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Tobias shook his head. “No more wagering. I lost enough downstairs already.”

“I heard.” Lucien, a glass of port in his hand, took another chair at the table. “I just came from the members’ den where Mrs. Jennings is crowing about her winnings.”

“I hope that’s all she’s talking about.” Tobias winced inwardly to think of her sharing the proposition she’d offered him with anyone else. Surely she wouldn’t. He didn’t know her to be the kind of person who delighted in salacious information.

Both Lucien and Wexford stared at him, their eyes wide.

“Are you shagging her too?” Wexford asked, incredulous. “I mean, she’s bloody attractive, but aren’t you trying to take the tarnish off ?”

Tobias growled low in his throat. “I’m not shagging her. Or anyone else.” He took a long pull on the whisky. Wexford might be right about becoming a convert by the bottom of the glass. But was that because it was good, or because Tobias would have downed the cheapest gin if it was in front of him?

“Never mind,” Tobias grumbled, setting the glass down and leaning back in his chair. “She was trying to be helpful. I’ve twelve days to marry and zero prospects.”

“She offered herself?” Lucien asked.

“Not exactly.” Though she’d hinted at that too. “Can we forget about Mrs. Jennings and focus on the matter at hand?”

Lucien arched his brows. “Which is?”

“Finding a damned wife. If I’m going to race to Scotland, I need to leave in a few days.”

“Since you have no prospects at present, I take it you’re referring to a kidnapping then?” Wexford sent a smirk toward Lucien, who tried not to smile and failed.

“I can’t believe Mrs. Jennings was actually trying to be more helpful than you lot.” Tobias swept up his glass and finished the whisky. He started to rise, but Lucien waved him back down.

“We apologize,” Lucien said soberly as he cast a quelling glance toward Wexford. “You need help finding an appropriate bride, one whom you can whisk away to Scotland or marry by special license.”

“Yes.” Tobias settled himself in the chair and folded his arms over his chest.

“What happened with Miss Goodfellow?” Lucien asked.

“Her feelings toward me—if she even had any—may have cooled.” Tobias couldn’t even say for certain because he hadn’t seen her.

Cupping his glass atop the table, Lucien tapped his finger against the rim of the tumbler.

“That’s a shame. Things seemed to be going well.

You danced, you called on her, and she is in a position to eagerly accept a courtship.

One wonders why you didn’t propose days ago.

” There was a hidden question there, but Tobias wasn’t entirely certain what it was, nor did he like it.

He also didn’t like that Lucien was getting to the heart of something—namely, Tobias’s heart and the fact that he was having trouble committing to marriage without engaging said organ.

Wexford furrowed his brow as he studied Tobias for a moment. “This shouldn’t be so difficult. You’re a wealthy, reasonably attractive earl. Plenty of women would say yes to you, even if you are shagging a maid.” He held up his hand in self-defense. “Not that you are. Anymore.”

“Wexford makes a valid point,” Lucien said slowly.

“About your options. It all depends upon how desperate you are, and it seems you may be nearing the point where you might, ah, broaden your prospects or lower your expectations? And that isn’t to say you should propose to just anyone, only that the thing you would normally require might be ignored. ”

Such as falling in love. Tobias had genuinely hoped that might happen. However, he’d run out of time.

“Hell, you could start for Scotland tomorrow and find a woman on the way!” Wexford suggested completely unhelpfully. “Or you can find one in Scotland. Does MacNair have an unwed sister or a cousin?”

Lucien shook his head. “He has two sisters, but I think they may both be wed. Even if they weren’t, I’m certain he would no sooner want his sister to marry a rake like either of you than I do.”

“I wasn’t suggesting myself,” Wexford said with a bit of heat. “Furthermore, you know I am not interested in marriage for at least three more years.”

Tobias uncrossed his arms and set one palm atop the table. “And I am no longer a rake.”

“Last week’s maid was just a fleeting relapse?” Wexford asked.

