A Most Scandalous Proposal (41 page)

“I don’t know how you’ll avoid it. Once Julia gets a good look at you …”

“I thought I heard my name.” Benedict’s wife appeared just beyond his shoulder, waddling from the house in the wake of a prominent belly. “Gossiping about me behind my back, are you?”

Revelstoke caught her hand and pulled her close. Their fingers entwined as if they couldn’t bear as much as an instant apart. For a moment, they stared into each other’s eyes, and in that brief expanse of time, they disappeared into their own realm where only the pair of them existed. It lasted less than two seconds, but an entire conversation seemed to pass between them.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, George cleared his throat. God help him if he ever became that love struck.

Julia stepped forward to inspect him more closely. “My goodness, what have you done to your face?”

Revelstoke raised his brows and shrugged.

George glanced over his shoulder to make sure his mother was well occupied in directing the servants with the baggage before responding. “Came out on the wrong end of a rather vigorous discussion, but never fear. It looks worse than it is.”

“I shall ask Cook to make you a poultice to draw out the bruising.”

He shook his head. “Don’t trouble yourself on my account. I’m sure she’s got enough to oversee with a houseful of guests for the next week.”

“It’s no trouble at all. She knows the most wonderful recipes. One of our yearlings got himself into a scrape a while back, but Cook worked her magic, and he’s back as good as new. Outstrips the rest of them from one end of the pasture to the other, and barely blows at all.”

“You want to dose me with a remedy that you use on livestock? I think I’ll pass, thank you. Only, do me the service of not mentioning your ideas to my mother.”

With a laugh, Julia excused herself and trundled off to greet the Upperton sisters. Soon the air filled with high-pitched chatter.

George tilted his head in the direction of the main house. “You look disgustingly happy.”

Revelstoke shook his head. “Ever the one for a flowery turn of phrase, I see.” He took a few steps in the direction of the house. “Are you planning on telling me what you’re really doing here?”

“I’m attending this house party at your invitation. Why else would I have come except to pass a few days rusticating here with your guests? Can’t think of anything I’d rather be doing.”

Revelstoke cast him a sidelong look. “Pull the other one. From all appearances, you’ve got yourself into some scrape or other, so you’ve either come here to hide or you want me to get you out of it.”

George blew out a breath. “Don’t you have some horseflesh you’d like to show off?” He waved a hand in the direction of the stables. “A new broodmare? Perhaps one that’s produced the next champion at Ascot?”

Revelstoke clapped him on the shoulder. “That bad, is it? Perhaps you’d rather we have a drink in my study while the ladies settle in. And if you’ve got any particular sins you’d like to confess, I’ll have a listen.”

“I never held much with religion. Too many diversions count against you, you know. But if the priest offered brandy in the confessional, he might find he had a more faithful flock.” They tramped up the front steps in the wake of two footmen juggling a trunk. The sight reminded him of his sisters and their mother’s advice to pack their entire wardrobe. “I say, who all have you invited to this gathering?”

“Entirely too many, but Julia thought we ought to show a bit of hospitality. If I can interest some of the men in acquiring some horseflesh while they’re here, it
may all be worth it. She’s invited her sister, of course, and my brother, and since we’ll be entertaining an earl and a marquess, naturally half the
ton
saw fit to finagle an invitation whether we wished to see them or not.”

George suppressed a groan. “That means my mother will insist on putting my sisters on display. Tell me your pianoforte’s out of tune. They might actually sound decent for once.”

“As a matter of fact, Julia just had someone look at it.”

“Better order another case of brandy, one I can reserve for my own personal use.”

Revelstoke closed the door to his study and strode to a side table where a cut crystal decanter stood full of rich amber liquid. He poured two healthy measures and handed George a glass. George stared into the swirling depths and considered downing the alcohol in one go. No, best not to overimbibe or else he might confess more than necessary.

Revelstoke clinked glasses and raised his snifter. “Come now. What’s brought you here and in this state?”

“Seems my mistress forgot to tell me a thing or two. Like the fact she has a brother who doesn’t quite appreciate his sister being a kept woman.”

“It’s not as if you’re the man who ruined her.” Revelstoke raised a brow. “Are you?”

“Of course not, and you shouldn’t even have to ask. I draw the line at leading innocents astray.” He stared out the window to the greenery beyond the crosshatch of the mullions. Along a whitewashed fence, mares grazed surrounded by their cavorting foals. “I’m not Lucy’s first protector, and I certainly won’t be her last.”

“Then why would her brother have a problem with you in particular?”

George sipped at his brandy to play for time. “I didn’t come here to discuss my problems with my mistress.”

The look Revelstoke gave him clearly communicated his skepticism. “Then why are you here?”

“I can’t visit an old school chum, especially considering you never come into Town?” He set his glass on a burnished oak table. “Why, you practically forced me to make the trek out to this godforsaken corner of Kent.”

