sort of marriage.”
* * * * * *
“Your first try at the job, and you have failed. Damn you, Mott! I want the bitch dead, and all you managed was a toss from her horse.” Edward stood carefully and rapped his cane on the floor. Beset with fury since the night of their confrontation, he’d thought of nothing but the death of his former sister-in-law, Eliza Grayson.
She had ruined him and by heavens, she would die for it!
Mott, a burly man with a pock-marked face and large bulbous nose, sniffled like a snot-nosed child and lowered his head. “Just a wee bit o’ bad plannin’, yer lordship, but I’ll see ’er done, I will.”
Edward sneered at the filthy hireling and sank into his chair again. “And just how do you propose to complete your job?”
Mott drew a relieved breath and grinned through rotted teeth. “Gotta hire me an associate, gov. Got just the bloke in mind. We’ll catch the lady all alone and stick ‘er good.” For emphasis, he withdrew a long, wicked blade, which he caressed as sweetly as he might a lover. “Within the week, the twit won’t be no problem to ye. Ye have me word.”
Edward downed a shot of strong whiskey and snorted. “See that you do not disappoint me.”
* * * * * * *
Stephen Fitzgerald, Lord Darlington, rapped sharply on the door of Nicholas’s home and casually tapped a hand to his breast pocket. Signed, sealed, and now delivered, the papers outlining the bet in minute detail waited to be handed into Nicholas’s care.
Leaving nothing to chance, he had seen his solicitor and had everything put in order. This was no simple wager, but a costly one involving the very last bit of wealth he owned. Stephen smiled and eyed the façade of the Weston mansion. Something like this would belong to him soon. Confidence, being one of his finer points, would serve him well in courting Eliza Grayson.
Recalling the last day he’d seen her, it was impossible not to notice the irritability she felt in Nicholas’s company. The woman virtually seethed around him while she’d treated himself with a polite, yet flirtatious, attitude.
Yes, it should not be hard to win her as long as he managed to keep his mother away. Beatrice was far too pushy for his taste. A master at manipulation, she wanted a fortune and she wanted it now. He had managed to care for her with his winnings, yet she was never satisfied. Though he knew she loved him, there were times that he wished her a continent away. Her meddling would only serve to damage his cause.
The afternoon was sunny and a bit breezy. A gust nearly dislodged his high-crowned beaver hat. Removing it to tuck lazily under his arm, he smiled as the front door opened.
“Lord Darlington,” Nicholas’s longtime butler said, smiling. “What a pleasure to see you after all these years.”
“Still remember me, do you, Pembrook?” Stephen had not seen the man since he was a youth, yet the old butler remained vivid in his memory. Those years, those days of riding and adventuring with Nicholas, had been the best of his life. Old Pembrook had been a fixture during those years.
“How could I ever forget such a scoundrel, young sir?”
Moving closer, Stephen grasped the old man’s shoulder and smiled. “Quite right. I must say you have not changed a whit. You still have all that gray hair, though I daresay you’ve lost a bit. Still taller than a man should be.”
“You are quite tall yourself, Lord Darlington, though I might still manage to take you down a peg or two. Are you calling for the Duke?”
“Yes. Is he in?”
Pembrook frowned. “I am sorry, but I do expect him soon. Should you like to wait?”
Stephen stepped forward and gave Pembrook his hat and walking stick. “If you are sure he wouldn’t mind?”
“Please, come in and let me show you to the drawing room. I shall have tea sent straightaway.”
Pembrook left him in the formal drawing room, and Stephen couldn’t help admiring the tasteful air of the room. Works of art by
* * * * * *
“Your first try at the job, and you have failed. Damn you, Mott! I want the bitch dead, and all you managed was a toss from her horse.” Edward stood carefully and rapped his cane on the floor. Beset with fury since the night of their confrontation, he’d thought of nothing but the death of his former sister-in-law, Eliza Grayson.
She had ruined him and by heavens, she would die for it!
Mott, a burly man with a pock-marked face and large bulbous nose, sniffled like a snot-nosed child and lowered his head. “Just a wee bit o’ bad plannin’, yer lordship, but I’ll see ’er done, I will.”
Edward sneered at the filthy hireling and sank into his chair again. “And just how do you propose to complete your job?”
Mott drew a relieved breath and grinned through rotted teeth. “Gotta hire me an associate, gov. Got just the bloke in mind. We’ll catch the lady all alone and stick ‘er good.” For emphasis, he withdrew a long, wicked blade, which he caressed as sweetly as he might a lover. “Within the week, the twit won’t be no problem to ye. Ye have me word.”
Edward downed a shot of strong whiskey and snorted. “See that you do not disappoint me.”
* * * * * * *
Stephen Fitzgerald, Lord Darlington, rapped sharply on the door of Nicholas’s home and casually tapped a hand to his breast pocket. Signed, sealed, and now delivered, the papers outlining the bet in minute detail waited to be handed into Nicholas’s care.
Leaving nothing to chance, he had seen his solicitor and had everything put in order. This was no simple wager, but a costly one involving the very last bit of wealth he owned. Stephen smiled and eyed the façade of the Weston mansion. Something like this would belong to him soon. Confidence, being one of his finer points, would serve him well in courting Eliza Grayson.
Recalling the last day he’d seen her, it was impossible not to notice the irritability she felt in Nicholas’s company. The woman virtually seethed around him while she’d treated himself with a polite, yet flirtatious, attitude.
Yes, it should not be hard to win her as long as he managed to keep his mother away. Beatrice was far too pushy for his taste. A master at manipulation, she wanted a fortune and she wanted it now. He had managed to care for her with his winnings, yet she was never satisfied. Though he knew she loved him, there were times that he wished her a continent away. Her meddling would only serve to damage his cause.
The afternoon was sunny and a bit breezy. A gust nearly dislodged his high-crowned beaver hat. Removing it to tuck lazily under his arm, he smiled as the front door opened.
“Lord Darlington,” Nicholas’s longtime butler said, smiling. “What a pleasure to see you after all these years.”
“Still remember me, do you, Pembrook?” Stephen had not seen the man since he was a youth, yet the old butler remained vivid in his memory. Those years, those days of riding and adventuring with Nicholas, had been the best of his life. Old Pembrook had been a fixture during those years.
“How could I ever forget such a scoundrel, young sir?”
Moving closer, Stephen grasped the old man’s shoulder and smiled. “Quite right. I must say you have not changed a whit. You still have all that gray hair, though I daresay you’ve lost a bit. Still taller than a man should be.”
“You are quite tall yourself, Lord Darlington, though I might still manage to take you down a peg or two. Are you calling for the Duke?”
“Yes. Is he in?”
Pembrook frowned. “I am sorry, but I do expect him soon. Should you like to wait?”
Stephen stepped forward and gave Pembrook his hat and walking stick. “If you are sure he wouldn’t mind?”
“Please, come in and let me show you to the drawing room. I shall have tea sent straightaway.”
Pembrook left him in the formal drawing room, and Stephen couldn’t help admiring the tasteful air of the room. Works of art by
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