Della whirled to face her sister. “Why did you ask for my help if you’re just going to ruin things?”
“You’rethe one ruining things!” Annabelle snapped back. “He figured it out five minutes into your speech.”
“Because you’re both appallingly predictable,” Peter said. He rose from the chaise and poured himself a brandy, then addressed them from behind the rim of his glass. “Anyway, your game is up. I’m not interested in helping you unload another man’s castoffs, so you can tell your friend she’ll have to find another mark.”
“Peter, at least hear us out,” Della pleaded. “Setting aside the matter of her minor ruination, you must acknowledge that Miss Greenwood would be an excellent match for you. She’s beautiful, witty, well liked, and she comes from a good family with a bit of money. It would be difficult to find anyone better—”
“Verydifficult,” Annabelle added, with a speaking look to their brother’s rumpled hair and uneven cravat.
Della continued, “Surely you must want to have children one day, to pass on your, er…your legacy?” At present, Peter’s legacy was poor luck at cards and slightly better luck at hunting. Never mind. He still had decades to prove himself useful at something. Starting right now. “You must intend to marry eventually. Don’t dismiss a perfectly goodoption over a little misunderstanding.”
“I don’t see why I should marry soon,” Peter retorted. “I might happily put it off for another decade, at least. And as for children, I have no desire to find a cuckoo’s egg in my nest, which is what you’re offering me.”
“There is no chance whatsoever that she’s expecting,” Annabelle said. “I promise you.”
Peter gave a snort. “So far as you know. Do you think she’d be honest about such a thing? I’m sure she told you it was only a few kisses, but her word won’t be worth much with me, I’m afraid.”
Oh dear. It was for Annabelle to handle this part. Della had done her best, but she couldn’t say much to refute Peter’s assumption without revealing everything.
The odds were against us from the start.
“Wemustfind her a husband,” Annabelle said. “If you won’t do it, do you have any friends in need of a wife? Preferably an urgent need. To fulfill a dying mother’s wish, or satisfy a condition in a will, or something along those lines.”
“That doesn’t happen as often as you think. And at any rate, I could hardly call them my friends if I recommend they wed a light-skirt.”
“You are insufferable!” Annabelle snapped. “I never ask you for anything. Can’t you just marry this one lady for me?”
“No.” Peter glowered at his sister. “Why should I? It would bring me nothing but scandal and regret.”
“I promise you, you’ll have plenty of that if you refuse.”
Annabelle’s threat carried enough edge that Peter froze, his glass suspended halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?”
Annabelle strode over to the sideboard, poured her own drink, and took a long swallow before she replied, impervious to her brother’s shock. “Because Miss Greenwood knows a very damaging secret about me. And if we don’t rescue her from her current predicament,there’s a good chance she’ll reveal it.”
“A blackmailer as well as a light-skirt. This gets better and better. What’s the secret?”
“You’re happier not knowing,” Annabelle replied. “But believe me when I say it’s such that I would have to retire from society, which is not something I plan to accept without a fight.”
Peter hazarded a glance to Della, who gave a curt nod.
He rubbed a hand over his brow, at last troubled. He hated their continual flirtation with scandal. “I’m sorry, but I still won’t do it. You’ve told me next to nothing of your reasons for helping Miss Greenwood, what little I know of her character paints a damning portrait, and there’s no advantage to me whatsoever. Whatever your secret is, you’ll have to weather the gossip somehow.”
“I’m the one who ruined her,” Annabelle blurted out. She edged closer to Della’s side, looking less like a demanding busybody and more like a lost youth.
“Pardon?” Peter squinted at Annabelle as if she’d grown a second head. “But…but you’re awoman. How could you…?”
“Don’t be obtuse, please.”
As the silence that followed begged to be filled with a few details, Della took it upon herself to add the most essential ones. “Annabelle was seen sneaking out of their house by Miss Greenwood’s father, but in the dark he mistook her for a man. If we don’t find someone else to step forward, the truth might emerge.”
Peter returned to his spot on the chaise and buried his face in his hands.
“Why can’t you two benormal?” he moaned. “Gambling clubs, seducing other women. Do you know how many of my friends have to marry a ruined lady to save their sister’s reputation?None.It would never happen.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Annabelle asked, hope creepinginto her voice.
“No,” Peter repeated, although less forcefully than before. “You still haven’t told me why it should be my burden to save you from your own mess.”
