“Well, why did you cheat when you were being watched?”
“How was I to know? Did you want me to lose?”
They glared at each other. Marianne stalked to the mirror and jerked out hairpins in a testy manner. “What did he say?”
Robin flopped into a chair. “Asked my intentions, made it clear he didn’t believe me. He asked if Alice had given me a leveller. Sarcastically.”
“Oh, that’s charming,” Marianne said, with vitriol. “Is she not beautiful”—she made wiggling finger-motions around her own lovely face—“enough for his high standards, when he has a mug like that? Arsehole. What did you say?”
“I asked if he was insulting her looks, and suggested he wanted to get his hands on her money.”
Marianne’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, wonderful. I’m glad you said that, it’ll definitely help.”
“I had to say something! Anyway, he isn’t her guardian so he can’t forbid the banns. And mostly, if he was sure he’d caught me he’d have made a fuss last night. He was guessing. I don’t think this is a disaster yet.”
“It’s not far from one,” Marianne said grimly. “You’ve set your cap at her clearly enough that if you switch to another heiress, it’ll be obvious.”
Robin scrubbed at his face with the heels of his hands. Fortune hunting was not proving the smooth path to riches he might have hoped. “We shouldn’t risk it. Tachbrook is the bigger prize.”
“If I can land him.” Marianne lifted one shoulder irritably. “Did I tell you, the fathead must have his mother’s approval?”
“What? Why? He’s forty-five if he’s a day.”
“He doesn’t need her permission, but she is the chief trumpeter of his greatness, and he lives only to be told how marvellously important he is.”
“Therefore he doesn’t dare lower himself in her eyes? Got it.” Robin exhaled. “What are our chances?”
“They were better before you got caught cheating at cards.”
“I didn’t get caught. I can deny it.”
“You do that. As to our chances, that depends. If it’s a matter of being sufficiently awed by my unworthiness, I can give her the perfect meek daughter-in-law. But I have to meet the old trout first, and Tachbrook’s dragging his heels.”
Robin sighed. “If we go through this whole palaver and the only people who end up rich are the modistes and tailors...”
“Then at least we tried. Come on, Rob. I could be a marchioness yet, and Alice might decide she wants you in the teeth of her uncle’s disapproval. Do you know what, you should make your declaration.”
“Now?”
“Why not? The prospect of being parted from her focused your mind, et cetera. Bring it to a head. If she refuses you, you can be pale and interesting at other women before the end of the Season, and spend a lot more time in hells.”
“Unlucky in love, lucky at cards,” Robin agreed. The maxim had always held true for him, although he wasn’t so much lucky as manipulative when it came to cards. Mind you, he could say the same about love.
“We’ll win this,” Marianne said. “I’ll marry someone.”
She could unquestionably find a husband to give her a life of security, with clothes on her back and food on the table. It was less likely she could switch from the marquess to another man with the sort of wealth that would let her fund her brother too. Robin didn’t say anything, but Marianne put out a swift hand. “We’re in this together, Rob. I’m not looking after myself at your expense.”
“You should if you have to.”
“I don’t have to. This is a mild setback, that’s all. We’ll get you your heiress. Should I charm Hartlebury, do you think? Or seduce him. Shall I put him on his knees?”
She was joking, Robin knew, but it brought up an unexpected mental image of doing that himself. He took a second to picture Hartlebury begging for his touch, all that scowling temper and physical power reduced to pleading. It was a satisfying thought.
“Best not,” he said. “Or at least, not unless Tachbrook drops out of the running. Then again, Hartlebury’s not poor. Why don’t you take him and I’ll have Alice? We could have a double wedding.”
“Oh, that would be lovely, with you panting after the other groom.”
“What? I am not panting for anyone, especially him.”
“Please. You’re a fool for legs like that.”
Robin was easily swayed by thighs, no denying it, but he preferred them when they weren’t standing between him and twenty thousand pounds. Sir John Hartlebury was an obstacle to his future prosperity, and a threat to his current solvency if he chose to spread accusations about card-sharping around. Robin would need to play his hand very carefully indeed. And if that meant playing foul, so be it.
Chapter Four
The Loxleigh siblings had left Mrs. Blaine’s house in haste, but in harmony with one another. The same could not be said for the brother and sister who remained behind.
“What on earth?” Edwina demanded in a voice that tried to be at once a whisper and a screech. “What have you done?”
“What you wanted. You asked me to look into the man—”
“Look into! Not drive off!”
“Yes, and I looked, and I don’t like what I see. I don’t trust him. I don’t like him.”
“You aren’t being asked to marry him,” Edwina said through her teeth. “That is up to Alice, for heaven’s sake. If you had something to say about him why didn’t you say it to me first?”
“I think he cheated at cards last night.”
It ought to have been a clincher. Unfortunately, that would require his opponent to care about the codes governing gentlemanly behaviour. Edwina threw up her hands. “And?”
“That matters!”
“Of all the male nonsense. Games. I’m talking about marriage!”
“It’s a matter of honour. Doesn’t that count in a marriage?”
She rolled her eyes. “So men who play cards the right way are always good, honourable husbands?”
That was not an argument he could make, given her unlamented second husband. Nobody could have accused Blaine of cheating at cards, given how much money he’d lost at them. “Men who don’t probably aren’t.”
“Do you know, Hart, it’s quite hard to find a good man without making some compromise,” Edwina said. “Perhaps he has a temper, and one hopes its violence is not turned against oneself. Perhaps he has a wandering eye that one must ignore. Fenwick was twenty years my senior and a widower, not to mention that I married beneath myself in the world’s eyes.”
“Yes, but—”
“But what? Card games! As if that matters! And you only said you ‘think’ he cheated. Did you accuse him without being sure?”
Hart cursed internally. In truth, he couldn’t be certain. But he’d had Evangeline Wintour’s suspicions in his mind, and he’d thought he’d seen Loxleigh’s nimble hands do something odd, and then the man had started winning.