How to Marry a Rogue (2 page)

Sophie and Georgiana exchanged amused grins behind his back.

“Why, my dearest, you’ve just described yourself,” Sophie said. “Does such a man exist in the entire kingdom besides you?”

He gave a rueful laugh as he faced them. “Unfortunately, no. But there’s one who might do the job.” A tremor rippled through him, causing the silver threads in his brocade waistcoat to shimmer in the lamplight. “If I can persuade him to leave his”—he cleared his throat—“pursuits.”

Chapter Two

Jack Waverley licked the corner of his mouth and tasted blood. No whiskey for him later, as it would mean a hell of a burn in his torn mouth. He shook his sopping hair from his eyes, spraying the rowdy men with sweat and droplets of blood. Taking a deep breath until his ribs creaked, he rubbed his battered left fist with his right.

His opponent glared at him, and the two circled each other to the shouts and taunts of the inebriated crowd.

“Had enough, yer lordship?” his opponent jeered.

Jack grinned, his pulse pounding with a new burst of energy. “Not quite yet. After I lay you out, I intend to take on your brother.” He shook a strand of hair from his eyes. “And then I’ll take your sister.”

With a roar, the fighter lunged at him, but Jack stopped him with a clean uppercut to his jaw.

The man’s eyes rolled comically back into his head and he keeled over like a fallen tree.

Jack dusted off his hands and searched among the sea of faces for his second.

Talbot Reynolds handed him a clean towel, his face beaded with sweat from the pressing heat. “Good show, there, Jack. He didn’t see it coming.”

Before Jack could reply, a woman in a low cut dress and no corset gripped his ears and pulled his face down for a smacking kiss tasting of cheap wine and an unspoken promise only a man could detect. Had he not been exhausted to the point of falling down, he might have invited her into a side room somewhere. As it was, he merely offered a courtly bow.

“Yer a right strong brute!” She squeezed his biceps with forceful fingers.

Talbot pried her off him and sent her on her way with a smack on the bottom for good measure.

“Thank you, madam.” Jack’s gaze wandered after her retreating figure.

Talbot nudged his arm. “That’s another five hundred you’ve won tonight.”

Jack sponged off his sweaty face, scowling at the traces of blood smeared on the towel. “Five hundred to the good, but it nearly cost me a tooth.” He gave a tentative wiggle with the tip of his tongue. “I’m through with this lot for the night. How about a drink?”

“Or a long soak in a tub. You stink, Waverley.”

Jack spun around at the familiar voice. “Lockewood!” He gripped his friend’s hand, pumping it vigorously. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you see that last match?”

“Match, you call it?” Jonathan brushed at his sleeve where an overeager patron had clutched him in a fit of excitement, leaving a greasy smear on his spotless coat. His upper lip curled in disdain. “Looked more like a brawl.”

“Yes—but a brawl has no money to be won.”

“True; but the end result is the same.” Lockewood’s stare took in all of Jack’s bruises and bumps. Jack grinned.

“I never expected to see you in one of these places, Lockewood. Do not tell me you’ve reconsidered the charms of boxing? You’re strong enough, you know.” He gave his head a slight shake. Poor Lockewood looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else than in the roiling boxing dens.

“Thank you for your assessment, but I am here on another matter. I do hope you will assist me.”

“Anything, my friend. But let’s speak outside where the smell is decidedly less pungent.”

They walked outside, and Jack sucked in a lungful of cool air, wincing with every movement of his ribs. Talbot helped him with his shirt, and he gingerly stuck his arms in the sleeves. Jonathan handed him his topcoat.

“Do you still visit your grandfather’s winery across the Channel? Or has he bestowed that duty upon another?”

Jack’s mouth twisted. “My grandfather will only trust me to see to his business, no matter how much I loathe leaving my fascinating life here. Unfortunately, I will be off to Bordeaux at the end of the month, there to suffer under the spells of guileless young women and flowing juices of the vine.” He fastened the last button on his shirt. “Are you interested in a few cases?”

“No, although I wish it were as simple as that. Georgiana desires to go abroad with our aunt Adele in a month. I am seeking a strong male escort.” Jonathan flushed. “I hate to ask you, Jack, but if you were already going…”

“I would be delighted, Lockewood. Grandfather wants me there within three weeks or so. I can easily alter my plans to fit yours.”

