Rules for a Fake Fiancé (Rogues Gambit #1)

Chapter Seventeen

Women gamble with hearts. Men gamble with money, for they have no hearts with which towager.

“A nd this is Lord…” Tiny Prick. “…Tullock. We were in school together.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Smithson.”

“And beside him is another old friend, Lord…” Smells like Fish. “…Lowes. He was a genius at Latin.”

“ Quam pulchra es! That means—”

That you try to bugger every female you meet.

“That I am beautiful. I am well versed in Latin, Lord Lowes,” Mellie said with a smile. “ Blandiris me .”

“Not flattery at all, Miss Smithson.”

Trevor held his tongue while Lord Randy Bastard scrawled his name. Probably in Latin. And then he introduced the next pair of idiots.

“Do say that we can have the honor of a dance. Do you have any left?”

Do you mean to tup her together? Or just make her watch the two of you?

Trevor did his best to remain congenial, but as each man stepped forward to ogle his fiancée, his thoughts became cruder and crueler until he was appalled at himself. It was not like him to think such black thoughts, and yet the parade of men bowing over Mellie made him murderous. It wasn’t logical. He knew that. Damnation, he was supposed to be pondering them as potential husbands for her. But the very thought of someone else touching her turned him vile.

“So sorry. Her card’s all filled. Try your luck with the dowagers.”

“At last, we finally meet!” cried a too high, too sweet voice.

Bloody hell. Gargantuanly bloody hellfire cocked damn. “Oh look,” he ground out. “It’s my mother.”

Mellie turned, her expression sweet and open. And all he could think was: lamb to the slaughter.

“Darling,” he said in desperation. “I think this is my dance.” He grabbed her hand and started pulling, but she remained steadfastly where she was.

“I’m not dancing this set so I can meet your friends.”

“You’ve met them. They’re all terrible people. Come along—”

“But it’s in the middle of the dance.”

“We’ll join late.”

“What…”

“Trevor!” cried his mother. Bloody hell. She said his name in that tone that shot ice down his spine. Part warning, part syrupy sweet. It was like the taste of spoiled fruit that was a little too strong before it made you gag. Or worse.

All his friends—the bloody traitors—backed away. His mother was well known in the ton , and no man, young or old, stayed around if they could avoid it. She was apt to force them to dance with a buck-toothed lackwit or do the pretty at her latest afternoon tea. Or pay for her next afternoon tea, which had been her recent campaign until his grandfather cut off all his money.

“Hello, Mother,” he said dryly. “Fancy meeting you here.” It was a stupid thing to say. Of course she would be here. But some madness had made him block the idea from his brain until he found himself confronted with her, face to face.

“Fancy meeting your fiancée at someone else’s ball!” she cried. His mother always cried. She even whispered in exclamation points.

“Are you hosting a ball this Season? What are your ideas this year?” It was his only hope: distract her with her plans, her ideas, her anything but him. Or Mellie.

Sadly, she wasn’t stupid. And she’d set her sights on his fiancée.

“You are the most unnatural of sons! To think that I had to wait to meet this dear woman!” She reached out to Mellie. “Come, sweet girl, let us converse without—”

“Oh no!” Damnation, now she had him talking in dramatic accents. “Mother, Mellie and I are about to dance. You cannot drag her away now.”

“Drag her away? Drag her away! How you think!”

Which was a sure sign that she had absolutely intended to drag Mellie aside and eviscerate her somehow.

“Mother—”

“You must tell me, Miss Smithson, how you managed to trap my son! All the ladies—”

“Mother!”

His mother blinked innocently at him.

“She did not trap me. We are in love.”

She patted his cheek, like he was still in short coats. And then, she made it worse by leaning forward to kiss him. He couldn’t back away without appearing completely obnoxious—though he considered it—but he knew his duty. He stood still as she condescended to him in front of the entire ton . Then when she finally straightened, she turned a dazzling smile on Mellie.

