London—January 1812
London—January 1812“The first of us to fall prey to the parson’s mousetrap!” Sebastian Montgomery crowed, saluting Alexander Armstrong as he dropped into the leather chair in the library of his Mayfair townhouse. As was customary, the earl did not spill a drop of his brandy, although it wasn’t his first of the night—or morning, as it were. The liquid sloshed in the snifter but didn’t slip over the edge.
“Impressive,” Rupert Haskell murmured and the Earl of Rockmorton grinned.
“Practice makes perfect, my good friend,” Montgomery replied.
“I would wager you had drunk London dry with your practice,” Alexander, the Duke of Inverfyre, noted with a smile.
Montgomery laughed. “No, no, the feat is to feign a large consumption while imbibing comparatively little. Far better