Jonathan’s shoulders straightened as if Jack had removed a great burden. “Thank you, Jack. You don’t know how much this means to me. If anything were to happen to her…” He shook Jack’s hand. “Come by my house in Grosvenor Square later, if you are able. Perhaps we can share a drink and talk of old times.”

Jack grinned wryly. He had a full evening already planned involving the company of his latest mistress—an Italian Cyprian named Donatella. Or was Gabriella on the menu tonight?

“I fear I would not be suitable company for your sweet bride, banged up as I am. Come to my set at the Albany later. It’s probably a lot quieter than Grosvenor Square, with all your women clacking about. As I recall, Georgie could talk the ears off an elephant.”

Jonathan laughed. “She has not changed in that regard. But we do not call her Georgie anymore. She’s all grown up now, as she never fails to remind me. Shall we say ten this evening?”

Jonathan walked to his waiting carriage. Jack stared after him.

“What have you agreed to, Jack? Is not his sister a child?” Talbot asked.

“She should be—oh, I don’t know—about sixteen or so. No, eighteen.” He chewed his lip. Had it been two years or more since he’d last visited Fairwood Hall? He saw Lockewood on occasion but had missed the wedding due to pressing business. Maybe he’d been too wrapped up in a winning streak at a gambling hell to notice. He really should pay more attention to his friends. He had few left in the world as it was.

“Hard luck, Jack. I wouldn’t want to escort a chattering chit and troublesome old matron across the Channel.”

“I don’t mind. Georgiana was always an amusing girl.” He caught a glimpse of himself in a storefront window and frowned. “I hope my nose looks more like its old self before the journey. I would hate to scare the ladies.”

****

“Is domesticated bliss boring you to tears already?” Jack regarded his friend as they sat before the fireplace in Jack’s bachelor quarters. The room was tidier than usual, as Jack had spent the past few nights tied down at a gaming table or pursuing the delectable Mrs. Leister, an actress at the Haymarket with whom he’d once shared a dalliance in his youth.

“On the contrary, my dear fellow,” Jonathan replied archly. “Marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me. You should be so lucky.”

As much as he enjoyed teasing his old friend, Jack had to agree. “You and Sophie are very fortunate. I’ve never seen you happier.”

“You should set your mind to a similar place, Jack. One cannot find happiness in those gaming hells and dens of sin you frequent.”

“Marriage has spoiled you for these low establishments, Lockewood.” He waved his hand, lazy from the cozy fire and a rich supper. “I have not your penchant for domestication. I shall not stick my neck willingly into the parson’s noose.”

“Do you not ever think of settling down, Jack? Putting all of this”—Jonathan motioned toward Jack’s crooked nose—“behind you?”

“The noose will be around my neck soon enough.” Jack tried not to dwell on the last conversation he’d had with his grandfather. “Alas, I cannot find anyone suitable.”

“You have, no doubt, been looking in the wrong places.”

Jack smirked. “Perhaps I should visit your bride’s family. Does she not have a few pink-cheeked sisters still at home?” Jonathan shuddered, and Jack choked on a laugh. “Do not worry, Lockewood. You and I would make disparate brothers-in-law.”

“I agree with you there. You would be better off allowing someone else to find a respectable bride for you, Jack. Sophie can always inquire amongst her friends. Nice girls, the lot of them.”

Jack twisted the glass between his fingers, sloshing the dark amber liquid around the edges. “That would be delightful if we were talking about a cottage by the sea or a piece of horseflesh. Thank you for the thought, but I prefer to find my own bride.”

“Has your grandfather been threatening you again?”

Although he grinned, Jack detected an air of sympathy in his friend’s voice.

“He is of the opinion a wife will end my wicked ways. To that effect, he has threatened to halt my allowance by my thirtieth birthday if I do not produce a marriage license.” He stared into the bottom of his glass. “And a wife to go with it.”

“The dreaded thirtieth birthday ultimatum.” Jonathan sighed. “I don’t envy you. To be forced into marriage, well…” He finished his brandy. “I know we both experienced many diversions in our youth, but I am glad to have settled down. I never thought I’d say it, but I am truly happy. I wish you would find that kind of happiness, Jack.”