“Trevor has always been prone to wild flights of fancy.”

“Really?” Mellie interrupted. “I’ve found his mind extremely logical. His scientific papers are sound, especially his Elementary Histological Study of Sheep—”

“Good God, don’t say that in public!” his mother gasped.

Mellie looked taken aback, but no more than he. Mellie had read his paper? She thought it very sound? Damn, but she was a smart woman. Sadly, that had little impact on his mother.

“We should have met earlier,” his mother said with a dramatic sigh. “That way I could have educated you on polite discourse.”

Then the delightful Mellie tilted her head and looked politely confused. “Which word do you object to? Elementary? Sheep? Histological—”

“Don’t say it!”

“—means relating to tissue.”

His mother puffed herself up as large as the woman could make herself, which, given that she was of slightly above average height, was merely…puffy. Then she deflated with an exhausted sigh. “My dear, if you are to be my daughter-in-law, I insist you come to me for lessons. Tomorrow afternoon. We need at least four days of education before Trevor’s tea party.”

His mother then nodded as if that settled things, but Mellie frowned at him. “Are you having a tea party?”

He shook his head slowly, knowing better than to argue, but was doomed to say the truth nonetheless. “I am not aware of a party.”

“Of course you aren’t!” his mother cried, heaving her admittedly way-above-average bosom. “It’s because you refuse to read my correspondence. I have been trying to gain your attention since the announcement in the paper. It’s dreadful how you treat your own mother!” She turned to Mellie. “I must warn you now because your blessed mother cannot: if you wish to know how a man will treat you after you’re married, look to how he addresses his mother.” She pressed a handkerchief to her lip. “You are doomed, my dear. Doomed to a forgotten and neglected—”

“I should be happy to attend Trevor’s tea party,” Mellie said, smiling up at him.

Oh damn. That wasn’t the thing to say, but she didn’t know that. Because his mother would take that one small admission and run with it until it spiraled out of control. “Er, Mellie—”

“Excellent!” his mother cried, clapping her hands. “Thursday afternoon. All the important people already know, but invitations will be sent tomorrow. It will be so much fun! Really, the event of the season. I think I shall set my butler to catching crickets in your honor.”

“God, Mother—” Trevor began, but the woman just kept talking.

“Come tomorrow precisely at two. Invitations and the like don’t write themselves. And we must discuss your dress. I’m sure feathers are all the rage in Russia, but we can’t have you trailing the things around. The dogs will eat them and then…”

“No,” Mellie said. She had yet to learn that his mother appeared to be deaf to that particular word.

“Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll make sure you understand everything you need to know about society—”

“No, regarding your dogs.”

Trevor had learned early to let his mother ramble on and then mitigate the disaster afterward. It was the best he could manage. Except with one word, Mellie had managed to completely thwart his mother’s conversation.

“No dogs?”

“No feathers. With dogs. The two make a vile and rather explosive combination.”

His mother blinked, but she’d been in society a long time. She wasn’t one to be thrown off track easily. “That’s exactly what I was saying,” she said.

“And you are most correct. I wouldn’t risk harming your dogs. But I promise to be at the party, assuming Trevor sends me an invitation.” She smiled sweetly up at him.

“I have terrible penmanship,” he said solemnly. “My mother tells me so frequently.”

“So no invitation?” she asked.

“Not from me.”

“Ah.” She turned back to his mother whose mouth was hanging open in shock. “I’m so sorry, Lady Hurst. The tea party was such a fun idea.”

And then finally—like a miracle from heaven—the next set began. He didn’t care which blackguard had scrawled his name on her card. Trevor was going to take the excuse to leave the conversation.

He grabbed her hand and set it firmly on his arm. “Our dance, my dear.”

“Really? I thought—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Then he took her hand and walked as fast as he could manage. And then…escape! A miracle, and all due to Mellie. “I could kiss you right now,” he murmured into her ear.

