Page 10 of The Duke In My Bed (The Heirs’ Club of Scoundrels #1)
My thoughts are whirled like a potter’s wheel.
Bray gave his damp hat, coat, and gloves to the attendant at the entrance to the gentlemen’s club.
He knew Seaton would be waiting for him at the Heirs’ Club, so he’d had the hackney drop him off at White’s instead.
Seaton was as curious as an old dowager looking at the face of a new bride.
Bray knew the dapper fellow wanted to hear all the details of his visit with Miss Prim, but Bray wasn’t ready to talk to the old gentleman.
He and Seaton had been good friends since the day Bray sauntered through the door of the Heirs’ Club in St. James’s.
He didn’t have a godfather, but if he had, Bray would want the man to be much like John Aldrich Seaton.
Bray’s father had taught him how to be an unemotional, pleasure-seeking man and a caretaker of the dukedom, but it was Seaton who had taught him what little he knew about being a true gentleman.
Bray had never forgotten that Seaton stood up for him when some members of the Heirs’ Club hadn’t wanted to approve Bray’s membership into the very exclusive society.
Too many of the older gentlemen had heard explicit details of his debauchery, fights, and challenges.
If they allowed Bray into their club, they feared he would bring in his unruly friends Harrison Thornwick and Adam Greyhawke with him, and eventually he did.
The old guard of the stiff-necked group hadn’t wanted the scandalous threesome in their exclusive club, making mischief.
There was little chance Harrison or Adam would ever be allowed membership in the club. Harrison had an older brother and nephew in line before him for the title, and Adam had an uncle and two cousins ahead of him. But they could come as Bray’s guests, and so they did—often.
Bray had no doubt every morsel of gossip concerning every drunken, pistol-shooting ride through Mayfair in the middle of the night and every salacious kiss he’d given his mistresses in broad daylight on London’s busy streets and the many challenges he’d made to poor blokes who tried to cheat at cards were true and then some.
Still, it had surprised him that several members sought to blackball him, since he was heir to the Duke of Drakestone.
Seaton had been the first one to address the group and remind them that they were not to judge applicants. There were only two requirements for joining: Was he the next heir in line to a title, and was he of the age to join? Bray met both requirements, so there were no further arguments.
He and Seaton had been good friends ever since.
But right now, for some reason, Bray didn’t want to talk about Miss Prim to Seaton or to anyone.
He wanted to relax with a glass of wine and think about her.
He wanted to remember what she’d said and how she’d said it.
He wanted to know what she had up her sleeve, too, for surely she had something in mind.
Young ladies didn’t refuse to marry a duke without damn good reason.
So what could hers be? Was it that she truly thought he had caused her brother’s accident?
He supposed that could be true of a fickle female.
The taproom was noisy and crowded, so he bypassed it and walked into the reading room.
It was warm, and most of the big comfortable chairs were empty.
He nodded to a couple of gents on his way to a vacant chair in a corner by a crackling fire and ordered a glass of wine to shake off the chill of the late afternoon.
He swiped a copy of The Times off a nearby table, opened it, and put it in front of his face.
That should discourage anyone brave enough from wanting to talk to him.
He wanted to do some serious thinking and find out what had gone wrong.
He’d gone to Miss Prim’s house with the purpose of telling her they would be married and that he was going to ask the Court of Chancery to appoint a different guardian for her sisters.
It was supposed to be so simple. He came out of her house without accomplishing either of those things.
First, she had surprised the hell out of him by saying she didn’t want to marry him.
Then she had the unabashed nerve to tell him she would go to the court and ask them to remove him as their guardian.
He was the first one to admit he had no business being anyone’s guardian, but he didn’t want Miss Prim telling him he couldn’t be.
How could he allow that?
Somehow she had managed to outwit him, all the while making it seem as if it wasn’t planned on her part.
Bray smiled to himself and chuckled silently. Had she actually called his club “the Heirs’ Club of Scoundrels”? She was probably more right than she knew.
Miss Prim was lovely—all the sisters were fetching in different ways.
At first glance, he thought all the girls looked just alike, but later he saw they each had distinguishing features.
