on account of the loss of his equine manhood; and a muscular dun. The groom had a dicey moment what with the cold having numbed his fingers but managed to send the sheet skittering to freedom.

“Man with a family can’t leave anywhere spot on the dot,” the groom said.

“I don’t see why.”

The door to number twenty-four flew open with a ringing crack of wood against stone. Of the two men who came out, the taller was Benjamin Dunbartin, Baron Aldreth, the owner of the house. He moved down the stairs at a rapid clip, clapping his hat onto his blond head as if he meant to cement it in place. The other man gripped his hat in one hand...