“Even I know that would be improper.”

“I’ve never seen anyone get the better of my mother like that. Never! And I’ve been trying for years.”

“That’s because you are too honorable to circumvent her,” she said. And for a moment, he wondered if she meant it as a compliment.

“Well, not in public,” he admitted.

“Exactly.”

They took their positions in the country dance, side by side with their hands linked. “It won’t last, you know. Right now, she is plotting how to get her tea party.”

She shrugged, and his attention was pulled to the shift and pull of the features across her bosom. Damn, but it was the most distracting gown. “I know. Eleanor heard about the tea days ago, so we have already planned for it.”

“You did?”

“Of course. But I had no wish to become your mother’s secretary and no time either. Eleanor has me scheduled from dawn until…well, dawn.”

“But…did Eleanor warn you about my mother?”

“Goodness, everyone has warned me about your mother. She is famous as a managing woman.”

Very true. “Then you don’t mind?”

“Going to the tea? It’s in my schedule. Though you should have introduced me to her earlier. She’s right about that.”

He frowned. “I was trying to save you from her.”

“She’s your mother. She’s due a little courtesy. Perhaps attendance at her tea.”

He took a moment to absorb that, then realized that his mother had won again. Because somehow, he’d ended up in the wrong. And, apparently, he was going to a damned tea as well.

“Have I just been managed?” Surprisingly, he was not horrified by the thought. It might be fun to watch Mellie and his mother fence. His fiancée was not a lamb to the slaughter, but a woman with teeth of her own. Just so long as he could watch the match from afar. From very, very far away.

“You’ll let her have her tea?” Mellie pressed.

“If you want it.”

“I think it’s only polite.”

It would be a nightmare, but she didn’t realize that yet. Fortunately, he would be at her side the entire time and could protect her. Or so he planned, as the steps of the dance began.

Then there was little time to talk as they skipped and hopped through the patterns of the dance. She moved easily, neither the worst nor the best dancer he’d ever partnered. But what made her delightful was the way she seemed to relish dancing. She clearly enjoyed a pattern that had become routine to him. She smiled brightly, she laughed easily, and she looked at him as if he had given her the moon.

He wanted to. He wanted to give her the sun, moon, and stars and anything else her heart desired. He wanted to swing her around and pull her into his arms, then kiss her senseless. And after he laid her down in a bed of silk sheets, showered her with jewels, and made her come a thousand times? Then he would sink into her and find such bliss between her thighs that—

The dance came to an end, and she was looking at him with a furrow between her eyes. He swallowed, forcibly bringing his mind back to the present. He bowed in his most respectful fashion before leading her to the edge of the ballroom where every male in London was waiting for her.

“They are waiting for their time with you,” he said, his voice tight. It was an effort of will to keep his hands from becoming fists.

“Should I refuse them?”

“No,” he forced himself to say. He saw Eleanor standing nearby. He had no idea where she’d been during that blighted conversation with his mother, but she was here now, entertaining the men while they waited for Mellie.

“Mellie,” he said. Then he spoke the brutal truth. “I cannot watch you dance with them.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Mellie, but they are thinking things that make me want to run them through with a very sharp sword.”

She tilted her head. “Do you have a sword?”

“A pistol then. I own a set of pistols.” A fine pair he’d won in a game of faro. He hadn’t the slightest idea where they were at the moment, but he remembered winning them. “Or my grandfather’s sword.”

She laughed, the sound rich and fine. How had he not seen how refined she was on every level? “You turn my head when you speak so romantically.”

“Really?”

Her expression slowly dampened. “I know you are teasing me to make me smile. Thank you. I feel…” She took a deep breath and turned her gaze to the room at large. “I feel alive, Trevor, and it’s wonderful.”

“Then you should enjoy it. And like the besotted bridegroom, I will stand on the side and glower at any man who dares touch you.”

“They are only trying to pluck the feathers off.”

