CAD'S WISH

by Cheryl Holt

  He smirked. “Are you a romantic at heart?”

  “No. I’m a realist, and there is no man alive who would treat me that way.”

  “If you stumbled on that kind, sympathetic fellow, you’d be thrilled to proceed. Is that what I’m hearing?”

  She didn’t have a chance to respond. From behind them, Jackson suddenly said, “Hannah, can you help me in the storage room?”

  Lord Marston didn’t step away from her, but glanced around to see who’d spoken. Jackson glared at him with a steely expression that was disturbing. Lord Marston was taller, broader, and much older, but Jackson was visibly bristling, as if spoiling for a fight. The boy wasn’t afraid of anything, which was terrifying.

  “I’ll be there in a minute,” she said to him.

  “Is this gentleman bothering you?” Jackson asked.

  She nearly said yes, that Marston was bothering her, but she suspected Jackson would march down and punch him in the nose.

  “No, I’m fine.” She gestured to Lord Marston. “This is Hunter Stone. Viscount Marston? I told you about him, and he’s just leaving.”

  Jackson hovered a moment, then a moment more, and his ferocious gaze was locked on Marston, as if she had her very own guard dog. Then he strolled off, and Hannah relaxed.

  Lord Marston spun back to her. “You were talking about me? I like the sound of that.”

  “Since I view you as being annoying and horrid, I wasn’t being complimentary.”

  “Who was he?”

  “My younger brother, Jackson.”

  “He resides with you?”

  “Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “He seems a little fierce.”

  She scowled. “We’re close, and he’s very protective.”

  The tepid remark didn’t describe her relationship with Jackson at all, but as with Amelia and Winston, she wasn’t about to clarify her convoluted familial issues for him.

  If she was lucky, and she hadn’t been so far, she’d never see him again. There was nothing interesting about her, so hopefully, he’d grow bored and depart.

  “What are you doing this evening?” he asked out of the blue.

  “Dining with my brother, then going to bed early so I can get up in time for church tomorrow.”

  “I could have predicted you’d be pious.”

  “And I could have predicted you wouldn’t be.”

  “Let’s have supper together. I’ll pick you up in my carriage at eight.”

  “Absolutely not. We’re not socializing.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Upstairs—not that it’s any of your business.” She frowned. “Is there some reason I’ve fascinated you? For the life of me, I can’t figure out what’s happening.”

  “You don’t know? Seriously?”

  “No, and you really need to leave. I’m busy so I can’t chat and play.”

  “Your boss must be an ogre.”

  The comment made her laugh. “She definitely is.”

  He still hadn’t stepped away, and she hadn’t moved either. She could have, but apparently, her anatomy was delighted to be stuck right where it was.

  “I guess our having supper is not in the cards,” he said.

  “You’ve guessed correctly.”

  “I’ll have plenty of opportunities to coerce you in the future, so I’ll oblige you this once. You shouldn’t think I’m a milksop though. Or that I’ll let you run roughshod over me.”

  She facetiously batted her lashes. “I would never think that. You’re such a manly fellow. I wouldn’t dare consider it.”

  He stared down at her, and though it was bizarre to assume it, she received the distinct impression that he might kiss her. The notion was strange and unbelievable, but she was certain it was what he was contemplating.

  She’d been kissed several times in the past. It had occurred when she’d been an adolescent, before she’d begun to disdain males as negligent fools, so she recognized the amorous signs. He was tantalized by her!

  The prospect was thrilling and absurd, but she couldn’t recollect when a man had last noticed her, and his heightened attention stroked her enormous vanity. He wasn’t the only one with a massive ego.

  In the end, he didn’t proceed, and she had to admit she was disappointed. He looked like he’d know how to kiss a woman, and she’d have enjoyed it very much.

  He clicked his heels and bowed with a flourish. “I plan on seeing you again very soon.”

  “I can’t imagine why you’d pine for another meeting. So far—in my opinion anyway—our encounters have been exhausting.”