“She wasn’t a relapse. She wasn’t even a maid.” Tobias picked up his glass before realizing it was empty. Fortunately for him, a footman in the corner noted his lack of whisky and came to rectify the deficit. Tobias looked up at him in gratitude as he retrieved the empty glass. “Thank you.”

Lucien’s eyes glittered as he regarded Tobias across the table.

“Yes, about that. I have since learned that the woman you dallied with was not, in fact, an employee. The ladies’ housekeeper said she and another young woman she didn’t recognize were in the sitting room that morning.

They said they were new and that I had hired them. I did not.”

Fiona had been with another young woman? She hadn’t mentioned it. Was it Prudence? Perhaps Fiona had been protecting her, which was smart. If Tobias learned it was her, he would toss her out immediately.

The footman set down Tobias’s whisky. He murmured another thanks before busying himself with a long sip.

“I can see your mind working.” Lucien seemed to realize Tobias was trying not to participate in the discussion of these women’s identities. “Do you know this woman?”

Tobias didn’t want to reveal his ward. But if he didn’t, they’d think he was kissing someone he’d just met in the garden while they were supposed to be meeting about the club. Did it even matter? They’d already cast him in the role of incurable lothario.

Lucien squinted at him briefly. “Perhaps you are trying to recall. Her hair seemed red.”

“Doesn’t your ward have red hair?” Wexford mused.

Tobias tensed. He didn’t particularly want to look at Lucien. Or Wexford.

Lucien muttered something before taking a drink of his port. “Why was she here dressed as a maid, and who was she with?”

Leveling an icy stare at Lucien, Tobias, said, “I didn’t confirm it was her.”

“You don’t have to,” Lucien said quietly. “It all makes sense now.”

Wexford leaned toward Tobias. “Do you have a tendre for her?”

“No.” Tobias didn’t know what he had for her. One thing was certain, he thought about her too damned much.

Lucien stared at him intently, repeating, “Who was she with, and why were they here?”

“I didn’t know she wasn’t alone.” That was the absolute truth. “She wanted to see the inside of the club. It was foolish, and she knows it. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

Wexford continued to look at him intently, as if he were trying to puzzle something out. “Why can’t you just marry her ?”

“She’s young and not yet ready to marry. She already has a perfect suitor in Lord Gregory, and she is completely unenthused.”

Sitting back in his chair, Wexford let out a hollow laugh. “Clear proof that she’s immature and simple-minded.”

“Or that she’s perhaps interested in someone else.” Lucien sipped his port.

Tobias gritted his teeth. “Stop playing matchmaker, both of you. How would it look if I were to court my ward? As if my reputation isn’t bad enough.”

“That seems an excellent argument to marry her,” Wexford said with a shrug. “If people already expect the outrageous from you, give it to them.”

Hadn’t Tobias done exactly that after his failed courtship two years ago?

He’d considered eloping to Gretna Green with his prospective bride—after she’d already become betrothed to another man.

Thankfully, he’d seen the error in his rash thinking.

More importantly, he’d realized the young woman hadn’t ever loved him.

She’d loved the idea of marriage to whomever she was with, and the idea of running away to Scotland had titillated her.

That was the moment Tobias had come to his senses and changed his mind, telling her to go forward with her betrothed.

Afterward, she’d told everyone he’d tried to kidnap her.

While many did not believe that of him, the ton’s consensus was that he’d behaved poorly by trying to elope with her.

They cast him as a rogue and a scoundrel, and he’d decided to become just that.

Perhaps he was actually a rogue and a scoundrel, and a rake and a reprobate. He had proposed elopement to someone who was already betrothed, and he had kissed a maid— his ward —without concern.

“He’s grown awfully quiet,” Lucien observed. “I think he’s considering it.”

“I am not.” Tobias took a drink of whisky. “Can we please talk about something else?”

Otherwise, Tobias was absolutely going to envision Fiona Wingate as his wife.