“I know,” he growled. “And that makes it ten times worse.”

“Shall I tell you a secret?” she whispered as the gaggle of gentlemen began to surround her. Trevor had made sure to stop far enough away to have their conversation, but the blighters had moved to her.

“Please,” he said. Anything to distract him from how beautiful she was.

“There is a design on the gown underneath. The feathers are meant to flake away to show the colors and stitching below. The duchess says the pattern will be revealed by midnight.”

He gaped at her. Good God, did she not understand what that did to the male mind? To know that he is supposed to undress her?

“I shall have to carry pistols and hire guards to protect you,” he said.

She laughed, too innocent to know that he was serious. “It’s to make me exciting, and I must say, it’s working. I feel like a mysterious package soon to be opened.”

Good God, he must have a word with the duchess. She must alter Mellie’s gowns immediately. Dark, heavy fabrics and a hood from now on. Then before he could think of anything charitable to say, he lost the chance. Men surrounded her and she’d turned to her next dance partner. Sweet heaven, she was a success, and he was going to be a raving lunatic within the week.

“You always did have a good eye,” a familiar voice drawled in his ear.

Bloody hell. First his mother, now his father.

“No,” he said, hearing the regret in his voice. “I’m just lucky. I had no idea that she was a beauty.”

“Then Eleanor created her success?”

Trevor nodded, feeling ten times the fool.

“Good, then she’ll be fine once you break it off.”

He jolted turning around to stare at his father. “We are engaged.”

The man gave him a sour expression, the one reserved for especially bad faro hands and miscreant sons. “Come along, Trevor. You need a drink.”

He was parched, but that didn’t mean he would walk willingly into a tête-à-tête with his father. “I think I’ll stay here and watch—”

“Your grandfather is in the card room. He thinks you will enjoy a few hands of loo.”

Trevor did laugh at that. He found loo to be a particularly vicious card game, especially when played by vicious people like his grandfather, the Duke of Timby. “Thank you, but I’m content here.”

His father sighed and weariness appeared on his haggard face. “Don’t be childish, Trevor. I’m only trying to help. You will have this audience with him, and it’s best if it’s done in public.”

“Have you gone daft? This is not a conversation to be had in public.”

“On the contrary, the more people who know the true reason for your impetuous engagement, the easier it will be on both you and the girl when it dissolves. This way when she cries off, she’ll be seen as an honorable gel since you weren’t truly engaged in the first place.”

Trevor ground his teeth. Damn the man for assuming the engagement would dissolve. “And why would you think—”

“Because I’m not an idiot,” his father hissed as he grabbed Trevor’s elbow. “Once I heard you were cut off, I knew you’d do something like this. It was a ridiculous gambit on his part. I told him so, but you know how impervious he is to any ideas but his own.”

“Father—”

“Talk to the man. Do it in public—politely, of course—and get this resolved in the most equitable way for everyone.”

Trevor didn’t want to agree, but his father was right. Best do this now and in a way that required restraint. So with a last look at Mellie, who was currently enjoying a dance with a handsome future earl, he followed his father to the card room.

It was slow going. Every few feet someone wanted to congratulate him. Only a few were happy for him. Most wanted gossip. They tried every conversational gambit to get salacious details out of him, but he’d been playing this game for two weeks, raising anticipation for tonight. He deflected everyone with an expansive gesture toward Mellie and the words, “I am a lucky man.”

Eventually, they made it through the ballroom and into the card parlor. The duke dominated the largest table and had one of his fellow septuagenarians on either side. Two other seats were occupied by his father’s friends. Trevor’s own friends were too smart to sit at a table with these cutthroats.

“There you are, my boy,” his grandfather boomed. “Been waiting for you to grow tired of the nonsense out there and join the men. Eddie, get up. Let my grandson have your seat.”

The portly Baron Edwin Waite pushed back his chair, but Trevor stopped him.