  “You’ll wind up being excited that I’ve bothered with you,” he said, like the cocky beast he was. “I swear it.”

  He spun away and sauntered out. Like a besotted ninny, she staggered after him, watching avidly until he climbed into his carriage and it rolled away. As he vanished around the corner, Jackson appeared at her side.

  He stated the obvious. “He was being incredibly forward.”

  “I have no idea why. I haven’t given him the least bit of encouragement, and I’ve constantly told him he’s obnoxious and unlikable.”

  “He probably hopes to seduce you. My mother used to be enthralled by rogues like him. He likely has a bet with his dissolute chums about whether he can ruin you.”

  “You’re fourteen. You shouldn’t toss out words like seduce and ruin.”

  “He’s a cad.” Jackson shrugged, as if he’d just clarified a deep truth. “I could find out if there’s a salacious wager in the works.”

  “How would you?”

  “I could befriend his coachmen or his stable boys. They’d have heard about it.”

  “I’m sure it’s nothing so immoral as all that. He’s simply bored, so he’s pestering me.”

  “Be careful. If he returns, call for me. You shouldn’t be alone with him.”

  “I’m always careful, and he hasn’t furnished me with a reason to be scared of him.”

  “Not yet.” His tone was filled with warning, and she was sad to realize he was so young, but already so jaded. He held out his hand and said, “The mail came while you were talking to him. I thought you should have these right away.”

  There were two letters. One was from Amelia and one was from Rebecca. They never contacted her with good news, and her mind raced as she tried to envision the catastrophe that had erupted.

  She lurched over to a nearby chair and plopped down, and she glared at them, wishing she had magical eyes so she could peer inside without opening them.

  “Shall I read them for you?” he asked.

  “No, I can do it.” She flicked the seal on the one from Amelia, and the message was curt and cold.

  “Has something bad happened?” he asked.

  “I can’t decide how to view it,” she said. “Amelia has contracted a marriage for Rebecca.”

  “To whom?”

  “She didn’t feel the need to apprise me.”

  He was intrigued by Rebecca, his other half-sister he hadn’t met, and he wrinkled up his nose. “Rebecca is sixteen, and she just finished her schooling. Would she like to wed?”

  “I don’t know, but her intended fiancé is traveling to Parkhurst next week to propose. Amelia wants me there.”

  “Why must you be there? You’re not the one who’ll be shackled to him.”

  “I can never unravel Amelia’s convoluted thinking, so I can’t guess why she’d demand my presence. Perhaps she’s simply eager to rub it in my face that Rebecca will be a bride before me, but it’s a mystery as to why she’d suppose I’d be jealous about it.”

  She opened the letter from Rebecca, and on perusing her sister’s frantic entreaty, she sighed.

  Please come to Parkhurst! Don’t let Mother force me into this!

  “What does Rebecca say?” he asked.

  “She’s terrified, and she’s begging me to help her avoid the engagement.”

  “Can you? Should you? Will you?”

&nbs
p; She sat for an eternity, weighing her options, debating her choices.

  She couldn’t abide Amelia or Winston, and they’d wrecked any fond affection she’d ever possessed for Parkhurst. But if she understood one fact about them, it was that they would never have Rebecca’s best interests at heart.

  If they were pursuing a betrothal for her, then Winston likely had a scheme brewing that would resolve to Rebecca’s detriment. Could Hannah stand idly by and allow him to harm Rebecca?

  She sighed again, then looked over at Jackson. “It appears we’re going to Parkhurst.”

  “Me too?”

  “Yes. You’ve been curious about it, and now, you’ll have the chance to see it.”

  “Won’t your stepmother be incensed to have me there?”

  “She will be, but Parkhurst is mine, and if I bring you with me, it’s none of her business.”

  Amelia had been having a lengthy affair with Winston during her marriage to Sir Edmund, but Sir Edmund had been having an affair too, and Jackson was the result. He was Sir Edmund’s son, and he would be welcomed at Parkhurst. Hannah would insist on it, and if Amelia didn’t like it, she could choke on her own bile.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “You’ve met Miss Graves. Will you propose?”

