yes?”
“You don’t truly expect me to believe you’ve forgotten the name of anyone whose path you’ve crossed, do you?”
Keating took a swallow of tepid lemonade. He’d wanted a whiskey, but considering that he seemed to be having difficulty lately staying sober, he’d decided that lemonade was a wiser choice. “Very well. What did you tell darling Marianne?”
“I told her you were well, but only meant to remain in London a short time. She said that was a shame, and then wanted to know if it was true that you’d run about Green Park kissing chits. Because she thought she might take a stroll there tomorrow.”
Lemonade caught in his throat, and he coughed. “That actually explains why chits seemed to be practically blanketing the park yesterday,” he managed. “Good God. They want me to kiss them?”
“You’re a rather handsome scoundrel, a famed lover, and you’ve been absent for six years. The debutantes only know the stories, my friend. To them you’re a legend, not a—”
“A fiend?” Keating finished.
“I was going to say a bounder, but I suppose it’s the same thing.” Greaves indicated the glass in Keating’s hand. “Have you given up the demon rum, then?”
“For the moment. I find that I seem to cause less trouble when I’m sober. Relatively speaking, of course.”
“ Why are you attempting to cause less trouble, Keating? I mean, you say that you are, but then you become Green Park’s kissing rogue. And you had to know that in coming back to London, you would be stirring those old rumors and stories to life once again. Not to mention the bushels of lovers you left behind.”
Keating took a breath. “You’re a persistent bastard, aren’t you?” he finally grumbled.
With a swift grin the duke resumed his meal. “I’ve barely begun digging at you.”
Greaves had his own secrets and his own agendas, and Keating didn’t have to be particularly keen-sighted to know that something had happened to cause a substantial rift between the duke and the Marquis of Haybury. But as far as he was concerned, Adam Baswich had never been anything but a true and steadfast friend even when it would have been much easier to turn away.
“I’m doing a good deed,” he said slowly, quite aware of how his cousin would react if Fenton discovered that anyone else knew the particulars of his request. “In exchange for a substantial reward. I can’t tell you anything else.”
The duke chewed and swallowed. “You’re hardly the person I would have chosen to maneuver a chit back to the altar,” he finally commented, “given how far you generally sway them away from it. But you’ve certainly got a better chance at convincing her than Fenton does.”
“I never said any of that. And I have no idea what you might be gabbing about.” He wasn’t even surprised that Greaves had put the puzzle pieces together. The duke was masterful at games.
“I’m just astonished to see you at Fenton’s beck and call for any reason. I thought he’d disowned you years ago.”
“Not so much disowned me as simply pretended I didn’t exist. Which suited me quite well, believe me.”
“That must be quite a substantial reward, then.”
“It is. So don’t go about glaring at my cousin. Not all of us are descendants of Croesus or Midas or whoever it is who left you his fortune.”
“We both know I inherited from Lucifer himself, but I take your point.” Greaves frowned. “I could lend you a sum, if that would aid you.”
“A loan won’t do, Adam. But thank you for offering.” He’d actually considered asking the duke for blunt from time to time, when the crops produced poorly or the price of wool and mutton dropped, but this was his penance. He needed to suffer for it. More importantly, he needed to be the one earning the money to pay for his mistakes. Even if he had to resort to unconventional means to do so.
The duke cleared his throat. “Very well, then. Suit yourself. In fact, I’ll help
“You don’t truly expect me to believe you’ve forgotten the name of anyone whose path you’ve crossed, do you?”
Keating took a swallow of tepid lemonade. He’d wanted a whiskey, but considering that he seemed to be having difficulty lately staying sober, he’d decided that lemonade was a wiser choice. “Very well. What did you tell darling Marianne?”
“I told her you were well, but only meant to remain in London a short time. She said that was a shame, and then wanted to know if it was true that you’d run about Green Park kissing chits. Because she thought she might take a stroll there tomorrow.”
Lemonade caught in his throat, and he coughed. “That actually explains why chits seemed to be practically blanketing the park yesterday,” he managed. “Good God. They want me to kiss them?”
“You’re a rather handsome scoundrel, a famed lover, and you’ve been absent for six years. The debutantes only know the stories, my friend. To them you’re a legend, not a—”
“A fiend?” Keating finished.
“I was going to say a bounder, but I suppose it’s the same thing.” Greaves indicated the glass in Keating’s hand. “Have you given up the demon rum, then?”
“For the moment. I find that I seem to cause less trouble when I’m sober. Relatively speaking, of course.”
“ Why are you attempting to cause less trouble, Keating? I mean, you say that you are, but then you become Green Park’s kissing rogue. And you had to know that in coming back to London, you would be stirring those old rumors and stories to life once again. Not to mention the bushels of lovers you left behind.”
Keating took a breath. “You’re a persistent bastard, aren’t you?” he finally grumbled.
With a swift grin the duke resumed his meal. “I’ve barely begun digging at you.”
Greaves had his own secrets and his own agendas, and Keating didn’t have to be particularly keen-sighted to know that something had happened to cause a substantial rift between the duke and the Marquis of Haybury. But as far as he was concerned, Adam Baswich had never been anything but a true and steadfast friend even when it would have been much easier to turn away.
“I’m doing a good deed,” he said slowly, quite aware of how his cousin would react if Fenton discovered that anyone else knew the particulars of his request. “In exchange for a substantial reward. I can’t tell you anything else.”
The duke chewed and swallowed. “You’re hardly the person I would have chosen to maneuver a chit back to the altar,” he finally commented, “given how far you generally sway them away from it. But you’ve certainly got a better chance at convincing her than Fenton does.”
“I never said any of that. And I have no idea what you might be gabbing about.” He wasn’t even surprised that Greaves had put the puzzle pieces together. The duke was masterful at games.
“I’m just astonished to see you at Fenton’s beck and call for any reason. I thought he’d disowned you years ago.”
“Not so much disowned me as simply pretended I didn’t exist. Which suited me quite well, believe me.”
“That must be quite a substantial reward, then.”
“It is. So don’t go about glaring at my cousin. Not all of us are descendants of Croesus or Midas or whoever it is who left you his fortune.”
“We both know I inherited from Lucifer himself, but I take your point.” Greaves frowned. “I could lend you a sum, if that would aid you.”
“A loan won’t do, Adam. But thank you for offering.” He’d actually considered asking the duke for blunt from time to time, when the crops produced poorly or the price of wool and mutton dropped, but this was his penance. He needed to suffer for it. More importantly, he needed to be the one earning the money to pay for his mistakes. Even if he had to resort to unconventional means to do so.
The duke cleared his throat. “Very well, then. Suit yourself. In fact, I’ll help
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