Page 11 of 10 Things I Hate About the Earl

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Marcus sat stunned, unsure he’d heard his friend correctly. Marry Katherine Locke? He stared at Ainsley, unable to form a coherent thought for the roaring in his ears, his mouth as dry as if he’d swallowed sand. Finally, he managed to croak, “Please tell me that was a jest in very poor taste.”

Ainsley leaned back, crossing his arms. “Actually, I’m quite serious. Woo my sister. Get her to agree to be your wife. I want Kate safely married. Well married. And she seems ill-inclined to find a man to settle down with. This is her third Season. She’ll not have another. I cannot stand by and see her left an ape leader.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Kate’s not a bad match, Haversham.”

“Are we speaking of your sister, Katherine Locke, or a completely different Miss Locke to whom I have not yet been introduced?” Marcus narrowed his eyes. Ainsley had to be making the most elaborate jest in the history of their friendship. He wasn’t known for being a great prankster, although he had kicked up a lark from time to time at Oxford. The worst of that, however, had been replacing the dean’s sugar loaf with a block of rock salt. But he’d done nothing so devious in recent years.

“I know you and she have not gotten on well in the past, but that may have been a simple misunderstanding.”

“Hah.” Marcus shook his head, still dazed at the suggestion. “She’s been antagonistic toward me from the beginning. You said so yourself.”

Ainsley frowned. “And I think that childishness needs to stop. I have already spoken to her about her outrageous behavior to you this evening. She can be made to see reason.”

Marcus scowled. He could still see Miss Locke’s piercing blue eyes as she’d sneered at him earlier. It was lunacy to think she could change. How such a beautiful woman could be so vitriolic in nature boggled his mind. He’d raised his defenses against her attacks long ago; he’d not lower them now for all the prime goers in Prinny’s stable nor all the gold sovereigns in Ainsley’s coffers. “I thank you for the opportunity to so discharge my debt, but I shall call around with the funds tomorrow.” He snared the pouch and stuffed it back inside his coat. It had been sheer folly to game tonight.

“Marcus, I beg you to reconsider.” Ainsley shot out his hand and grasped his arm.

He stared at Nathan, whose face bore a striking resemblance to his sister’s, save her features were more pleasantly softened. The color of their eyes differed, but the intriguing almond shape and high brows were the same. His jaw was squared, whereas hers was gently rounded, though both were undoubtedly firm. Miss Locke’s nose was less sharp, more petite and pleasing. Her smile, though not often bestowed on him, was just as generous as his friend’s ready one. The biggest difference concerned their coloring—Ainsley’s hair lay curly and dark as midnight on his head, whereas his sister’s gleamed like a river of copper in the sun. She was a striking woman, he couldn’t deny it. But not for him.

“I’m afraid not, old chap. Because you feel guilty for trouncing me so thoroughly at cards and fear you’ve caused my utter financial ruin does not mean I have to sacrifice myself on the altar of your sister. Or has she made your life such a living hell that you are seeking any means possible to rid your house of her?”

“Neither,” Ainsley snapped and released his hand. “Despite your less than flattering estimation of Kate, I’ve watched you and her spar and quip for years. And despite what either of you might think, I believe you are well-matched.” He raised a hand before Marcus could stutter out a protest. “The worst ton marriages are between men and women who tire of one another when they become bored within a year of the marriage. I have observed that men who marry women with a like temperament and interests have much more satisfying marriages than those who marry for wealth, social connections, or fleeting physical attraction. If you married Kate, you’d have all those things and more. She’d keep you on your toes.”

“She’d keep me on my guard, you mean.” Marcus glowered at Ainsley. The man was mad. “I’d never be able to lay my head on my pillow without wondering if I’d be alive to raise it the next morning.”

“Life would not be dull.”

“Life would not be worth living with that harpy for a wife.” Marcus would plead if he had to. “Nathan, have you truly lost your mind? She cannot stand me.”