  “Yes, next week.” Hunter scowled at his father and said, “Is there a thank you in there somewhere?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Neville replied.

  “I don’t expect she’ll accept though.”

  “Why wouldn’t she? You’re a bloody viscount, and someday, you’ll be an earl. In the past, you weren’t much of a catch, but with our elevation, any girl in the land would be eager to be your bride.”

  “Her mother hasn’t informed her of the engagement.”

  “How bizarre. Why wouldn’t she have?”

  “That’s a pertinent question, isn’t it?”

  “Her mother probably didn’t want to mention it until she was sure you were interested.”

  “I hope that’s what is happening, for I suspect it will be difficult for her mother to persuade her.”

  “You now hold the very lofty position of being the oldest son of the Earl of Swindon. Of course she’ll agree.”

  “She has some very firm opinions about men and matrimony. Namely, she thinks we’re all fools, and she intends to remain a spinster.”

  Neville scoffed. “What a perfectly absurd attitude. It’s unnatural for a female to shun marriage. Everyone knows that.”

  They were seated at a table in a private salon at Ralston’s gambling club where they were premier members. A few other players, friends of Neville’s, were strolling in and cards were about to be dealt.

  Hunter had other business for the evening, but he’d had to talk to his father about Miss Graves, and on a Saturday night, Ralston’s was the only place to find him.

  As Neville voiced his remark about the nuptial state, the club’s manager, Sybil Jones, walked by. She smirked and said, “Neville, you are more ridiculous by the minute. Women wed because they don’t have a choice, but there is a whole collection of us who can’t abide any of you, and we refuse to be shackled. I’m the most blatant example.”

  Sybil was forty and a spinster herself. She was independent and strong-willed, and any man who might have been stupid enough to bind himself to her would be swiftly emasculated.

  “I didn’t mean you, Sybil,” Neville told her.

  “Oh, do be silent.” Sybil turned to Hunter and said, “You’re about to wed? Who is the lucky girl?”

  “Miss Graves? I believe you’re acquainted with her. She was at your party.”

  “You’re marrying Miss Graves?” Sybil flashed a sly smile he couldn’t decipher. “I wasn’t aware she was planning to betroth herself, so it must be a recent decision.”

  “Her mother contacted Neville about it. I like her, but I’d love to hear your opinion.”

  “I like her too, but she’s too good for you. She’s much smarter than you are, and she’s trustworthy, kind, and loyal to a fault, so the two of you have nothing in common. What is her family thinking by picking you? They must not have researched your background.”

  “My suddenly becoming a viscount wipes away many of my sins,” Hunter said. “At the moment, she’s a tad reticent, but I’ll grow on her.”

  Sybil rolled her eyes. “You Stone men are the vainest oafs in the kingdom.”

  “We’ve never denied it.”

  “She must have money,” Sybil said, “or you wouldn’t consider her. I’m stunned that she has any assets to offer.”

  “She’s actually quite an heiress,” Neville said. “She owns the estate where she was raised. Parkhurst? The property will pass to her husband as part of her dowry.”

  Sybil was dubious. “If she’s so wealthy, why is she working in London?”

  “I asked her the very same,” Hunter said, “and she claims she hates to be lazy. She boasts that she’s making a difference in the world, although how she’s accomplishing it by selling books to strangers is a mystery to me.”

  “You’ve just proved my point,” Sybil said. “The two of you would be the worst mismatch in history.”

  His father scolded her. “Don’t badger him, Sybil. He has to wed, and he has to do it quickly. If he’s happy with Miss Graves, we shouldn’t dissuade him.”

  “I’m not trying to dissuade him,” Sybil insisted. “Miss Graves is very sweet, and if Hunter is to be her fate, I feel sorry for her. She’s doomed to a life of misery.”

