Page 2 of A Rogue to Reform

Heavy breathing and grunts sounded.

The woman who sat on his friend Henry Campbell’s lap cried out in apparent release and slumped forward as his friend grunted, his face contorting as he completed his own.

“Away you go,” Henry said lightly, lifting the woman who straddled him, and then plopped her none-so-gently on the sofa next to him.

“Ladies,” the butler, Norman, appeared with cloaks and hats, and soon thereafter guided the pouting women from the room.

Evan pushed an errant lock from his brow and pulled out the pianoforte bench that had recently vacated by one of the women and sat facing the piano. His fingers traveled lazily over the keys as his half-closed eyes moved about the room, meeting each of his friends’ gazes, holding one for a moment before traveling to the next.

First, he looked to Henry Campbell, the youngest of the four, who’d lost his inheritance on a wager.

Second, he met Miles Johnstone’s gaze. Lord Rosenthal was the only one among them with a title. Heir to a West Indies duke, who’d been granted the title directly by King Edward. Miles’s father had moved to Glasgow from England before Miles was born to indulge his Scottish wife. The combination of heritage gave Miles an exotic look that ensured he never lacked female companionship.

The last of the three men in the room was Grant Murray, whom he’d grown up with. Grant was a contradiction. He was penniless by choice, had broken all ties with his family for a reason he’d never revealed. Now he lived there at the estate with Evan, spending his days, or one could say nights, sleeping with wealthy women who ensured he never lacked for anything. Therefore, Grant had plenty of extravagant belongings, but no money to call his own.

The men, used to his abrupt announcements, were unfazed by his dismissal of the women, whom they’d paid to accompany them for the evening, and remained silent as he considered what to say.

It was already rather late, well past midnight.

“What have you been doing?” Henry asked, buttoning up his britches. “You did not partake of the…entertainment.”

Evan rolled his eyes. “I have been working on something that is far more important. Which I am about to share with you, my three closest friends.”

Although he and the others often gathered to enjoy the attentions of prostitutes, or other women who enjoyed the company of men without attachments, that night he’d been too restless to take part.

Besides, in Evan’s opinion, hours of empty conversation that would ultimately lead to a rather unimpressive fuck did not, to him at least, constitute a good use of time.

“What is the grand announcement of the evening?” Miles asked, his dark eyes traveling from Evan’s face to where his hands now lay flat over the keys of the pianoforte.

It was hard to keep from shouting out the words. Instead, he ensured a calm demeanor and stood. “Gentlemen, I have found a way for us to make a grand fortune. We will be rich beyond what we can imagine.”

“He found the elusive genie in a bottle,” Grant Murray, the quietest of the group, expounded. “I say we play cards for the three wishes.”

Henry stood and stretched. “As you are aware, I would win the game, and therefore, the three wishes.” He turned his hand, revealing a deck of cards.

“It is doubtful,” Miles replied. “Else you would still have your inheritance.”

Unfazed, Henry smiled. “I am a fast learner, and all the losses taught me well. I have not lost a game in months.”

“That is because no respectable gambling den allows you in,” Evan quipped. He held up both hands. “Listen, I ask for but a moment.”

“Very well,” Miles said. “What is it?”

“A ship.” He paused purposefully for effect. “There is a ship bound for the West Indies that has lost its sponsor. The captain has agreed to give us three months to come up with the capital to sponsor it.”

Miles straightened and leaned forward. “Why would he agree to wait three months? Those ships make fortunes; sponsors are easy to find.”

This was the best news he’d ever shared. “Because my father saved the captain’s life when serving the Royal Navy and he feels obligated. Over drinks, he and my father spoke about it.”

“Yer father served in the English Navy?” Henry asked, his face twisted in disgust. “Do you honestly believe an Englishman will repay a Scot for saving his life? I doubt any Englishman would be that honorable.”

Henry, an avid historian, hated the fact that the Scottish Navy was absorbed into the British Royal Navy in 1707. They were all informed of every sordid detail because Henry never stopped talking about it and other injustices he claimed to have been done to the Scottish by England. There was little doubt that Henry hated England.

“That is neither here nor there,” Evan interrupted. “What is important is that we must raise the money necessary to sponsor the ship.”

This time, Evan smiled widely. “I know your next question is how will we do it?”

“We wait with bated breath,” Miles said, all but yawning.