Too Many Matchmakers

by Allison Lane

  “Why not?” demanded Porter. “Just last week they beat Captain Hanson’s blacks by more than a furlong over a two-mile course. My money’s on him.”

  Nicholas shook his head when Langley discarded a winning card. “Don’t let their talk distract you,” he warned, rapidly scooping up the last three tricks to take a resounding victory. Langley’s mistake had doubled the man’s losses.

  “Maybe I’ll have better luck betting on the race,” Langley grumbled, scribbling a vowel.

  “Not if you back Bowles.”

  “Have you seen his horses? Or Hawkins’s?” demanded Farley.

  “No.”

  “Do you know the drivers?” pressed Langley.

  “Not personally.”

  “Then how can you pick a winner?”

  “Logic.” Nicholas heard Justin’s stifled laugh. Old habits died hard. How many times had he been through this routine?

  “Care to bet on it?” demanded Langley.

  “I never bet against Woodvale,” Justin reminded everyone.

  “But this is too good to pass up.”

  “Woodvale’s conceit has finally pushed him too far,” gloated Porter. “All that philandering has turned his mind. Bowles could offer Hawkins a two-minute head start and still win the race.”

  Nicholas stared at Porter. “Is that a fact? A monkey says that Hawkins wins. And a side bet that Bowles doesn’t finish the course.”

  “I’ll pass,” said Justin firmly.

  But within minutes Nicholas had ten takers on the first bet and nearly thirty on the second, all for much larger sums. Porter and Langley had been first in line. Despite Justin’s warning, few believed that a man who had been out of town for two years could blindly predict a race he knew nothing about.

  Nicholas finally excused himself. Langley strongly resembled his own younger self, but the lad lacked the sense to rein in careless impulses. He had fallen neatly into the trap, hedging his bets so even if Hawkins won the race, he would come out ahead. Idiot! He had not once considered the possibility that the first wager was redundant because the second was nearly certain. He wasn’t alone, of course. Even Porter had forgotten that Nicholas had long lived on the proceeds of wagers just like this one.

  He chuckled. Porter’s arrogance never softened. Didn’t the man realize that he had supplied half of Nicholas’s income for eight years? At least Langley’s misjudgment grew from youthful ignorance.

  He penned a note asking his secretary to investigate Langley’s family and finances, then crawled into bed.

  By the next evening, he had a good picture of the Langleys. Charles was the third son, but the family despaired of his future. Now six-and-twenty, he seemed content to laze about town. He had refused all of the paths usual for younger sons. Numerous incidents at school had proven that he lacked the discipline and conformity for an army career. Of course, he also lacked the fortune that would buy a commission in one of the better regiments and allow him to live well once he got there. Officers needed much more than their pay to meet their social obligations.

  Studying for the church had never been seriously explored by either side. Given the boy’s incessant troublemaking as a youth and unabashed raking since arriving in London, that was hardly a surprise. And his support of the Whigs and of the Regent’s estranged wife assured that the doors of government remained firmly closed.

  All in all, the lad was much like Nicholas – hanging about the clubs until he found a niche for himself. Where he differed was in overspending his allowance in the meantime. And the Langleys were rapidly losing patience. Appalled by his image as a profligate rakehell, they vowed to bring him under control. Their determination was bolstered by their own recent reverses.

  Lord Langley had lost considerable sums during the financial upheaval after Waterloo. He had lost even more by backing a failed import venture. Then half of his sheep had contracted a lethal hoof fungus. The only way he could weather the shortfall was to bring all his dependents home and cancel their allowances. But Charles had refused, knowing that such a move would turn him into a lifelong estate steward.

  Hence the ultimatum to wed Sophia. It would give him an estate of his own, forcing him to abandon the wild London existence that so embarrassed his family. And it would remove him from his father’s dependency.

  To all appearances, Charles was willing to go along – which hinted at a disturbing lack of substance. Or perhaps he merely wanted her dowry. No one really knew, for the lad had quit speaking seriously with his father years ago.

