Benedict shrugged one shoulder. “I’m no saint. Nor are you, I’d wager. Truly, I think the surname lends itself to the moniker more than it is earned.” The temptation to list Wayland’s sins was strong, but that impulse would not serve Benedict’s aims.
“Mypast is not up for discussion. And I run a legitimate business.”
There was no stilling the skeptical brow that crept up Benedict’s forehead.
“It’s true. I’ve never cheated.” Wayland insisted. His expression was unguarded, even. Had Benedict not known the truth, not known what a skilled gambler—liar—Wayland was, he might have fallen for the falsehood. But Benedict had lived with the consequences of the man’s misdeeds his entire life.
His father may be a flawed man; he might not even be a good one. But Benedict knew in his bones that heneverwould have made that wager if it were so risky. He wouldn’t have done that to his wife, to his son. He could not have.
Benedict bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back the insults that threatened to spill. “Forgive my skepticism. I merely meant to illustrate that no man is without sin. I merely have the misfortune of the surname Sinclair.”
Undeterred, Wayland asked, “And what sins are you known for?”
“I’ve had a mistress or two in my misspent youth.”
“Thatwould not earn the appellation.”
The sigh was difficult to restrain. “I accepted the patronage of a lonely officer’s wife, and later a widow. It paid for university.” The explanation, despite the years that had passed, always left Benedict feeling fouled. No matter that he was hardly the first to enjoy the mutual benefits of such an arrangement—that itwas more than expected for a lady to receive such benefits—he always felt shameful giving voice to it.
Benedict gnawed on his tongue. This was the moment, the linchpin. If Wayland objected here, it would be nearly impossible to win the daughter’s affections. Benedict would be a failure. He would be forced to return to Blackwood and confess his defeat.
Wayland was quiet for a moment, contemplating him as he took a sip from his glass. “And your fellow students…”
“As I said, the surname provided the ammunition. And there are worse reputations. After university, I found other financing.”
“So you no longer enjoy the company of lonely women?”
Benedict huffed. “I’m not a monk, if that’s what you are after. I like women, and they like me. But I’ve a crumbling estate and not enough daylight to repair it.”
“Women are a time-consuming lot,” Wayland said. “Especially daughters. Good Lord, daughters. You caused quite a spat, sir.”
“I did?” he asked with genuine surprise.
“Indeed. An unforgivable offense to a man like myself, who appreciates harmony in the home. However, you also made my Lizzie feel beautiful and special, and for that, I would forgive you almost anything. Assuming, of course, that your interest is genuine.” He caught Benedict’s gaze with a pointed look.
“Have you ever spoken to your daughter?” Benedict blurted, unthinking.
“Yes.” Wayland’s tone carried a hint of warning.
“She’s…” Benedict hesitated, searching for the words to describe his two meetings with the enigma that was Eliza Wayland. A wallflower on the surface, certainly, but she hadn’t hesitated to clash wits with him. She’d left that gentleman downstairs in dire straits with nothing but a pleasant smile. “I’ve only met her twice. But she left me speechless each time. MissEliza is quick and bright, and her smile— I’ve never known its like. So yes, I would very much enjoy the opportunity to know her better.”
“And once you do?” Wayland prompted.
“I did not come to town expecting to take a wife. But if the perfect wife should appear— I am no fool.”
Wayland released a heavy breath. “Assuming, of course, that you agree to submit to the usual investigations we perform at the club before offering membership. If my Lizzie is amenable, you may perform the usual courtship nonsense, flowers, promenades, and the like. No more flasks in corners or fisticuffs at my gaming tables. I expect you to treat her with the respect she is due.”
The sheepish expression that crossed his face came more naturally than Benedict would have wished. “Certainly, I— This is more than I could have hoped. Thank you.”
“You’re assuming she will be amenable.”
“I am… cautiously optimistic.”
“Correct answer. Now, go visit Augie next door and provide him with your personal details. Then leave my club before anyone else bleeds on my carpets.”
Benedict rose and started toward the door, striving to hide his eagerness for freedom behind a vigorous straightening of his frock coat. He’d nearly reached the rich, carved mahogany before Wayland called out.
“Oh, and Sinclair?”
