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In the end, Lancaster had found that those men were like any other men, no better or worse. Just the same. And as stories of Richmond had filtered into his social circle, he’d come to realize a sad truth. Richmond didn’t favor boys over girls. It wasn’t about sodomy or Greek love. Richmond simply liked the taste of innocence.
With the memories clinging to him, Lancaster gave up his search for temperance and plucked a whisky from a passing footman. Emma caught him mid-swallow.
“I hope you’re not drowning your sorrows.”
He shook his head. “No. Celebrating. I’m doing moderately well.”
“Well, that fifty pounds you entrusted to me has blossomed into nearly two hundred.”
Though he’d meant to take another sip, he slowly lowered the glass. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. I purposefully played against Wolfson. He’s a spectacularly awful player and he can well afford the losses. You’re welcome.”
“Emma!” he said. “Have I ever told you how mad I am for you?”
“Not explicitly, no. But don’t let Hart or Cynthia overhear that. They might actually believe it.”
He winked and raised his glass in a toast.
“Care to tell me what happened between you and Miss Brandiss, by the way? I assume it wasn’t a love match.”
“Not between her and me, no.”
“Ah, I see. Well, if she cannot love you, then she doesn’t deserve you, Lancaster. The whole of the ton is in agreement that you are easy to love.”
His cheeks heated at her words. “I…Um…Regardless, it seems I find myself continuously involved with women who do not love me. Quite pitiful, actually.”
Emma cocked her head. “Cynthia loves you.”
He wanted to grab her hand and ask what she meant and how she could know and what Cynthia had said to her. But he had his pride.
Actually, it wasn’t pride at all. It was the hard realization that it didn’t matter if she loved him. The girl had been born with a spine of pure iron. If she was determined not to marry him, she wouldn’t. Her heart would have no say in it.
“Well,” he said, “thank you for that small kindness. And for the larger kindness of spinning straw into gold. And for the unrepayable gift of keeping Cynthia safe.”
Her eyes wandered toward a table that had grown raucous with laughter. “I would sooner cut off my own hand than see a young woman turned over to that man. I have witnessed his games, you know.”
“As have I.”
Emma turned back to him with a grim smile. “Then we are resolved.”
By the time he’d wandered off from Emma, the whisky had finally hit his blood. Between the whisky and the winnings, he was hardly even bothered at all when the third person of the night mentioned his wedding.
“Best be heading back to London soon!” chortled Sir Chisholm. “You’ll miss your own wedding if you’re not careful, you great lout!”
He really wasn’t on the sort of terms with Sir Chisholm that would invite him to call a viscount a lout, but he patted his shoulder anyway, and escaped without a word.
Yes, he had best be heading back to London soon. He couldn’t very well cry off the engagement on the eve of the wedding. Though facing Imogene and her father would hardly be pleasant, Lancaster couldn’t wait to have it over. He wanted to be happy. And breaking the bad news to the Brandiss family would be a start.
“Lord Lancaster!” a familiar voice called in a very unfamiliar way. He turned to see Cynthia hurrying toward him.
“Good evening, Miss Merrithorpe,” he said with a bow.
She looked disconcerted for a brief moment, then offered a curtsy with a twinkle in her eye. “Good evening, milord. And how is your luck holding tonight?”
“Well, thank you. Tolerably well.”
Still smiling politely, she reached for his hand, and pinched the skin of his wrist between her fingernails.