“The last thing I’d expect of you is to attend something so respectable as a house party, especially considering chances are quite high your sisters will torture us with their musical talent. So what is it?”

Revelstoke knew him too well, damn the man. “How’s the horse breeding business going?”

“It’s flourishing.” He nodded toward the pastoral scene just beyond the window. “Ask Julia to show you about the place later, and you’ll see all the improvements we’ve made with the profits. But you’re no more interested in acquiring a horse than you are in attending a house party.”

George snatched up his glass for a fortifying drink. “I was wondering, since you’re doing so well, if it was possible to spot me a loan.”

Revelstoke tore his attention away from the window. “How much do you need?”

Another mouthful. His last. “Five thousand pounds.”

Revelstoke spit out his brandy. “Five thousand? Good God, man. What makes you think I can afford to hand you that sort of blunt?”

“Could you see your way clear to lending me a thousand, say, or five hundred?”

“I daresay you stand a better chance, yes.” He marched back to the sideboard in search of the cut-glass decanter. “But what on earth have you been up to that you need those kinds of funds?”

George studied the pattern in the Axminster carpeting. “This and that. I may have got myself in a bit too deep at cards, on top of everything else.”

Revelstoke eyed his freshly poured glass, before slowly setting it aside. “Dare I ask what everything else comprises?”

George shrugged. “A mistress whose tastes run to the expensive, mostly. She insisted on a fairly fashionable address, and I’ve fallen behind on the rent.”

Revelstoke fixed his gaze on George. “Don’t you think it’s time you gave up that sort of living and settled down?”

George glanced toward the ceiling beams. Dark and heavy, like the rest of the room. “Oh no. Don’t you start, too. Bad enough my mother’s planning on throwing every eligible young miss in attendance in my direction; I don’t need you waxing poetic on the virtues of married life. Besides, you can’t tell me keeping a wife and child isn’t any less expensive than keeping a mistress.”

“But it is. No need to maintain separate addresses, for one thing. No need to staff two houses.”

George wagged his head from side to side. “You’ve come over all practical since you became leg-shackled. It’s downright boring.”

“With the right woman—”

“There you go, sounding like my mother again. I will be the first to commend you on your excellent taste in brides. At least you had the foresight to choose one with wit and cleverness. I’m afraid there aren’t many others like your Julia, though. You’ll have to understand this mere mortal doesn’t possess your luck in that department.”

Revelstoke rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being absurd.”

“Absurd or not, a betrothal is not going to solve my financial problems. Not unless you’ve invited an heiress or two who might be willing to overlook my long list of shortcomings.” He paused just long enough to allow Revelstoke to reply, knowing full well his friend didn’t
maintain the proper social connections to attract such an heiress.

In the face of Revelstoke’s silence, he went on. “Since no heiresses seem to be in the offing, you might tell me which gentlemen among your guests might be persuaded to play a few hands of whist.”

“Have you learned nothing at all from your current predicament?” Revelstoke pushed his glass away. “You’re in trouble because you played a few hands too many. Another game isn’t going to get you out. It may even put you in deeper.”

“Then how do you propose I get my hands on five thousand? I need blunt and soon.”

A line etched itself between Revelstoke’s brows. “This is about more than a demanding mistress.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because if that were your only problem, you’d hand her her congé and be done with it. So perhaps you tell me the real reason you need so much money, and I’ll consider a small loan.”

“You’re right.” George took the decanter and topped off Revelstoke’s glass before pouring himself another measure. Talking about that night inevitably called nightmarish visions to mind. “Do you remember Summersby?”

Revelstoke paused, glass halfway to his lips. “I heard. Damned tragedy, that.”

“Do you know why he did it?” When Revelstoke shook his head, George went on. “Creditors hounding him. He got in too deep and couldn’t pay.”

“And him with a wife and young child.” Revelstoke shook his head once more, this time in censure. “This is the sort of thing I mean. You get in too far—”

“The debts aren’t mine,” George cut in. “They’re Summersby’s. I mean to pay every last one. No reason his family should suffer. They’ve been through enough.”

Revelstoke set his glass aside with a clunk and clapped George on the shoulder. “Commendable of you. Never thought I’d say this, but it’s noble.”

“Hardly.” George let out a harsh bark. Some other man might have thought it laughter, but Revelstoke knew him too well to mistake the sound. It was pain, pure and simple. “I mean to ruin every last one of them, starting with Marshall.”

Revelstoke let out a low whistle. “Aiming rather high, aren’t you? If you came here with the intention of meeting him, I’m afraid the family is too well connected for the likes of us.”

George had suspected as much. “No matter. If you can spot me some funds, I can work on turning them into more. That way when I go back to Town, I’ll be ready for the bastards.”

“I’m afraid you’re in for some difficulty there.” Revelstoke clapped him on the shoulder once more. “Julia’s father, you see. She doesn’t want him tempted, so she’s asked me to let all the gentlemen know she’s prohibited deep play for the duration of the party.”