“I think you underestimate your own charms, Haversham.” Ainsley smiled, and a cold chill swept down Marcus’s back. “I wager if you seriously tried to woo her, she’d come around in no time at all. She’s completely aware that her time is short. I’ve told her if she can’t find a man she wants to marry, I’ll find one for her.”

“Aha. Here’s the crux of it. You’re being your usual efficient self and trying to kill two birds with one stone. Well, I’m sorry, Ainsley, this bird is about to fly.” Marcus rose, hoping he could find a good stiff whiskey somewhere on the premises. Between the fear, the financial ruin, and a fate worse than all the fires of hell, he had a tremendous need to get completely foxed.

“You should reconsider, Haversham. All your financial woes would be ended with a quick, ‘I do.’ Then you and Kate could take a lovely wedding trip to Brighton as, say, a wedding present from me.” Ainsley gathered the stacked deck of cards from in front of Marcus.

“She’d drown me the first chance she got, and you know it.” Marcus sighed, snaring a card Ainsley had left on the table. He appreciated what his friend was trying to do, and he’d admit some sense to his words. Miss Locke was a very eligible parti. Accomplished, witty, an excellent dancer when not stamping on his toes, and a most beautiful woman by the standards of the day—she embodied everything one might want in a wife. Her dowry alone would save him from drowning in the River Tick, not to mention the offer to cancel his substantial debt to her brother.

He shot a look at his friend, who sat shuffling the cards, calmly waiting for an answer.

Damn. If Marcus looked at it in a logical manner, he’d be an utter fool to turn down Ainsley’s offer. The memory of Miss Locke’s narrowed eyes throwing daggers at him just now, though, kept reason in check.

Still playing for time, he slid the single card he held through his fingers, another memory suddenly surfacing. The brush of fire that had leaped from Miss Locke when he’d pulled her close in the dance, and later when he’d stumbled against her, had stunned him. He must give no credence nor weight to it, however. A totally natural reaction of a man to a deucedly attractive female, nothing more. The burn flared in his heart once more, and he calmly squelched it.

“Ainsley, having given your generous offer due consideration, I fear I must decline to wed the fair Miss Locke in the interests of self-preservation. I suppose I may have to resort to manual labor to repay this debt, an action that will undoubtedly amuse your sister greatly, but at the end of the day, I think we would both rather remain unscathed as far as our lives are concerned.” He tossed the card he held toward Ainsley. It landed face up in front of his friend, revealing the Queen of Hearts.

Ainsley shook his head as he picked it up. “Just remember, Marcus, at laborer’s wages, either alternative is likely to be a life sentence. Choose wisely, I pray you.”

Marcus turned on his heel, determined now to raise the money and set the temptation of Miss Katherine Locke and her fortune behind him.

Chapter 5

Early next morning, Marcus, dressed conservatively yet impeccably in a suit of navy superfine with a modest cravat tied very plainly, stepped into White’s in search of his uncle, Lord Parminter. Ever since his father’s death nine months ago, Marcus had allowed his uncle to oversee the family finances while he dealt with his grief and familiarized himself with the workings of the earldom.

Marcus had taken over the estate management, finding himself adrift in a sea of unfamiliar tasks. His father had died at the young age of forty-seven, very unexpectedly. Marcus, therefore, had little experience or education regarding the running of the earldom’s estates. His father had encouraged him to enjoy himself, live life as he pleased, always saying, “There’ll be time to learn all the stuffy business later.” Well, later had arrived all too soon.

Still, not quite a year after Father’s death, he’d managed to right the damage done by the thieving steward. That was something. His tendency toward wild gambling sprees, which he put down to his desire to clutch at his old life and deny the responsibilities of the new, must come to an end before he bankrupted what little he’d managed to save.

White’s was quiet this time of day and the best place to find his uncle. The coming interview would prove almost as, if not more, difficult than the one with Ainsley last evening. He hoped to God it would end more successfully—with a severe scolding and a promise of funds as soon as the banks opened.