Archie cleared his throat. “What poor quality the horseflesh is today,” he said loudly. “Nothing like what’s arrived from Italy.”
Nestor turned an assessing eye onto him. “What’s this, Archer?” The man tried to sound disinterested—and failed.
Archie shifted on his feet. Who said Delilah was the only actor in the family? “I shouldn’t be talking about it.”
Nestor sidled closer. “What’s a small confidence between old school chums?”
That was a stretch, and they both knew it, but civility demanded that Archie leave it be. That, and the fact that Archie was trying to outswindle the man.
He allowed a few beats of time to tick past, then he gave Nestor a conspiratorial half smile. “You know my sister, Lady Delilah, correct?”
“I believe she continues to labor under the impression that my name is Lord Fester.”
Good old Delilah. Archie only just didn’t snort. Miss Hart, however, wasn’t as successful as she launched into a coughing fit, which hadNestor lifting an unimpressed eyebrow, implying Archie needed a firmer hand with his servant.
“Well, she made a friend in Italy,” continued Archie, wishing Miss Hart would get a hold of herself. “Acontessa, as it happens. You know the story—young beauty married to a titled, agingroué.”
“A version of it, as it happens.” Nestor didn’t speak the words lightly, as a joke, but bitterly and with a sour twist to his mouth.
All thetonknew the story of how the elder Lord Nestor had gambled away the family’s fortune before running off to the Continent with his mistress, where he’d perished within three years of the pox.
Archie gave a commiserative smile. “Well, the old count won an Arabian off a sultan in a card game. Then several months—and several hundred card games later—he lost a whole stable of horses, save one. Then he died, leaving behind a young, impoverished widow. Well,la contessais in London.” He waggled an eyebrow. “With the Arabian.”
Nestor snorted. “Man or horse?” he asked drily.
“Horse.”
“To breed or race?” asked Nestor. Archie sensed he was losing the man’s interest.
“Tosell,” said Archie.
If Nestor had been a dog, his ears would have perked up. Archie could practically see the wheels turning inside the man’s head. He glanced down at Miss Hart. Eyes fast on her feet, a subtle cant to her head, she was following every nuance of the conversation.
“Are you going to buy the horse?” asked Nestor.
Archie shrugged. “Considering it.”
“Why wouldn’t you? Everyone knows the Windermeres have the blunt.” There it was again—the bitterness Nestor had carried with him all his life.
“In truth, I’m seeking a partner,” said Archie, offhand. “I’ve recently come into monetary fluidity, erm,issues, and the contessa wants payment in solid guineas. And who has that sort ofmoney readily available?”
“It so happens—” began Nestor.
Archie cut him off with a tip of his hat. “Nestor, I won’t take up any more of your afternoon. Good day.”
He pivoted on his heel and started walking. A flurry of rapid footsteps had Miss Hart beside him, shooting daggers at the side of his face. He met her panicked eyes with calm and began counting down. If he wasn’t too far off the mark, Lord Nestor would be calling out infive…four…three…
“Archer!”
Archie pivoted and waited while the man caught up. Miss Hart looked mildly winded, unaccustomed to bluffing an opponent. “Yes?” he asked, the question dripping with utter indifference.
Nestor cleared his throat in the manner of one who wanted something very much, but didn’t wish to appear so.
And that was when Archie knew he had him.
“It so happens I have a cache of blunt set aside,” said Nestor, casual. Archie wondered if his palms were sweaty. Miss Hart’s surely were. “Have you seen the horse?”
“In Italy.”
