Page 9 of 10 Things I Hate About the Earl

“I will make sure of it.” He nodded, and they were off on the final figure of the quadrille. When it ended, she took his arm, satisfied, if not enthusiastic, at his response. Out of breath and with flushed cheeks, she let him lead her to Celinda, who stood near the doorway. “Miss Locke, Lady Celinda, it has been my pleasure.” He bowed, his gaze lingering a moment too long on her cousin. “If you will excuse me, ladies?” A final brilliant smile, and he headed toward a matronly woman in deep gold, with two young ladies at her side. Their faces lit up at his approach.

“His mother and sisters, I assume. We shall need to make their acquaintance as well,” Celinda murmured, not taking her gaze off the splendid figure of the retreating viscount.

“I expect we shall, as he’s invited us to his sister’s ball,” Kate said, her gaze just as firmly attached to Lord Finley.

“Excellent.” Celinda adjusted her dress and bit her lips, bringing more pink into them. “As I intend to marry Lord Finley, I suppose I should meet his family.”

* * * *

“King of Spades, thirty-one.” Ainsley drew the trick to him. All the tricks save two lay in front of him. “Seven of Clubs, thirty-two.”

“Well, believe it or not,” Marcus leaned back in his chair, “Ten of Clubs. Eleven and twelve.” He gathered the cards to him and sighed. “Definitely your night, Ainsley.”

His friend smiled, tallying the last hand. “I believe you are correct, old chap. Shall we go again? Kate has yet to appear and drag me off home.”

“Lord, no. I must pay up and go off to lick my wounds.” He’d taken a drubbing for certain tonight. Hopefully the damage wasn’t as high as he feared. To his dismay, he had not kept track of his losses as well as he should have. For some Godforsaken reason, he’d spent much of the game brooding over Miss Locke’s invective about his lack of industry. The woman had no idea what he’d been up against when his father died suddenly. To assume the earldom years before he’d expected it had been a nightmare of a particularly horrible sort. His father had taught him how to manage the estate, of course. Still, having the sole responsibility for the finances and his sisters’ welfare dropped upon him in the blink of an eye was daunting. Especially in the face of a crisis none of them had foreseen.

In the chaos that had reigned immediately after his father’s death, it was discovered that his steward had absconded with a substantial portion of the Haversham ancestral jewels and money. The theft might even have played a part in his father’s demise, for he had seemed to age greatly in the days before he died. It would take several years and a great deal of luck to recoup his losses, as there was little hope of recovery of the property. The last anyone had heard of Mr. Clemons, he’d been on a ship bound for America.

Marcus shook off the memory and reached for his purse. “How much have you set me back now, Ainsley?”

“Three.”

Hmm. Three hundred pounds was a lot of money to lose, especially when he’d planned to win such a sum instead. Ah, well, it could’ve been worse. He must refrain from play now, wagering only on investments, as his uncle had admonished him the last time he’d had to bail him out of the River Tick. “I’ve got two on me now.” He plunked the leather bag down on the table. “I’ll call round tomorrow with the other hundred.”

“Thousand.”

“I beg your pardon?” Marcus stared at his friend, confused. What the devil did he—

“It’s three thousand pounds, Marcus. Not three hundred.”

The candlelight wavered a moment as his vision tried to dim. Three thousand pounds?

“What do you mean?” Panic made his voice sharper than it should’ve been. “I never lost so much tonight.” Damn, he hated to question Ainsley, but that simply couldn’t be right.

“No, it was fifteen hundred tonight.” His friend continued to put away the cards, carefully not meeting his eyes. “The rest was from Saxby’s on Tuesday and Lord Branderson’s game on Saturday last. You were out of pocket both nights, if you recall.”

Dear God. He’d meant to get that money to Nathan the next day, but he’d no ready cash at the bank and his uncle had been from home. He was the one resource left who might lend him the sum. If he didn’t pay Ainsley, the ton would be on him like wolves on a suckling lamb. Miss Locke would likely lead the pack with a well-placed cut direct.

“I beg your pardon, Ainsley. I meant to get the money from Uncle Parminter, but I couldn’t run him to ground. I’ll bring it around directly tomorrow morning.” God help him if his uncle refused.

“There is a way you can take care of this matter with your uncle none the wiser.” Ainsley picked up the leather pouch and dropped it on top of the last trick Marcus had taken. “Marry my sister, and the debt is paid in full.”

Chapter 4

“You intend to marry him?” Kate wheeled toward her cousin, snapping her fan shut. “What are you talking about?”

“I said what I meant, Kate. I intend to marry Viscount Finley,” Celinda said with a saucy shake of her head. “He is everything I have been looking for in a husband. I need not look further. I plan to marry him by the end of the Season.”

“Has he said anything about speaking to your father?” Kate grasped at the first idea to pop into her head. This couldn’t be true.

“Not yet.” Celinda chest heaved and her eyes sparkled as she watched the retreating form of Lord Finley. Granted, he cut an excellent figure, but her cousin should not be showing such obvious interest. “But in the next week, I will make a concerted effort to turn Lord Finley’s head toward me and no one else.” She eyed Finley’s back avidly as he stood, speaking with his family. “I will make sure he speaks to Papa shortly. Believe me.”

“This is very sudden, cousin.” Kate fought to keep the panic out of her voice. “We only met him this evening, and now you intend to marry him?”

She must find some way to distract her cousin from this rash course. Not only rash, but disastrous for her own hopes for Lord Finley. Celinda had at least one more Season ahead of her after this one. Kate had only until August. She’d been out for two Seasons without finding a single gentleman who didn’t set her teeth on edge, had a brain in his head, or could keep her interest for more than the length of a dance. Now she had found him, or thought she had, it simply wasn’t fair that Celinda had become infatuated with him.

“Oh, Kate.” Celinda grasped her hands, her face aglow. “When you find the man, the one man who will be your perfect match, you’ll just know. You’ll feel it in every single part of you.”