One Rogue Too Many by Samantha Grace Page A

things, however, and Anthony’s sonnet was hideous compared to Thorne’s. “How did he write something that polished in the little time we were given?”
    Corby shoved his newssheet into his lap and gaped. “ He didn’t write that balderdash he was spouting. He was quoting Shakespeare.”
    Heat swept over Anthony and he tugged at his cravat self-consciously. Thorne likely knew Anthony wouldn’t remember the bard’s work. It wasn’t one of his topics of interest, unlike arithmetic and animal husbandry, which were twice as useful in his estimation. Unfortunately, Gabby hadn’t asked them to explain Pythagoreanism or how best to breed Cotswold sheep.
    “If you want to win the lady’s heart,” Corby said, “you will need to do one better than quoting poetry. What interests does your lady hold?”
    Perhaps Corby had a point. Gabby enjoyed poetry, but she loved something much more. “She is talented with sketching and watercolors.”
    Corby nodded. “Yes, that’s good. Go on.”
    “She seems to like all things art related, in truth. Oils. Marble sculptures.”
    “I have it,” the viscount said with a snap of his fingers. “I’m a bit of a collector myself. My father turned me on to it.”
    “Poetry and art. I wouldn’t have guessed you were a romantic, Corby.”
    His companion’s face pinched. “Do you wish for my help or not?”
    “Fine.” What was the world coming to that Anthony would accept assistance with courting from Corby?
    “I will have my mother plan a private showing and make certain Lady Gabrielle is on the guest list, along with you, of course. You may tell her you persuaded me to open my gallery to a few select people because of her love for art.”
    “That’s a brilliant suggestion.” Gabby would be thrilled by the opportunity to peruse Corby’s private collection. Anthony couldn’t wait to tell her. Perhaps she would even forget about the sonnet in her excitement.
    Corby was watching him too keenly and a crawling sensation crept up his spine. Something didn’t feel right.
    “Why do you want to help me?”
    A leer broke across Corby’s too-pretty face. “I have money riding on you.”
    His jaw dropped. “You made a bet concerning Lady Gabrielle?”
    “Don’t look at me like I kicked a puppy. The competition between you and Thorne isn’t of my making. I simply saw an opportunity to plump my pockets.” He raised his newssheet again, cutting off eye contact. “Truth be told, I feel sorry for the lady. Either way she ends up the loser.”
    “Sod off, Hugh.” Anthony thumped the other man’s paper on the way out.
    “I’ll have Mother send ’round an invitation soon,” he called.
    And damned if Anthony wouldn’t accept it. A private showing of a rarely seen art collection was just the thing to give him a leg up on the competition. Gabby would be ecstatic, and he couldn’t resist the urge to make her smile.
    ***
    Gabby pasted on a smile for Lord Thorne and tugged open the double doors to the drawing room. She hadn’t expected him to pay a call after their conversation last night, and yet she wasn’t surprised. He was as persistent as a case of head lice.
    He stood at the window with his back to her. Sunlight poured through the glass and cast his broad-shouldered frame aglow. Admittedly, he was several degrees more appealing than head lice, but the comparison was still apt.
    “Good afternoon, Lord Thorne.”
    He swung around with a grin. “Lady Gabrielle, haven’t I implored you to call me Sebastian?”
    “You have, my lord, and I have declined.”
    He chuckled and came away from the window. “I do enjoy a challenge, my lady.”
    Which created quite the bind for her. The more she resisted, the harder he tried. Her maid claimed a quiet corner of the room and turned her attention toward knitting. Gabby hadn’t felt right about asking Anthony to recite his poem in the presence of one of her family members, so she had requested her maid chaperone this afternoon. Magda