“No thank you. I haven’t the funds right now to cover the play.” His gaze turned icy. “I’m a bit to let right now since someone has refused to pay his vowels.” His meaning was clear. He’d applied several times to his grandfather’s man of affairs for the money owed him due to his engagement. Each time, he had been refused.

The baron visibly started. “Refused to pay? The blackguard! Give me his name. I’ll be sure to see him banned from all the London tables.”

“Hmmm,” Trevor mused. “What do you think, Grandfather? Should I tell the blackguard’s name?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” the duke growled. “You don’t possess IOUs from anyone. Everyone knows you don’t gamble.”

That wasn’t exactly true. The venture with Mellie was one huge gamble, but the duke was correct. He’d always thought money bet on a turn of a card was a waste of time. “Gentlemen wagers happen all the time, Grandfather. And only a blighter would cheat on such a thing.”

“Quite right,” said Eddie. “I’m feeling parched. I wouldn’t have sat down at all, but your grandfather insisted. Here’s a thought. Trevor, play my stake, and we’ll split the winnings. We all know I’m bollocks at loo.”

That was certainly true, and so with an internal sigh, Trevor took the empty seat. But something suddenly came to him as he settled into the chair. Something dark and angry, something that had been brewing for a while bubbled up. It was probably Mellie’s influence.

Up until now, he’d blithely accepted the ton’s machinations, but now he saw things differently. It was maliciousness—and greed—that had his grandfather putting the affable Eddie at the table. And meanness to dismiss the man so cavalierly.

Trevor touched Eddie’s sleeve. “How much has my grandfather taken you for tonight?”

“What? Oh. Well, I should know better than to sit at the table with him. But I can’t dance anymore. Gout, you know. So what is a man to do to pass the time while his gels enjoy themselves?”

Eddie’s granddaughter debuted this year. Trevor made a mental note to spread a kind word around about the girl. “Get something to drink. I’ll get your money back.”

The man gave a hearty laugh. “That’s kind, but don’t worry. I don’t stake what I can’t lose.”

Which made him smart. But it didn’t lessen his grandfather’s maliciousness. Or Trevor’s intention to win back every penny of what the baron had lost.

He settled into the chair and nodded at the dealer. Trevor’s father, it seemed, was not to be given a seat, so his pater hovered nearby looking anxious. Just as well. The man was miserable at both mathematics and the understanding of one’s opponents, which made five-card loo a terrible game for him.

Meanwhile, Grandfather’s best friend began the opening salvo. “Tell me about this gel you’ve brought tonight.”

“Miss Smithson is my fiancée and a brilliant woman on a variety of different subjects.”

“I don’t doubt that in the least,” the man responded with a lascivious sneer. “I myself love a mistress with a variety of talents.”

The others at the table chuckled, but Trevor kept his expression cold. “Insult my fiancée again, and I will challenge you. Your hand isn’t so steady anymore. That would make you terrible with a blade and even worse with a pistol.”

His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “And yet she dresses in feathers that fall off.”

Trevor smiled, his darker emotions easing slightly at the memory of Mellie. “She does have her own unique style.”

“No doubt,” returned his grandfather.

“Athletic?” the friend said with a laugh. “Or does she practice something more exotic? With those feathers—”

“I believe I just won your stake, Lord Barr,” Trevor interrupted.

The man blinked, then looked at the huge pile of chits before him. Trevor laid down his hand, winning the modest pot, but not the markers in front of the man. Didn’t matter. Trevor kept his eyes steady and his voice cold.

“Your choice, my lord. Your stake now, or we meet pistols at dawn.”

Lord Barr reared back. “You can’t be serious.”

“Shall I start a rumor that your wife is…athletic? No, no one would believe that.” The woman weighed as much as a small cow. “Your granddaughter then. I shall provide details. I’ve visited her brother, you know. Had plenty of time—”

“You will cease this nonsense!” growled his grandfather. And it was a growl filled with phlegmy vehemence.