He couldn’t resist snorting. “What? Attach myself to a rich little heiress who will try to bend me into her mother’s ideal of a perfect husband? Staying home every night at the beck and call of a shrill-voiced viper while delightful temptations wait around every corner?” He tapped the rim of his glass. “You don’t remember what it’s like to have a different woman in your bed night after night. As lovely as Mrs. Lockewood is, I would not want to come home every night to the same woman.”

Jonathan shook his head sternly, but a corner of his mouth twitched. “One day, you will eat those words, Jack. I will wait for the day when you spout poetically of the haunting creature who has beguiled you down the aisle.”

“When that day comes, I give you permission to hang me from the nearest tree.”

“Why so down on love, Jack? Now that I think of it, I’ve never known you to lose your heart. Even to the actress we all knew, years ago. Sarah, was it? I thought she was the one for you, despite the fact your grandfather would have disowned you on the spot for sullying the Waverley name.”

Jack fidgeted with his cuff buttons. “It’s complicated.”

Jonathan sniffed. “There is no complication. You refuse to open your heart to anyone, as friendly and caring as you are. What do you fear? That someone will actually love you?”

“I haven’t seen you in nearly three years, and all you can do is preach steadfast monogamy? Come, man! I remember when your heart was torn between the delightful Lady Selfridge and her sister. Neither of them knew you were courting the other. Do not speak to me about true love. Besides, it does not exist.”

“It does not?”

“No. It’s a fabrication intended to ruin the lives of otherwise contented bachelors.” Jack rose to stretch his legs and peered out the window at the rain pouring off the roof across the street. The green hills of Bordeaux would be a respite after the sodden London spring.

“I will not attempt to change your mind, Jack. And, for God’s sake, I do not mean to preach. I would have you happy.”

“I am happy.” Jack turned away from the window and forced his frown to vanish. “As happy as I can expect to be. Enough about me. Tell me more of your sister’s upcoming adventure away from the safety and security of your hearth. I’m surprised you are allowing her out of your sight.”

“Georgiana wishes for a change of scene. I admit an ulterior motive in asking you to escort her, Jack. I hope you can talk some sense into her while you’re traveling together. She has always looked up to you, and I think hearing advice from someone she admires will help my purpose.”

“Oh? What has she done now?” Jack recalled Georgiana’s mischievous antics as a child, often driving her patient brother to distraction.

“She refuses to discuss any possibility of marriage. I have found several likely suitors for her, but she will have nothing to do with them. I’m at my wit’s end, and Sophie will not take my side.”

Jack hid a smile. “She’s still very young. Can she not wait a few years?”

“She’ll be twenty in a month. She has not entertained any suitors this season. If she continues like this, no one will want her.”

Jack laughed. “She’s beautiful, intelligent, and enormously wealthy. Anyone would have her, should he meet your impossibly high standards. Tell me the list of candidates for your future brother-in-law, and I will foster my own opinion as to speaking to her.”

Lockewood numbered them on his fingers. “There is Winston, the son of Lord Jarvis.”

“Not very bright, but he has around six thousand a year and will not interfere with your controlling his wife’s every move. Next?”

“The Earl of Rochester’s boy.”

“The one who was caught in a compromising position with his sister’s governess?”

“No, the other one.” Jonathan’s face flushed.

“Ah. Roderick. Big ears to match his equally big inheritance. Decent dancer, but I’ve encountered him at enough gaming hells to know you do not want him visiting Fairwood Hall at Christmastide unless you lock up your scullery maids. Who else have you selected, or are they all as promising as this lot?”

Jonathan’s left eyelid twitched. “Viscount Richmond’s eldest. Herbert. He’s rather big-boned, but he’s a steady fellow. Likes horses.”

“Only because he shares their appetite.” Jack steepled his fingers. “Georgiana will not tolerate a gambler, nor will she accept that oaf, Richmond, regardless of the fortune. Why are you going to so much trouble in procuring a husband for her? Surely, with her own fortune, she may remain on the shelf for a good many years before taking that fateful plunge into the abyss. She has you and your wife, and her other Lockewood cousins.” He peered intently at his friend. “It must be for another reason.”

Jonathan fidgeted with his watch fob. “Do you recall that repugnant incident about two years ago?”

“Involving a man whom you considered a brother?” Jack tensed, every muscle contracting as if he were in the boxing ring and not in his drawing room. “I do wish you had brought me along to Gretna Green, Lockewood. I’d have seen to it that Mitford took his food in liquid form the rest of his life.”