Page 57 of The Best Marquess

“Really, my lord?” Finn bit out. “With my father’s body lying mere feet away in a shroud, you desire to know my stance on pleasure clubs?”

“Don’t be missish, boy. Pinehurst’s fondest wish was for you to become a man worthy of the title, and carry on his important works. Told me so on many occasions. And the crusade nearest to his heart was the closing of those dens of sin.”

“London has become a foul cesspit,” added Sir Edwin fervently. “We must stamp out the immorality with a steel boot before it creeps further into high society. Did you know there is a new business in the city, calling themselves Bliss? They are peddlers of filth. Poor Lady Campbell was sent a book with the lewdest content one could imagine. Lord Campbell burned it, of course.”

Finn sighed. Perhaps he could send a replacement to her via Lady Navemby. Apart from his mother, it was hard to imagine a more long-suffering wife than the baroness. “I’m confused, gentlemen. Do you wish my opinion on pleasure clubs, or a new business?”

“Both,” said Lord Campbell, staring at him with a black gaze that held no trace of warmth or compassion. Ugh. It was like being stared at by a viper about to strike. “We need to know if you are with us or against us. Your previous behavior would indicate against, but perhaps the shock of your father’s death will mend your outlandish ways. Perhaps now you will cease luring every woman you meet from a righteous path.”

He rubbed his jaw, if only to distract his hand from the strong urge to punch the baron in the nose. Gabriel had done that to a dandy who insulted him in a ballroom; perhaps Finn could continue the family tradition yet make it more scandalous with a corpse nearby. “How is darling Iris, my lord? Well, I hope. I don’t see her nearly often enough.”

The baron’s eyes bulged. “You dare mention Lady Campbell? Insolent pup!”

“This is my home. I dare a lot of things under my own roof. You, however, have outstayed your welcome. If you wish to discuss pleasure clubs or London businesses, make an appointment with my secretary. Good day now.”

“Knighton—”

“I said good day,” snapped Finn, stepping closer so he was toe to toe with Lord Campbell. “Now leave, or I shall be forced to personally throw you out on your arse, and wouldn’t that be a spectacle for the scandal sheets?”

Sir Edwin gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He turned and glared witheringly at the politician. “I believe we just established that there is no limit to what I would dare. You may leave my household also.”

There was a prolonged moment of silence that almost hummed with righteous anger, and Finn actually clenched his fists. But eventually the two other men inclined their heads the barest inch and departed the antechamber.

Fuck.

Finn took several deep breaths, but it did nothing to cool his ire. The world would know soon enough that he had no intention whatsoever to follow in his father’s footsteps. Quite the opposite, in fact. Bliss would be a resounding success.

“Would you like me to hold up some cushions for you to box? I’m well versed in the art,” a voice drawled, and Finn glanced over to see Pippa’s twin leaning against the antechamber doorway.

“I’m sure you are, and a lot more. Like listening to conversations that do not involve you,” he replied pointedly.

Northam whipped out a white linen handkerchief to wave. “I am not your enemy. Quite the contrary. And you should be wary of those two, especially Campbell. He has a nasty temper when thwarted, likes to wave a small pistol about.”

“I’m well aware of his lordship’s character. He was my father’s crony after all.”

“Didn’t mean to imply otherwise. In truth, I’m here on behalf of my twin, otherwise known as your wife. I believe she may petition for a divorce unless you swoop in and remove her from that clergyman’s clutches. Either that, or there may be another body to bury.”

Finn grimaced. He really was a terrible husband.

“I’m on my way.”

If she ever had to see people again, it would be too soon.

After they had ushered the last lingering visitor from the drawing room, Lord Pinehurst’s body had been transported with all due pomp and ceremony to the family tomb for burial. As women didn’t attend funerals, she and Evangeline had remained here to supervise the cleaning of the house and the return of all furniture stacked in the music room. When Finn got home, he had been dry-eyed yet his shoulders were slumped and her heart ached for him. She knew the feeling of a body beyond weariness. But now, finally, they would be able to spend some uninterrupted time together.

Arm in arm, they stumbled to the dining room for supper. At this point they were holding each other up; the slightest puff of wind would knock them over.

Pippa glanced at her husband as they sat down at the table. They had already decided to forgo the foolishness of the marquess at one end and the marchioness at the other, forever separated by several floral arrangements and about a mile of polished wood, so private conversations weren’t an issue. He sat at the head of the table; she directly to his right, and as Evangeline had requested a tray in her chamber, they could speak freely if they kept their voices low enough so the footmen didn’t hear.

“If I slump face-first into a bowl of soup,” said Pippa, “do you solemnly swear to fish me out?”

“It would be my honor,” said Finn. “And I humbly beg you to do the same. I don’t know how to express my gratitude for the past few days. You’ve gone far, far beyond the call of duty.”

She mustered a smile. “Let us never speak of these few days ever again. My nerves have been shattered; I will require daily hartshorn from now on.”

“I’ll fight you for it,” he replied, propping his chin on one hand. “You would not believe the conversations that were inflicted on me in the drawing room.”