Page 56 of The Best Marquess

There was only one way he could possibly crawl back into her good graces: an outing to Bliss. Hopefully, copious orgasms with pleasure toys would help in erasing the horrors of the past few days from her mind, while reassuring her that he could in fact be a most excellent husband.

Even if he would be a marquess.

“Knighton, there you are.”

At Gabriel’s familiar and welcome voice, Finn turned and offered perhaps his first genuine smile of the day. “Exton. We have both managed to flee discussions we wished no part of. Would you care to celebrate with a brandy? I’ll even tip a few people out of chairs so we might sit down.”

The duke nodded and leaned harder on the carved jet walking stick he used when out and about. “I could not think…of a better offer. My damned foot…is starting to ache a bit.”

“Say no more.”

Shortly afterward, they were enjoying a glass of excellent vintage in a tiny antechamber adjacent to the drawing room, and even the small distance from the crowd and his father’s corpse improved his mood.

Gabriel raised his glass. “To you and Pippa. I know how difficult it is…to stay sane shortly after inheriting.”

“I appreciate the thoughts,” said Finn as he touched his glass to the duke’s and then took a restorative sip of brandy. “I also appreciate you not offering condolences.”

“Didn’t seem quite right. In the circumstances. You know, after I inherited…I had to hear many stories…about my sainted late cousin. And he was an arse. So I do understand.”

Finn let out a slow breath. As if he needed another reason to like Gabriel. “I’ve heard many stories today about my father’s so-called feats and triumphs and I wish I could scrub them all from my mind. They aren’t impressive; just a reminder how awful he was. How impossible his standards were for anyone to achieve and how much he hated women and did his best to make them miserable. Well, apart from Lady Kingsford. Ugh. Now I wonder if he was in love with her. Imagine if those two had become one.”

“I’d rather not…imagine the end of times,” said Gabriel. “Instead, I’ll ask after Pippa.”

“An actual saint. A marvel. Empress of all she surveys.”

“And marriage?”

His cheeks flushed a little as he thought of their wedding night, together with the ceremony, the greatest evening of his life. “I think it will be quite, quite splendid. Well, once today is behind us.”

The duke grinned. “Unconventional beginnings…can grow great unions.”

“That is what I hope—”

“Lord Knighton. I have been searching for you everywhere…”

At that grating, peevish tone, Finn gripped his brandy glass so hard it nearly shattered in his hand. Lord Campbell? Really? Just when his day was threatening to improve?

“…it is imperative that we speak,” the baron continued. “Oh, good afternoon, Your Grace. I understand you have a daughter now. Better luck next time.”

Gabriel rose to his feet, soon towering over the older lord. “Campbell. Her Grace and I are delighted…to have a baby girl. Amanda is her name. I’m away home now…to cuddle them both. It’s been far too long…several hours at least.”

The baron’s unabashed horror at such a sentimental response was comical. Finn couldn’t wholly suppress his laughter as he exchanged a heartfelt eye roll with Gabriel, but he then had to watch in profound regret as the duke left the house. How tempting to do the same; to scoop Pippa up and leave this crush, Lord Campbell, and his father’s corpse behind. They could go straight to Gunter’s for an ice. Even better, go upstairs to his bedchamber, lock the door, and pretend the outside world didn’t exist for the rest of the day.

But no. He had duties.

“What did you want to speak to me about?” asked Finn coldly. He couldn’t think of a single topic that they shared an interest in, and knowing how Campbell felt about him, it made the request even more bizarre.

“I would like to introduce my colleague, Sir Edwin Ironside,” said Campbell.

Finn groaned. The ambitious young man was an up-and-coming politician in the Commons, even stuffier than the baron; no doubt he was being groomed for higher office. He came from a particularly conservative town in the north of England and from the quotes Finn had read in various newspapers, wished to drag the realm back into the dark days of Cromwell and his ilk. “Sir Edwin.”

“My lord,” said Sir Edwin, bowing stiffly. “Sincere condolences on your monumental loss. But we have a greater purpose.”

“Oh?”

Campbell puffed out his chest. “We should like to know your stance on pleasure clubs.”

No. These two cretins were not adding to his already steaming pile of horseshit day.