  Nicholas had ignored Langley’s flippant licentiousness at White’s. His own reputation had long made him an icon among the younger lads, prompting wholesale mimicry. He paid them little heed, though he had twice deflected an especially stupid specimen from serious trouble. Now he had to wonder at Langley’s character. Was he another blind disciple, or was he hiding a brain?

  He sighed. The last thing Sophia needed was a man who was wedding her only to escape penury. Langley might not be the usual fortune hunter, but the effect would be the same. So he must find her an alternate suitor. But who? He knew of no one she might accept.

  * * * *

  Diana moved through Lady Debenham’s drawing room, automatically exchanging greetings and gossip. Where was Chloe? She was chaperoning the girl tonight, but somehow they had become separated.

  Perhaps she was across the hall. Lady Debenham’s house was large, and she always opened half a dozen rooms for her routs. They were invariably squeezes, for no one would risk insulting the gossip by declining an invitation.

  Diana had nearly reached the door when Lady Sophia Prescott deliberately cut Mr. Langley. Diana gasped.

  Lady Sophia was proper to the point of priggishness, aiming her cutting tongue at anyone who failed to meet her standards – which were even more rigid than Lord and Lady Parker’s. Langley was a London fribble whose reputed dalliances and conscious charm reminded her of Nicholas. She had heard the same comparison from others when she first arrived in town, so she generally avoided him.

  Now she frowned. Had he made an improper advance to Lady Sophia? But that seemed unlikely – unless he had bet he could seduce her.

  Or Lady Sophia might be furious at society’s tolerance of rakes and be taking it out on Langley. It wouldn’t be the first time she had begun a vendetta against practices she considered immoral, although her own standing was not high enough to allow her any success.

  Speculation was buzzing on all sides, but no one could offer an explanation. Langley was already gone.

  Diana pulled her mind back to her own problems. Drat Chloe! And drat Langley for calling up unwanted comparisons. It was the final straw on a frustrating week.

  Why had Nicholas returned to town?

  She had long since relegated memories of that summer to a locked corner of her mind, but since he had appeared at her soiree, they had leaked into her dreams. The restless nights were beginning to show on her face.

  How could he have been so unprincipled? Granted, he had been young, but he’d been sufficiently experienced that she could not dismiss his behavior as naïveté. He had deliberately cultivated her, luring her into potentially compromising situations and enticing her into scandalous and nearly ruinous behavior.

  Heat engulfed her at the memory of his kisses. Her hands trembled to recall that afternoon when he had bared her to the waist and suckled her breasts. No wonder she had expected him to return her love.

  Beast! He had merely been toying with her, laughing behind her back at how she innocently allowed him liberties no real gentleman would consider taking. Just as he had laughed in her face after she had admitted her love.

  “Love?” he had snorted, thrusting her violently aside. “Girlish nonsense! Forget about trapping a husband. If I had thought you that naïve, I would never have accepted your invitation for a little slap and tickle. Marriage is a long way in my future, infant. And you will always be ineligible. My wife must have impeccable breeding. As the grandson of a marquess
, I could never ally myself to a baronet’s daughter. My wife must also be an heiress from a powerful family. Money and influence are what I need. You can offer nothing but a moment’s reprieve from the boredom of the country.”

  There had been more – much more. He had twisted her every word and deed into underhanded plots and greedy manipulation. When her tears and choking sobs finally deafened her to that hateful voice, he had left her lying in the dirt. By afternoon he had returned to London, back to the dissolute life he had already begun. She had never wanted to hear of him again, but that was too much to ask. His name appeared often in the gossip columns over the next couple of years. His raking was notorious, as was his charm. It wasn’t fair that he was accepted everywhere despite his libertine ways and despite his open admission that he lived on the proceeds of gaming. Society merely smiled indulgently and laughed at his sillier wagers.

  But those wagers had tormented her. If he was so good at predicting people’s behavior, then he should have known that she would fall in love with him. Had his seduction been deliberate? For God’s sake, why?