In this point, Trevor would normally laugh off the whole thing as a joke. It was a delicate balance with the oldest generation. The threat of a duel was enough to make his point. The laughter would allow Lord Barr to maintain his pride. Then all would go back to normal, hopefully with fewer jokes about his fiancée’s possible skills.

But he wasn’t in the mood to let anyone off, much less a seventy-year-old roué who thought he could insult whomever he wanted with impunity.

“I did warn him,” Trevor said. He pulled out his gloves from his pocket. “Shall I slap you? Whom would you have as your second? I assure you, my grandfather won’t rise from bed before eleven. He wouldn’t bestir himself at dawn even for you.”

And by saying that, he made clear that his grandfather had been using Lord Barr just as much as he’d used Baron Waite.

“Your move, Lord Barr.”

He could see the man’s mind work, see the knit in his brow as he tallied up his level of sins. First off, he’d insulted a man’s fiancée, even after a warning. That would put him on the wrong side of the gentleman’s code, especially since they had an audience. Second, he knew that in the court of ton gossip, he was not nearly as well loved as Trevor. That came from being his grandfather’s friend. They were known to be cruel. Third, and this was most telling, he loved his daughter and doted on his granddaughter. The girl was probably the only person in his life that he valued over the duke. Given that, the outcome was entirely predictable.

He pushed his chips over to Trevor. “I apologize for my rudeness. Must be the brandy.”

“I would think it’s the company you keep, but by all means, blame the French drink.”

Lord Barr didn’t answer as he bowed to the table at large and withdrew. Meanwhile, Trevor’s grandfather narrowed his eyes.

“You’ll regret that.”

“No, I don’t think I will. Your deal.”

The man took up the cards, his aged hands still able to deal with crisp efficiency. “You’ve become impertinent, Trevor. Your manners are common, and your judgment questionable. Even so, that girl is beneath you.”

“I’m terribly sorry that your memory is flagging, Grandfather. Nothing to be ashamed of. It comes with age. But with the ducal estate at risk, you really must leave matters to Father. You’ve been bungling lately, and you know it.”

Trevor’s words were beyond the pale. But since Trevor couldn’t threaten to skewer his grandfather in a duel, he had to make his point another way. Especially as this next hand did not go to his grandfather, but to the other crony. Trevor managed to keep a portion of the pot, but only barely.

Then his grandfather leaped to his usual form of attack. “I’ll have you cut off,” he hissed. From a growl to a hiss. Trevor was making progress.

“You already have, sir. How unfortunate that the estate is entailed, and you would have to disown my father to disown me. And then where would the title go upon your demise? Did you ever legitimize your French bastard?”

“How dare you!”

“Ah, I thought not.”

His grandfather won that hand. He might be furious, but he still remembered his cards. Trevor was looed, but that was inevitable in this game.

Meanwhile, his father set his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. Ever the peacemaker, the man tried to moderate the emotions. “The duke is simply worried for you. We all are.”

“My grandfather need not worry. I have my affairs well in hand. It was his bumbling machinations that started this whole chain of events in the first place.”

The duke slammed his fist down on the table. Finally, Trevor had pushed him into an unseemly display. And it hadn’t been hard to accomplish. The man truly was aging.

“That girl is beneath you. She is beneath all of us, and she will not have my name or title.”

Trevor arched a brow. “No, she won’t. She’ll have my name and my title. You will be worm food soon enough. I only need wait.”

“I’ll disinherit you!”

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Your memory again. We’ve already had this discussion. You’d have to disinherit my father, and we both know you won’t do it.” And as he spoke, he played a trump card to win the lion’s share of the pot.

Unfortunately, his father wasn’t nearly as calm. His face was pale, and he squeezed Trevor’s shoulder harder than a vise. Damnation, Trevor might have to moderate his plan if only to prevent his father from having a seizure. But to his surprise, the man came down squarely on Trevor’s part.

