“My pleasure,” Worth sniffed the air. “I never pass up an opportunity to play cards with you, though I am usually the one losing. There is also the temptation of cows. Sheep. Rolling fields of barley. Or turnips. I can’t really tell from here.” Worth once more glanced at the fields and took a deep breath, nose wiggling in distaste. “Good lord, fresh air. I’ll be longing for the smell of soot within the hour, I warrant. I brought Phalen with me, and Grout as you requested.”
Two slightly rumpled gentlemen exited the carriage, one with a cloud of brandy hovering about his shoulders.
Phalen, pencil thin with a host of sharp cut angles and a blunt personality to match, stuck out his hand. “Sinclair. Good to see you, though I’m not sure why we couldn’t have played cards in town like civilized people.”
Phalen was born in bred in London, the son of a prominent businessman who dabbled in exporting. He and Worth had attended Harrow together, as had Grout.
Grout resembled a barrel more than a human being. He hiccupped at Drew, enveloping him in a cloud of brandy. “I don’t care for travel, as a rule. I made an exception for you, Sinclair.”
“Good to see you both.” He shook Grout’s hand and clapped Phalen on the shoulder.
“Oh,” Grout reached back inside the carriage, features crinkling in adoration. “We brought Lady Downing.”
Damn it to hell.
“Splendid,” Drew said, casting a look at Worth who pretended to study the pond in the distance. The very last person he wanted to view over a hand of cards was his former lover. Worth had said Grout was pursuing her with limited success. “I wish Worth had let me know. I’m not sure Lady Downing will be pleased with the accommodations.”
Worth waved a hand and lit a cheroot.
A slippered foot clad in red velvet came out of the carriage, followed by a voluminous swirl of crimson skirts trimmed in black jet. A gloved hand stretched out for Drew to take as a fog of thick perfume enveloped him.
Only Constance would wear crimson velvet for a trip to the country.
If Drew could have packed her back into the carriage and sent her back to London, he would have done so. Her presence among them was not unusual, but it was sure to cause trouble. Black eyes, like bits of polished onyx, took him in, a sly smile on her rosy lips.
“Andrew, you don’t mind that I’ve joined your little party, do you?” The ebony curls framing her heart-shaped face swayed as he helped her from the carriage. “I didn’t even tell Worth I was coming until the carriage came to collect me.” She cast a gaze at Worth who shrugged. “You adore surprises, at any rate.”
He did not. Surprises were often unpleasant and led to other, more disagreeable things. But the worst part about the appearance of Constance was Drew’s utter lack of desire for her. Constance was stunning. Far more beautiful than Hester and much more agreeable.
His bloody cock didn’t even so much as rise to greet Lady Downing though it knew well the delights to be found in her bed.
Damn.
“Do I, Lady Downing? I thought you didn’t care for the country.”
“Neither do you.” She held out her hand for him to take. “But yet you haven’t returned to London, so I wished to see what was keeping you so amused.”
Drew had broken off the brief affair with Constance a few weeks before he’d come to Lincolnshire. They’d met over cards at a ball given by Worth’s brother, the viscount, and became lovers that same night. Constance was snobbish, well-bred, and horribly spoiled, something Drew had little patience for. When he ended things, Constance had thrown a chamber pot at his head. One that had yet to be emptied.
“There’s little amusement in farming,” Drew shrugged. “I’m more assessing the value of the estate at present.”
“Oh, yes.” Constance gave a little flip of her wrist as she leaned into him. “The venture with Worth. I know you don’t want to go to your brother. I could lend you the sum, Andrew.”
Yes, but the cost would be quite dear, Drew surmised. He’d be nothing more than Constance’s lapdog.
“I appreciate the offer,” Drew said, making his meaning clear that he wasn’t interested in either Constance’s money or rekindling their physical relationship. “But I must decline.”
Constance pouted prettily. “You might change your mind.”
“Doubtful.”
Worth watched the exchange with mild interest. “Shall we go inside? I confess I’m curious about the accommodations at your farm, Sinclair.”
Constance’s nose wrinkled. “I smell something disagreeable.”
“Manure, I believe.” Grout took her arm, more for support than anything else. “Allow me to lead you inside.”
“Indeed, it is,” Drew answered.
