Page 9 of A Stranger’s Gamble

“Marriage,” Nick replied.

“I called things off with Lena long ago, as you well know.”

Adam tried to ignore the tightening of his gut at having spoken the name of the woman who was responsible for him losing his family fortune—not to mention his soul. Then there was his father’s death. Nae. Lena was to blame for a great deal, but he couldn’t blame her for his father shooting his brains out. The old marquess had chosen that cowardly path all of his own volition.

“You are better off without her,” Nicholas said. “I am talking about a respectable woman—”

“Good God, don’t say it.” Adam grimaced again. “I may have sold what remained of my family estate, but I will not sell my soul. I have some pride left.” Or so he told himself. “Is marriage the business you wish to discuss?”

“What do you care?” Nicholas asked. “I’m going to feed you.”

Adam was saved from having to reply when the maid returned with the shaving water.

Nicholas made no attempt to hide his amusement. “I shall await you downstairs,” he said, then left with the maid.

Adam poured water—tepid water—into the basin, squinted into the grimy glass of the mirror, then began to scrape his chin with a razor. His dark hair nearly brushed his shoulders. He would have to have it trimmed. After a few expert swipes, he inspected his square jaw bare of stubble. Good enough. He wiped his face, then surveyed his appearance as he tied his cravat. He was far too well dressed for a penniless marquess. He grabbed his coat from the bed and swung it on as he walked to the door. It was time to set Nicholas straight—after lunch, of course. Adam jogged down the common stair and nearly bowled over Mrs. Latimer on the bottom step.

“Where might you be going?” The woman eyed him up and down.

He gave a low bow. “Mrs. Latimer, I have no candles for you to scavenge from my room, so there’s no need to pick the lock. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

She shouted after him, but he deliberately slammed the door to drown out her words. Nick waited on the street, and they set off in the crisp morning air. They soon turned down a narrow-cobbled lane where the large, ambling tavern The Poker Club sat in the middle of the block.

The proprietor, a jolly man with apple cheeks and bright blue eyes, met them at the door and ushered them to a private room that smelled of spice and cigar smoke.

Nicholas ordered pigeon pie, ham, half a dozen vegetables, and sweetmeats. “And wine right away,” he added.

Adam felt certain the lavish meal was intended to remind him of the niceties he had lost as a result of paying his father’s debts. The proprietor bowed, clearly pleased with the order, and left them to settle into tufted leather chairs that faced the crackling fire.

The door barely clicked closed behind the man when Nicholas said, “I am a man of my word, Adam, and while I will facilitate the sale of what remains of your estate, I must beg a favor.”

Adam stared into the fire. “So long as the favor does not involve a wealthy heiress.”

“Her wealth is not why I’m here, and the fact she has money is merely a happy coincidence to your circumstances.”

Adam scarcely heard him. His attention had snagged on “your circumstances”.

His circumstances.

His father had all but destroyed everything they owned with his addiction to drink, gambling, and loose women. It had taken Adam some time to let go of the raw anger his father’s actions had unleashed. Not that he couldn’t forgive his father his foibles. Quite the contrary. In truth, Adam saw in his father an older version of himself. No, the anger had stemmed from the fact that he’d frittered away too much of his youth. Perhaps if he’d began to invest in his horses ten years ago instead of five, he might not have been forced to sell all he owned. Except Merlyn. The Friesian was his future.

“Adam?” Nick’s voice pierced his thoughts.

Adam took a deep breath and looked his friend in the eye. “I narrowly escaped one cold-hearted, title-hungry woman. Why should I want another?”

For the money that might save the estate in Inverness, the only home he had left, the place he planned to raise his horses and forget the world?

The door opened and a maid entered, a tray with a decanter and two glasses in hand. She set the tray on the table, filled each glass with wine, then bobbed a curtsey and left.

Nicholas sipped his wine. “Do you know Liam Shaw?”

Adam frowned. “The owner of Dalquhern Dyeworks?”

Nick nodded.

“I know of him.”

“He is interested in marrying his daughter to a good family.”