  Please don’t let it be for a wager! The old prayer again whispered through her head. Had he discussed their meetings with his friends? Laughed at her childish infatuation? Disclosed her deepest dreams?

  “Disgraceful young men!” snapped the Duchess of Woburton.

  “Yes,” she agreed before she realized that her grace had not been reading her mind. Nicholas had just stepped through the doorway.

  “Racing horses over terrible roads for no good reason. Bowles is the one who should have been shot.”

  “Did he shoot someone?” She had heard mention of yet another race, but hadn’t paid much attention. Gentlemen were always racing each other. And Nicholas’s name had not been mentioned, so why was the duchess glaring at him?

  “His horse,” snapped the duchess, which explained her anger. She loved animals.

  “Woodvale shot his horse?”

  “Bowles.”

  Bowles shot Woodvale’s horse? Her head spun. “What?”

  “Bowles tried to push his horses farther and faster than they were able. Idiot boy! No eye for horseflesh. Bought Oglethorpe’s breakdowns – all flash, no chest. They were nearly foundered when he whipped them into the last mile. Took a corner at speed, and the leader stumbled. Pulled the other horse down and shattered its foreleg.”

  “How terrible. Was the leader injured as well?”

  “Strained, but he’ll recover if Bowles has sense enough to hire a decent groom. Doubtful.”

  Diana uttered soothing noises to the clearly distressed duchess, but the woman refused to be calmed. “His fault, of course,” she continued, nodding toward Nicholas.

  “Was he the other driver?”

  “Stupid question. Hawkins was the other fool. But Woodvale bet Bowles wouldn’t finish the course.”

  Lord Porter arrived and ostentatiously gave Nicholas the cut direct, drawing a gasp from the guests.

  “Fool,” snapped the duchess as Nicholas shrugged and turned blithely away.

  “Woodvale?” Diana was having trouble keeping up with the conversation. The duchess rarely gave voice to more than half her thoughts, often changing the subject without warning.

  “Porter. Sanctimonious idiot. Always thinks he knows what’s what. Lost two thousand pounds to Woodvale on that race. ’Twas he who urged the lad to whip up his horses. All because of that insane bet.”

  She continued to mumble about wagers that pushed silly young men into dangerous behavior, but Diana was no longer listening. Inheriting a title and fortune had not made Nicholas less greedy. How sad.

  Putting him out of her mind, she resumed her search for Chloe, finally catching sight of the girl in animated conversation with Langley. New uneasiness quickly banished the old. Lady Sophia’s cut added to his already poor reputation. The room was too crowded for anything untoward to occur here, but Chloe could not afford association with a man disdained by the high-sticklers. It would give George more reason to press for leaving town.

  By the time she managed to detach Chloe, her concern had grown. Langley was dangerous. His charm was more potent than she had expected, explaining why wide-eyed girls fawned over him and matrons vied for his favor. Not that he turned her own head, but Chloe was vulnerable.

  His lighthearted tale of his nephew’s two dogs had actually made Diana laugh out loud – something no man had done against her will since Nicholas. But Langley had managed it twice, attracting the attention of nearby guests.

  They had clearly stayed too long. Drawing Chloe away, she summoned her carriage and left for the evening’s ball.

  * * * *

  Nicholas avoided Porter by ducking into the next room. The man was furious enough to challenge him. His conceit had grown mightily in the two years Nicholas had been from town.

  He sighed. Lady Debenham’s rout was not one of his usual haunts, but he had promised Sophia to find her an acceptable husband. That was going to be difficult if she did not cooperate.

  Both she and Langley were here, and gossip claimed that Sophia had cut him again. If she kept that up, she would become a laughingstock and draw comparisons to Porter, whose own cut had merely amused the other guests.

  He scanned the crowd, hoping to spot someone who might meet her rigid standards. The sooner he finished this chore, the sooner he could resume his own life. Frequenting Marriage Mart gatherings imperiled his freedom.

  All thoughts of Sophia instantly fled.

