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Skepticism flashed across her features before a polite smile tipped her lips. Her reaction annoyed him. From the moment he’d inherited the earldom, every waking breath had been spent trying to restore the honor of the Blade name. Society had waited eagerly for him to follow in the step of his ancestors. They had wagered among themselves when he would soon start the whoring, gambling, and brawling with cuckolded husbands over their wives. They expected him to keep numerous mistresses and to indulge generally in wild debauchery. What young man of twenty would behave differently when they came into their inheritance at so young an age, and with his family’s reputation? Tobias had. He’d had a lifetime of such indignities and he had ruthlessly worked to achieve another reputation for his line, one his future sons and daughters would be proud to inherit and be a part of.
He’d achieved it through a rigid adherence to his own strict rule of conduct, which he’d crafted as early as
his eighteenth year. He’d never been drunk and never would be, and he would not duel or fight with another man over a woman, nor would he ever allow his temper or passions to be compromised to recklessness. He had done nothing to warrant the unease Arabella showed. He strolled over to her and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “I shall see you when I am next in town.”
“And when will that be, Tobias? I’ve hardly seen you since the opening of Parliament and you avoid the social whirl. I am sure I shan’t see you for the rest of the year.”
“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally, retrieving his topcoat and cane, which housed a hidden foil. Whenever he visited his friend, the Marquess of Westfall, as Tobias planned to do this evening, he walked with a weapon. The marquess favored the seedier and more dangerous parts of the city and seemed to be more comfortable among the depraved and villainous.
After spending a few more minutes reassuring Arabella that he would visit soon, Tobias departed the town house. He jumped into his waiting carriage and tapped the roof. His driver knew his next destination and they rumbled into swift motion. He had been funding several ventures with Westfall, all aimed at helping the poor and unfortunate who dwelled in the slums of London. They were building homes, a school, and even a hospital to ensure affordable care to those less fortunate. The land was on the edge of town, out toward the countryside where the air was fresher but where they could still reach their employment.
The carriage slowed and then halted. Tobias stepped down into a dirty, narrow, and very smelly alley only a few minutes from Smithfield, where the meat market was. He glanced at his driver. “My company will see me home, you may go.” It made no sense to leave the man out for pickpockets and other nefarious elements to fall upon him.
“Very well, my lord,” the driver said and tipped his hat.
Tobias waited until he was gone before strolling inside the tavern. It was mostly empty, and at a glance, he saw Westfall in the far corner, nursing a mug. Westfall had made no concessions to his surroundings and had dressed as fashionably as ever. Tobias was flabbergasted that his fastidious friend would consume anything from this place. He made his way over and sank into the chair opposite the marquess. “You are aware we could have met at White’s or Brooks? Or better, in your town house?”
“I am aware,” the marquess said blandly, flicking a fly away with his long, tapered fingers.
“Then why in damnation are we here?” Tobias growled.
Westfall smiled, the scars roping the left side of his face twisting. “I’m a bit partial to Jenny’s Inn. The people here are more trustworthy than those at White’s. Here, I know they all want to fleece me, stick a knife between my ribs, and take my boots, watch, and anything else of value. I am comfortable because I know what to expect. There is no hypocrisy in the slums.”
Hell.
“I heard tell that you are soon to be engaged.”
“For a man disinclined to scandal and gossip, you are well-informed.”
Tobias smiled. “My mother delights in gossiping, especially when the subjects concerned are my friends.”
Westfall grunted.
“Are you intending to marry a society miss?”
“Perhaps.”
Tobias was stunned. Westfall despised society and those who belonged to it, and he made no effort to conceal his distaste to the ton. He refused to conform and they labeled him a degenerate for it. His exploits were bandied about Town with relish and Westfall only associated with ladies of questionable morals, which was why Tobias was surprised to hear he’d formed an attachment with a young society miss, one Lady Honoria. He remembered her as being very excitable and had personally seen the young lady faint at least three times. What was Westfall thinking?
“I can see you are itching to dissuade me from the idea of matrimony. I’ve decided, so it makes no sense to waste your energy on arguments, Blade.”
Tobias had nothing to say to that. “Are those the plans?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the rolls of papers.
“Yes. There are hundreds of children that need me…us. Many lost their fathers in the war. Some are abandoned in poor houses and baby farms.”
He nodded and dived into the detailed building plans, discussing monies required to be invested and the time scale each would take to construct, the difficulties they might face to wheedle further funds from wealthy patrons, and what they were willing to do themselves. Hours passed, and the entire time he conversed with Westfall, in the back of Tobias’s mind, his thoughts were filled with Olivia.
After she had placed the slugs between his sheets, he had spent the rest of the night in the library, writing, trying to drain the lust pounding through his veins with words. He’d been surprised when he’d returned to his chamber in the morning, after a hard ride across the lanes, to find her bent over his bed, her delicious posterior in the air, gently collecting her slimy conspirators and putting them in a bucket. She had actually helped clean up her mess. He had been eternally grateful that a chambermaid had been present or he was sure he would have done something like push her gown up and bite her on her delightfully shaped behind.
He chuckled darkly. Westfall glanced up from the architectural drawings.
“Do you care to share what has you amused?”
“It’s not amusement, it’s anticipation,” he said, shocking himself.
The marquess arched a brow and slouched more insolently than before. “Ah…you are hunting a particular woman. Another Cyprian? Rumors report that your current chère amie has been complaining to her bosom friends. She feared you were getting restless.”
Tobias froze, then scrubbed a hand over his face. What the hell was he even talking about? “I misspoke. I do not want her…yet she intrigues me. A decidedly complicated situation, for I have no intention of ever acting on my desires.”
