Chapter Six
Nicholas Algernon looked around the small, crowded flat just two blocks from the river’s wharf with obvious distaste. Brushing a spot on the threadbare sofa, he sat before the splintered coffee table with its uneven legs and grimaced. “Je suis. I am surprised, Monsieur.Pourquoisuch squalid conditions?”
Wesley looked at the boy with barely concealed contempt. The little bastard had no idea how truly squalid his living conditions had become because that damn Highlander had stolen Jillian from him along with the Newburn lands. He clenched his fists. Thebãtardwould pay, and pay very well.
Wesley studied his offspring. The boy had grown in the two or three years since he had last seen him, making him slightly taller than Wesley. Although slender, his once lanky frame had filled out. Dressed in French fashion, his blond hair cropped close, the boy could pass as an English dandy.
“Unfortunately, dire circumstances have forced me to withdraw from Society for a time. Where are you staying?”
“I have taken rooms near Covent Garden,” Nicholas answered. “Close enough to Mayfair, but also convenient for other purposes, if you understand my meaning.”
“I do. Keep your nose clean though. I want nothing to interfere with my plans.”
Nicholas looked around again skeptically. “What happened?Mamansaid you came to England to reclaim the family estate.”
Thefamilyestate? Had the whore-mother hoped Wesley would send for her? The other bitch—Richard’s mother—probably would think the same thing. Well, let them eat cake, as Marie Antoinette once said. Wesley assumed a martyr’s face.
“The fates have conspired against me. I offered to give my father’s widow luxurious living accommodations and a very generous allowance, but the bitter woman was greedy and wanted more. She fabricated a story of me attempting to rape her—although why I would have wanted to is unfathomable. By law, she was my step-mother. The barbaric Highlander who inherited the earldom of Cantford collaborated her story. Complete lies. Unfortunately, about the same time, false accusations were made against me by two ex-patriots who claimed I aided Napoleon instead of actually helping Wellington at Vitoria. Again, complete lies, but alas, I was stripped of my title and now have a price on my head. I am using the name Walter Avery as an alias.”
Nicholas was watching him, his green eyes calculating. Perhaps the boy was shrewder than Wesley had given him credit for. The trait would be advantageous as long as he believed Wesley’s lies.
“If you have no title or lands, why did you send for me?”
Wesley smiled. At least Nicholas went straight to the point. “I have no desire to remain in England, but I do require a nice sum of money to establish myself comfortably in France.”
“I am to help you achieve this?”
“Yes. I believe you have developed some talent as a portrait painter?” Nicholas’s mother had sent frequent missives over the past several years expounding her son’s talents. Those letters always ended in a request for funds so Nicholas could study with the masters. Wesley ignored them, but word had gotten to him that de Steuben had taken Nicholas under his tutelage.
“Oui. J’ai talent.”
And little modesty. Another good trait. Wesley smiled again. “The ladies of thehaute tonare very vain. I am sure they would be willing to pay well for you to paint them.”
Both of Nicholas’s brows lifted. “They would pay well enough to provide you—and myself—a comfortable lifestyle in France?”
“Of course not.” Was the boy an idiot? “The pretentious creatures not only want their portraits done, they would compete to have your attendance at their silly social parties.Artistesare quite in mode these days.”
“You want me to act a personalcavalier?”
“Not quite. While a great number of the matrons would no doubt find it tempting to take you to their beds, I have only one female in mind.”
“She would have to betrès belleif you want me to refrain from visiting the beds of willing women.”
“She’s pretty enough. Marissa Barclay is also the sister of the bitch who now holds my lands and the sister-in-law of the Highlander who married her. I want you to woo the girl this season.”
Nicholas frowned. “What if I do not wish to marry?”
Wesley reined in his temper. “Woo the chit, gain her trust—either we gain a large dowry and leave her at the altar or we arrange an abduction. The Cantford and Newburn estates are worth hundreds of thousands of pounds—a ransom would be quite enough to settle me comfortably and allow you a rather expansive lifestyle.”
Nicholas smirked. “Do I get her maidenhead as a bonus?”
Wesley laughed outright. The boy had inherited at least one of his tendencies. “You can rut with her as many times as you wish. She will be ruined with either plan, and we will be very, very rich.”
His son held out his hand. “When do I start?”
Wesley shook it. “The patronesses of Almack’s need to be your first clients. Once they have their likenesses done, the rest of thetonwill follow suit. I will have Louis, my former solicitor, represent you in arranging a meeting with Lady Jersey.”
“Très bien.”
