Page 16 of A Scoundrel in the Making

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Reade looked up from the accounts book when his brother entered his small study.

“You’re up bright and early this morning.” His brother crossed the room and sat in the chair opposite his desk.

“There’s nothing unusual about that,” Reade replied.

“A man who returns home at two in the morning after a party doesn’t usually rise at six in the morning,” Robert said.

Reade shrugged. “I have a strong constitution.”

Robert’s face clouded.

Reade quickly added, “You know what I mean, Robert. I have always been an early riser. Even when we were young and caroused into the wee hours of the morning, I never slept past seven.” He gave his brother a fond smile. “Despite the fact I had many a headache from drinking too much, I was too stubborn to stay in bed when it would have served me better to do so.”

Robert’s expression remained gloomy. “You were wiser than I in many things, Reade. Perhaps if I had practiced that sort of discipline as a lad we wouldn’t have creditors snapping at our heels.”

Reade opened the top desk drawer and retrieved the envelope with last night’s winnings. He set it on the desk in front of his brother. “We are a little less in debt.”

Robert stared at the envelope for a long moment, then shook his head. “I cannot keep taking your money.”

“You can and will,” Reade said, “if you want Ella and Corey to have a roof over their heads and food in their bellies. Besides,” he added when Robert opened his mouth to reply, “we agreed, Talsworth Castle and Ashington Hall must not fall into the hands of creditors. The homes are your children’s inheritance and our family history.”

“Aye, but ‘tis not right that you have to pay for my mistakes.”

“I would say ye have paid your share.”

Reade had seen the personal hell his brother had gone through as a result of his gambling. Ella had threatened to take their son to her father’s and never return. Through sheer force of will, Robert purged the house of all liquor—liquor invariably led to gambling—and had thrown himself into working alongside his tenants, farming and ranching.

Robert’s eyes locked with his. “I haven’t come close to paying as much for my wrongs as you have.”

“You have a great deal more to lose than I, Robert. I have no family to consider.”

“But you could have.”

“I doubt that,” he replied. “Fenella isn’t interested in a permanent connection with me.”

“That is only because of me.”

Reade grunted. “Nae. It is because she is not a woman of substance.”

“She is a fool,” Robert murmured.

Reade lifted a brow. “You don’t usually wax so sentimental, Brother.”

His brother picked up the envelope, opened it and peered inside. He looked back at Reade. “How much is here?”

Reade shrugged. “I didn’t count it.”

Robert waited.

Reade sighed. “A little over two thousand pounds.”

His brother blinked. “By God, that’s a king’s ransom.”

“It will help, then?”

Robert nodded at the accounts book that lay open on his desk. “You know better than anyone that it will.” He stared at the money.

“If it makes you feel any better, most of that money belonged to other people,” Reade said.

Robert frowned, then some of the old humor lit his eyes. “How much did you win?”

“Eighteen hundred pounds.”

“By God, how do you do it?”

Reade shrugged. “To be quite honest, most of the men I play with are very bad players with more money to lose than sense.”

“You cannae win that much money without making enemies.”

Reade thought of Mr. Taggart accusing him of cheating. “As I said, they have more money than sense. The winnings were modest shares from different men. I didn’t win enough from any one person to put any of them out.”

“It’s by far the largest sum, yet.”

That, Reade thought, had more to do with Sir Stirling than anything else.