“I warned you this nonsense wouldn’t work, Father. Trevor has your stubbornness. He won’t be managed like I was.”

“Trevor needs to learn his p-place!” the duke sputtered. “He will marry a girl of my choosing or starve.”

Trevor tsked loudly. “Your memory again, sir. You have already proved how bad your judgment is regarding women.”

“The devil you say!” the man exploded.

Trevor didn’t answer at first. He was too busy winning the next hand. When he spoke, he knew he was crossing not only society’s rules, but also the law within his own family. It didn’t matter. For the first time in his life, he saw exactly how ridiculous it was to maintain a system of bride-choice that had proved so disastrous time and time again.

So he won the hand, then he looked squarely at his grandfather. “Your choice of a bride was bad enough,” he said. “Grandmother was frail and unable to conceive adequate sons. That is why you went to France to father half a dozen bastards.”

The man gaped at him, too furious to even draw breath. And then, Trevor made it worse. He turned on his father who had just supported him.

“And your bride is even worse. I know Grandfather picked her. How much in debt are you? And not just because of Mother. Did I see your mistress sporting a new diamond bracelet? How expensive was that? At least you’ve been careful. I don’t have a dozen illegitimate brothers to contend with. Only the one girl.”

His father paled. This was not something spoken of publicly. Ever. And yet, here Trevor was pouring it out in an open card room at a party attended by the whole ton . But it was the truth, and everyone here knew it.

The duke pushed up to a stand, his eyes hard, his body trembling in fury. “So you marry for money?” He spoke as if that wasn’t the choice of hundreds of aristocrats.

Trevor shook his head. “I pick the woman I want.”

“Even if she’s a common cit? With a mad mother and an idiotic father? Good God, boy, think !”

Trevor smiled. He hadn’t thought he could. It was a devastating thing to humiliate both father and grandfather, but the darkness in him spilled out. He laid down his last card, winning the pot.

“I am thinking. And I think you owe me a great deal of money. Unless you plan to forget this as well.”

“I forget nothing.”

“Then you will pay your debts, cease prattling about disinheritance, and stay the bloody hell away from my fiancée.”

Then Trevor stood, waiting with fists pressed against the baize. Did his grandfather cower? Did he give in gracefully?

“You are dead to me, boy,” the man spat.

Trevor waived a hand as if that meant nothing. It was a lie. The words cut him. A part of him still loved his grandfather, but it was clearly a one-sided love. “Do you forget your debts? Do we turn the financial reins over to Father?” He gestured at the table. It was so much more than a pile of chits here. The man either had to pay or admit he was unable to handle money. It wasn’t enough to legally declare him non compos mentis , but it was a start. Especially as there were at least two barristers in the room listening closely.

Then his grandfather gave in. His hands shook, his eyes blazed in fury, but he did as honor bid. He threw down bank notes as he might throw away bad meat. “You may apply to Oltheten,” he said, his voice thick but clear. “He will give you the last penny you will ever see from me.”

Trevor simply shrugged. “Between you and my parents, sir, I never expected to inherit a penny anyway.” That was a lie, but everyone here took it as truth.

Trevor had just thrown away the fortune of a lifetime. He was well aware that the entailed properties wouldn’t support themselves. He would be in a bad way if he inherited a title with no means to support it. But that was a worry for another day. For now, he’d beaten his grandfather. He’d declared his independence from a domineering old goat, and…and…

And he wanted to see Mellie.

He needed to spend some quiet moments in her arms assessing exactly what he had just done. She would help him sort through the facts logically before he planned his next step.

She would help him.

And so it was with absolute horror that he stepped out of the card room to see her on another man’s arm. Not just any man, but Lord Rausch, the slimiest damn German in London. And she was laughing while he unobtrusively plucked a feather from her bodice.

Bloody hell, this night might end with a challenge after all.