So Wild a Heart. Candace Camp
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stealing,” Devin pointed out mildly. “I believe he offered to actually pay the man.”
Stuart grimaced, muttering, “No loyalty.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Damn, Dev, what are you doing here? I have the most ferocious headache.”
“Mmm. Not feeling too well myself. But my mother and sister visited me an hour ago.”
“No excuse to inflict yourself on me,” his friend pointed out reasonably.
“Lady Ravenscar wants me to marry.”
Stuart’s eyebrows rose. “Anyone in particular?”
“An American heiress. Fur trader’s daughter or some such thing.”
“An heiress, eh? Some people have all the luck. What’s her name?”
“I have no idea. I have no intention of marrying her.”
“Good Gawd, why not? You’re on your last legs. All of London knows it.”
“I’m not done in yet,” Devin protested.
Stuart snorted. “You owe at least three gentlemen of our acquaintance gambling debts, and you know your name will be blackened if you don’t pay them soon. Last night we had to leave by your back door, if you’ll remember, because that damned bill collector was hanging about out front. No need to pay a tradesman, of course—won’t ruin your name. But it’s a damned nuisance, tripping over those fellows all the time.”
Devin sighed. “I know. It’s worse than it was that time Father cut me off. At least then everyone knew I had an inheritance coming when he died. Between gambling and putting people off, I did all right.”
“Not the same now, though. There’s no blunt lying in your future. I’ve experienced it for years—younger son, they know I won’t inherit, never give me an inch. It’s bloody unfair, but there you have it. Tailors are the worst. As if it don’t bring them plenty of other business, my wearing their suits.”
Devin smiled faintly at his friend’s logic. “That’s true. It’s terribly selfish of them to want to get paid.”
“That’s what I told that Goldman chap, but he just kept chattering about payment. Finally had to give him a few guineas to shut him up.” He brightened a little. “Mayhap I’ll pay him off, now that I won that pot.” He stopped, frowning. “But no, there’s that gold-handled cane I saw yesterday—rather spend it on that. What’s the use of paying for something you already have?”
“Good point. I am sure Goldman will understand.”
“Oh, no.” Stuart, not given to sarcasm, especially upon waking, shook his head. “He’ll squawk. I may have to start going to another chap. Pity. Fellow knows how to make the shoulders of my coats exactly as I like them.”
“Padded?”
Stuart rolled his eyes. “Why did you say you came here?”
“The American heiress.”
“Oh, yes. Are you saying you’re thinking of not jumping on the offer?”
“The last thing I want is a wife.”
“Yes. Damned nuisances, usually. Still…hard to argue with having coins in your pocket. What else are you going to do, anyway? You’ve run through your entire fortune. Told me so yourself.”
“Such as it was. The earls of Ravenscar have been improvident for years. Even my father, holy soldier that he was, spent money like water.”
“There you have it. Have to do something to recoup the family fortunes. It’s your duty as an Aincourt and all that. That’s the good thing about being a younger son. Don’t have to worry about family duty much. Usually involves doing something boring, duty does.”
“Yes.” Dev was silent for a moment, then said quietly, “What about your sister?”
“Leona?” Stuart looked at him uncomprehendingly. “What does it have to do with her?”
Dev raised an eyebrow and looked at him pointedly.
“Oh, that. Well, it makes no difference if you’re married, does it? Leona’s shackled to Vesey. Been that way this whole time, hasn’t she? Why shouldn’t you be married, too? This fur trapper’s daughter won’t change anything. Get an heir on her and pack her off to Darkwater and enjoy her money.” He looked up as the door opened and his valet entered with a tray. “Ah, there you are. Set it on the table and fetch my dressing gown. Dev, be a good chap and look in that cabinet. There should be some Irish whiskey in it. Make the coffee palatable.”
“Of course.” Devin went over to the small Oriental cabinet and rummaged about in it until he found a small bottle of whiskey. He didn’t know why he worried about such things, he thought as he pulled out the bottle and added liberal splashes of alcohol to the cups of coffee the valet had poured for them. Stuart, and nearly everyone else he knew, would not give a moment’s thought to marrying this woman. And if they did hesitate, it would be only at the thought of mingling their blue blood with her common sort. Once they were married, he would, of course, have control of her money, and there would be nothing to stop him from leaving her at Darkwater as Stuart suggested, while he went back to his life in London—with Leona. Nor would he be technically disloyal to Leona. She was married, after all. And one could hardly expect him to let the line of Aincourts fail just because he loved a married woman.
It was foolish of him to balk, he told himself. It was scarcely as if he lived the life of an honorable man. He lived, as his father had pointed out many times, among the dregs of polite society, consorting with cardsharps, drunkards and bawdy women. It seemed absurd to hesitate about taking a wife because of his mistress—or because he would undoubtedly make this rustic heiress miserable.
“You’re right, no doubt,” he told Stuart, taking a sip of the liberally laced coffee. His stomach shuddered a little when the strong mixture hit it, but then it calmed, and the rest went down smoothly.
“’Course I am. You going to offer for her?”
“I’m not sure. I told Mother I would meet her. Dinner at Lady Ravenscar’s tonight.”
“Grim.” Stuart made a face at the thought. “Much better go with us. Boly and I are visiting Madame Valencia’s.”
“I am sure a brothel would be more entertaining,” Devin agreed. “But I ought to meet this chit, I suppose.”
“Well, if you don’t offer for her, give me her name,” Stuart told him, grinning. “I’ll take her—squint, bow legs, spotty skin and all. I’m always short of the ready.”
“I shall keep you in mind,” Devin told him gravely, and they settled down to the far more enjoyable business of drinking and discussing a curricle race they had attended the week before.
Miranda leaned closer to her father and whispered in his ear, “I believe this little dinner to meet Lord Ravenscar might have been more of a success if Lord Ravenscar had actually attended it.”
“Now, Miranda, my love,” Joseph said ingratiatingly, “he might still come. It’s only—” he sneaked a glance at his pocket watch “—ten-thirty.”
“The invitation was for nine,” Miranda reminded him. The party had waited for Lord Ravenscar for almost thirty minutes before they went in to eat. But the elaborate, multicourse dinner had now drawn to a close, and the company had retired to the music room, where one of the guests, a blond, rather toothy woman, was butchering Mozart.
“Unless the man was run over by a wagon or something of equal severity,” Miranda went on in a whisper, “he is at the very least excessively rude. Personally, I am putting my money on his not showing at all.”
The female pianist stopped, and everyone applauded graciously. Fortunately, she did not offer to play another piece. Lady Westhampton turned