Sycamore rested his hips against the windowsill and considered the woman at the desk. “If I want to call anybody out, it’s your late spouse. Tavistock must have soured you on all men forever.”
Had Sycamore not been visually worshipping the magic of sunlight on her hair, he would have missed the haunted look that passed across her features.
“One mustn’t speak ill of the dead, Mr. Dorning.”
“Why not, if the dead comported themselves like ruddy blighters? One should be honest.”
“One should be kind, discreet, and grateful for one’s blessings.”
He wanted to argue with her for the pure joy of watching her temper rise, but her morning had been trying enough. With the coin Sycamore had provided, she’d paid off all of her step-son’s gambling losses, and the sum had been outrageous. Sycamore had sent to London for the funds midweek, anticipating the direction Lord Tavistock’s tournament play would take.
“Whoever made up that rule about not arguing with a lady does not have my gratitude,” Sycamore said, turning to regard the back gardens and the terrace below. “Arguing with ladies is some of the best fun to be had and making up after the argument more enjoyable still. I see Chastain lurking on the terrace. Is he expecting Mrs. Tremont to come wafting by on her way to the gazebo?”
The marchioness rose and joined him at the window. “Don’t judge her. Chastain would see her brother arrested on a whim. If she didn’t accommodate Chastain’s rutting, he’d extort more blunt from her than even she can afford. She doesn’t mind putting a stiff prick to its best use, though Chastain’s finesse as a lover apparently ranks somewhere below the rutting-schoolboy category.”
The words stiff prick coming from her ladyship were wildly exciting, though her tone of abject disgust was rather lowering.
“You don’t care for stiff pricks?”
“Don’t be vulgar.”
But I like being vulgar. “Not an answer, my lady.”
She sighed mightily. “If you expect me to spread my legs for you because you made me a short-term loan, you are doomed to disappointment. You will have the money within a fortnight.”
“I am disappointed that you would think so ill of me. You are a widow exerting herself to protect a family member, and I am a gentleman happy to aid you.”
She slanted him a considering look. “You can be a gentleman. One also hears you acquit yourself with considerably more skill than a rutting schoolboy and more frequently than any schoolboy ever dreamed of indulging himself.”
Exactly where and from whom had one heard that? Had one perhaps solicited such information?
“I like to share pleasure with willing ladies. The rumors regarding my skill are understated and those regarding the frequency of my liaisons overstated. I am also discreet, your ladyship, and while I can be protective, I am not possessive. If you’d like to inspect my equipment, I’m cheerfully amenable to that exercise behind a locked door. You may look but not touch, until we’ve reached the usual agreements regarding temporary exclusivity and the desirability of avoiding conception.”
She smiled ruefully—smile number three. “I deserved that. The problem is, I do like you.”
Sycamore’s four favorite words had been take me to bed. He flung them aside in favor of I do like you. “So many find my company agreeable,” he murmured, “despite my best efforts to be dashing and knavish.”
“I suspect when you don’t get your way, you can be very knavish. You have my thanks for playing banker. Tavistock had a narrow escape, and how Chastain will pay his half of the markers puzzles me. Mrs. Tremont can pass him a pair of earbobs, Lady Fairchild might part with a necklace, but after another week of losses, trifles like that won’t suffice.”
“Why would Lady Fairchild part with a necklace?”
“Because her daughter has the famous Dorning eyes, but not the famous Dorning last name?”
“These things happen.”
“And these things interfere with decent settlements and an adequate match, when a shy, plain woman gets to be a certain age and has had no offers.”
Sycamore’s flirtatious impulse was checked by a nasty thought. “Do you suppose Chastain has been forcing himself on Lady Fairchild?” Mrs. Tremont was an apparently merry young widow, but Lady Fairchild was the mother of Cam’s half-sister and did not strike him as amenable to romping.
“Chastain has a new wife, and he’s dallying with Mrs. Tremont. He’s a pestilence to the servants, though Lady Wentwhistle knows to assign only the experienced maids and footmen to the guest wing, and they usually work in pairs. I doubt Chastain has the stamina to also inflict himself on Lady Fairchild.”
“I am hardly reassured that a lack of stamina might be all that stands between Chastain and felonious conduct toward the ladies.” Sycamore declined to mention that his own stamina defied womanly comprehension when he was truly inspired. What did an ability to last in bed matter if a fellow was an oaf?
Lady Tavistock patted his cravat. “You want an excuse to blow his brains out. This is part of why I like you.”
“What are the other parts?”
“You can whistle up a small fortune in coin of the realm in less than a week, and you are discreet.”
Such ringing endorsements as those would have Sycamore joining the clergy. He peered down at the back garden rather than take her ladyship’s hand and press kisses to her wrist. William Chastain lolled in a chair on the shady side of the terrace, his posture suggesting he’d like to be stroking his crotch—or he’d like for somebody else to stroke his crotch.
I’m not like him. I’m not. “I am a gentleman, my lady, and I will thank you to—I see my brother and his new wife cuddled up at the center of the maze.”
“They have been there for the past ten minutes. I’m glad Mr. Dorning is spending time with Lady Della. Chastain might limit himself to extorting baubles from Lady Fairchild and commandeering trysts with Mrs. Tremont, but I don’t like how he’s been looking at Lady Della.”
Neither did Sycamore. “How has he been looking at Lady Della?”
“As if he’d enjoy hurting her.”
Sycamore did catch Lady Tavistock’s hand and bowed over it most correctly. “I fear you are right, and I should have a pointed discussion with my brother.”
“Not this instant, Mr. Dorning. Your brother is attending to pressing marital business.”
“Right, not this instant, but the moment he toddles out of the maze.” Looking dazed and replete, Sycamore hoped. Another nasty thought occurred to him. “My lady, how come you to know the look of a man who’d enjoy hurting women?”
She moved closer, her hand still joined with his, and kissed his cheek. “A gentleman would not ask, but I’m touched that you did.” She led him to the door, and when he stood before her wanting to say something, do something, think something, she gave him a gentle shove and closed the door behind him.
Chapter Sixteen
If you want to leave me, I will understand…
Sitting next to her husband, Della could calm herself enough to speak and even to think. Ash was offering to set her aside—and to be set aside.