  Neville frowned at Sybil and said, “Don’t you dare warn her off before he can get the matter concluded.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of interfering,” Sybil responded. “I adore it when a leg-shackle is attached to a scoundrel. It will be amusing to watch, and who knows? Perhaps Hunter will blossom as a husband.”

  They froze, the three of them pondering the unlikely prospect, then they burst out laughing.

  “He’ll be better at it than I was,” Neville staunchly declared.

  “What a very low bar,” Sybil said.

  Hunter was irked to have them assume he’d fail at matrimony. He was very competitive, and their derogatory comments had him determined to win Miss Graves—merely so he could show them how wrong they’d been.

  He left them to their cards. They’d lit a spark to his temper, and he was in no mood to continue loafing while they chided him over what a useless spouse he’d be. He’d never failed at any endeavor he attempted, so he expected he’d be as good at marriage as he was at everything else.

  He went to the front door and had a footman wave down a hansom cab. He climbed in and was delivered to his favorite brothel. It was another private club that catered to only the richest, most discerning gentlemen.

  For once, he hadn’t come for carnal entertainment. The proprietor was letting him use a salon to conduct his annual mistress interviews. Among the lechers of his social circle, they were the stuff of legends. Other men weren’t as handsome or as debauched as he was, and they envied his audacity. Some even copied his antics, but they couldn’t pull them off with his aplomb.

  His annual search was raucous fun. There were huge wagers over which girl would capture his fancy, and the finalists enjoyed a brief spurt of fame for being singled out.

  He always kept a mistress, but never for longer than a year. He was easily bored and liked variation in his vices. His current mistress, Isabella Darling, was running out of days, and he was hunting for her replacement. He was relieved to be moving on from her. She was overly possessive, and he didn’t like any female to hold on too tightly. In that, he was exactly like his father.

  There were moralistic people who were disgusted by his flagrant reveling with trollops, by his picking one for a year, then setting her aside for somebody new. But he never tricked or lied to any of the women who applied. He was frank about the time limit, and they entered into the arrangement of their own free will.

  In his view, they were lucky when he focused his attention on them, and mono
gamy had never been a Stone family trait. There were simply too many beautiful women, and he intended to dally with as many of them as possible while he was young and virile enough to misbehave.

  Did that indicate he was horrid? Yes, but in his own defense, he’d never claimed to be a saint. He wallowed in the demimonde, a spot where those around him were just as corrupt as he was.

  If there were occasions when he was tired of his frivolous life and the craven dolts with whom he gamboled, he didn’t have to heed his misgivings. He was fine. He was content with his lot, and he had no desire to change.

  He strolled into the room that had been supplied, and his friend, Nate Carew, was waiting for him. They were both thirty, but that was the extent of their similarities. Hunter was wealthy. Nate wasn’t. Hunter was tall, handsome, and dashing. Nate was short, chubby, and annoying. Hunter was cheerful and engaging. Nate was morose and pessimistic.

  He was always broke too, and Hunter regularly loaned him money. Hunter didn’t mind being generous, but Nate had begun to count on it in a manner that was irritating.

  Dissipation was wearing him down, so he wasn’t aging well. His dark eyes were dull, his dark hair thinning, and there was a bald patch on the top that was visible.

  It was probably odd that they were close, but they’d been in the same army regiment during the absurd period when Hunter had believed he could become a decent human being if he served his country. Early on, he’d relished the camaraderie, the daring-do, the wild bursts of terror and bravery that were required.

  Yet he’d been critically wounded, so he’d had to muster out. He was amazed that he’d been a soldier, but back then, he’d been very naïve. And stupid. He much preferred carousing in town, where he never had to worry about being shot dead by an unseen enemy.

  He and Nate had been injured in the same battle, with Hunter’s condition being more dire. They’d sailed home to England together, and the experience had provided a bond he probably should have severed. He hadn’t severed it though, so they were still cordial.

  “I thought you’d never arrive,” Nate said.

  “I had to stop by Ralston’s and talk to my father.”

  “What is your opinion about Miss Graves?”