  Langley was laughing with Diana. Nicholas’s blood ran cold. She had looked just as happy, carefree, and exuberant during that summer in Warwickshire. Laughter made her glow and had never failed to affect him. Judging from his heavy groin, that hadn’t changed despite her newly sharpened tongue. The pressing urge to run his fingers through her hair was yet more proof of his slipping control. It had to stop.

  Was Langley setting his sights on her? The logic of such a move was obvious. Bounty’s legacy had left her very wealthy. She might be a year older than Langley, but with so much at stake, the lad would overlook that trifle. And she had already proven that she was susceptible to charm.

  But Langley wouldn’t know that.

  Guilt skittered down his back. He had never told a soul about her – and never would. The tale did not show him to advantage. Why had he been so stupid?

  Having survived his first Season in London, he was swaggering with pride by the time he’d reached Warwickshire. The plans he had devised were already working, offering an escape from the prison of poverty, boredom, and antagonism he had always found at home. Despite his breeding, he’d faced many hurdles in that first foray into society – his uncle’s opposition, a lack of money, the reputation he must court to support himself.

  But he had pulled it off – and without resorting to debt, thanks to Porter’s incredible stupidity. Following his father into the River Tick would brand him a failure.

  He had spent his school years cultivating a seemingly careless charm, which made him welcome in drawing rooms and ballrooms. His London winnings had paid for an extravagant lifestyle. Opera dancers and London matrons had greatly expanded his education in the bedroom. And several heiresses had cast interested glances in his direction. The future had looked perfect. He could live as he wished for as long as he wished. And when he chose to settle down, he could snag an heiress to guarantee a lifetime of security.

  He’d had no intention of starting an affair with Diana Winslow. She was barely seventeen, too insignificant for marriage, and too well-born for dalliance. But he had been so full of his own consequence that he had tried a little mild flirting. After all, she was a budding beauty, whose golden-brown hair, green eyes, and slender grace evoked images of Diana the Huntress. And there were few diversions in the neighborhood.

  Damn, but he had been stupid! Despite years of studying human nature, he had ignored the inevitable results of his attentions from the first moment he caught sight of her in the woods.

  They had
met often after that – in woods, in orchards, along the river. And he was more at fault than she, he admitted for the first time. He had deliberately sought her out. God, what an idiot he had been! Any girl would fall in love with a London gentleman who paid her such determined court. Especially a naïve innocent barely out of the schoolroom.

  “Ass!” he muttered, adding several curses for good measure. Nearby people glanced at him, but he flashed a smile and fielded more comments about the morning’s race.

  No doubt about it. He had played with fire that summer. Only by the grace of God had he escaped being burned. In fact, the tale of Forester’s marriage bore an uncanny resemblance to his own summer fling, except that Diana had been too innocent to set him up. But she hadn’t needed to. That last meeting had been stupidity personified.

  He had been kissing her regularly by then, but all sense had deserted him that day. Kisses weren’t enough. He had to touch, to taste, to let her lilac perfume wrap him in its seductive scent. Her dress was nearly off, and he was suckling a breast when she blurted out her vow of love. And he thanked God that she had. It had brought him to his senses. A few more minutes, and he would have had her right there on the ground. From there it would have been a short trip to the altar.

  Stupid! He should have known better. He had known better. But making love to her wasn’t the worst of his crimes. Appalled at his lack of discretion, he had lashed out. His cruel mockery still echoed through his ears. Every time he felt the tiniest twinge of pride or the slightest surge of satisfaction, his own voice returned, taunting him with his cruelty and laying bare his basest deeds.

  If only he had stopped to think! He could have let her down so much easier. Of course, if he had stopped to think, he would not have found himself in that predicament to begin with.

  He had learned a valuable lesson that infamous day. Not once in the ten years since had he given the slightest encouragement to one of society’s daughters. Never would he place himself in such jeopardy again. Ironically, his forbearance made him acceptable to even the highest sticklers despite his very public liaisons. Everyone knew he eschewed seducing innocents. He had Diana to thank for removing one of the curbs on his life.