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“The Lennoxes are an embarrassing pair,” Devin said. “But you should at least kiss this woman before you sign the betrothal papers. What if she has bad breath or a wooden tooth? Sanderson nearly choked to death on a strumpet’s wooden molar. She was furious and charged him double.”

“Would you like another game?”

“Only if we wager on it.”

Fiennes sighed. “In your own estimation, you’ve never sunk more than three red balls. I don’t take money from babes.”

“Not for money.”

“Then?”

“A kiss.”

“Given the opera-dancer on your knee last night, I’ve always assumed that you had no interest in kissing me,” Fiennes said wryly.

Devin laughed. “Were I so inclined, I wouldn’t choose anyone with such an insolent look. Not to mention the fact that you don’t shave more than once a day. No, I mean that you would have to kiss your would-be fiancée before you sign the betrothal papers.”

“You do realize that you’ve never won a game of snooker in my memory?”

“A kiss,” Devin insisted.

“Fine.” Fiennes handed over the cue. “You break, and I’ll give you ten points.”

“No need for handicaps,” Devin said blithely. “Cupid will be on my side.”

Twenty minutes later, the final ball disappeared into a pocket. Fiennes smiled and slapped Devin on the back. “Game over.”

“Assemble the balls,” Devin demanded. “We’ll play again—and Eros will have his tribute!”

CHAPTER THREE

SPINNING STRAW INTO GOLD WOULD BE A USEFUL SKILL

Ella stared at her uncle in disgust. “I can’t pay the butcher’s bill. How do you expect me to come up with a wardrobe for Fulvia’s debut?”

They both knew that he regularly overspent to the point of bankruptcy, though Ella tried to protect his wife and daughter from the truth. Managing bills was easier in the country where they ate their own vegetables and baked their own bread.

Her father, the late viscount, had run the household on the proceeds of his Northern estate of some two thousand acres; her uncle regularly spent the annual revenue within weeks, and spent the rest of the year racking up debt.

“That will do. Your tone edges into insolence, Niece. Beware my temper. If I decide not to extend my charity any further, you’ll be out the door.”

“No, no,” his wife clucked. “Ella is dear to us—my only niece.”

“More to the point, you can’t do without me,” Ella remarked. “Just think how much a housekeeper would cost, Uncle.”

“I disdain your meanness, the smallness of your mind. Almost, I would suspect that your mother played my late brother false.”

Furious, and about to clarify exactly what she thought of his meanness, Ella caught sight of her aunt’s face. The viscountess had beauty still, but the relentless battering of her husband’s temper had done its work. Now her delicate face looked drawn; her lips had turned white; she seemed on the point of a swoon.

“Never mind Ella’s manners,” Fulvia said impatiently. “What are you saying, Father? How can there be no funds for my debut?”

“The fault of my improvident brother,” her father said. “The Northern estates scarcely produce a penny these days.”

“Because you have not authorized repairs or even seeding,” Ella pointed out. “You take and take, Uncle, and no land can thrive under those circumstances.”

“My needs are few,” the viscount said, brushing off her complaint with a wave of his hand. “I covet nothing other than those few necessities to support the rank to which I am entitled. I feel certain, Niece, that you could have done a far better job at housekeeping than you have done in these last years.”

“I have economized wherever possible,” Ella said stonily.