Miss Bonnie was missing her front teeth, and Miss Lillian had a light sprinkle of freckles across her nose.
Miss Gwen was the only one with almond-shaped eyes, and Miss Sybil was the only one with a button nose.
And the lovely Miss Louisa Prim was the one who had an inner fire that challenged as well as intrigued him.
She had charm when she chose to show it, and she was overflowing with a damned lot of courage.
But he still didn’t want to wed her, so why did it bother him that she’d turned down his offer of marriage? That should have pleased him. And would have, but he wasn’t used to anyone telling no or refusing him.
After giving it more thought, he decided there was a chance he could use this to his advantage.
If he let it be known to the ton that he’d fulfilled his pledge to Nathan Prim and asked for his sister’s hand in marriage, but she declined, it would stand to reason that the gossip, rumors, and wagers would cease.
The ton would leave him alone, and he’d be free to go about his daily life, still a carefree bachelor but without the constant questions and intrusions about Miss Prim.
He didn’t give a damn if everyone in London knew she’d rejected him. He just didn’t like her doing it.
That’s what rankled.
And that was what he couldn’t allow.
“Hiding, Your Grace?”
Bray recognized the voice as the meddlesome Lord Sanburne. The young earl seemed to pride himself on irritating almost everyone he knew. Bray kept the paper before his face and said, “I’m reading.”
“I can see that. Do pardon my interruption, but Sir Roger said he saw you walking up to Lord Wayebury’s house and entering it earlier this afternoon. We know Miss Prim has arrived in Town, and we thought perhaps you might have some news you wanted to share with us.”
Hellfire! Bray swore silently but remained quiet and still. Lord Sanburne and Sir Roger were at the park the night Nathan Prim had died, and they never let Bray forget that he had an unpaid debt to the man.
“Have you nothing to say?” Lord Sanburne asked, sounding a bit perturbed by Bray’s lack of response.
“Where’s my wine?”
Lord Sanburne grunted. “I’m not your server!”
“Could you get him for me?”
Bray heard a snicker of laughter. Obviously Lord Sanburne wasn’t alone, and it was probably his minion, Sir Roger, with him.
“Certainly not. If you had the decency to remove the newsprint from in front of your face as any other gentleman would, you’d see that it’s me, Lord Sanburne, talking to you.”
Bray lowered the paper and saw that not only was the fuming Lord Sanburne standing before him, but the nervous Sir Roger Wainwright and Mr. Porter Mercer were staring down at him, too.
Sanburne’s eyes opened wide, and he said, “Well, did you or did you not enter Lord Wayebury’s house?”
It was Bray’s turn to frown. “Are you having me followed?”
Sir Roger laughed, Mr. Mercer sniffed, and Lord Sanburne gasped.
The pompous earl stiffened his tall, lanky frame and grabbed hold of his coat’s lapels as if to give him courage. “Absolutely not. Don’t be ridiculous. Sir Roger happens to live on that street.”
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, I’m just a few houses down from Lord Wayebury,” Sir Roger added.
“And you just happened to be driving by,” Bray said, turning his dark gaze on the shortest of the three men before him.
“No, no, Your Grace. Actually, I was walking past,” Sir Roger said without apology.
“You truly can’t blame us for being curious,” Lord Sanburne remarked.
“I can’t?”
“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t,” Sir Roger added, appearing flustered and taking a step back. “The whole Town is talking about Miss Prim’s arrival in London last week.”
The servant quietly approached and placed Bray’s wine on the table beside him. Bray laid down the newssheet, picked up his drink, and took a sip. So much for quiet moments with his thoughts.
“This has been going on for over two years now. We all have wagers placed here at White’s and at other clubs throughout London,” Mr. Mercer said, speaking up for the first time.
Mercer was the oldest of the three brave gentlemen standing before him and should know better than to approach a man about something he so obviously had no desire to talk about.
Lord Sanburne folded his arms across his chest and harrumphed. “If you went inside and offered for Miss Prim’s hand and plan to marry, we think we have a right to know. That way we can settle our debts by collecting our winnings or paying our losses.”
“Your gambling is not my concern, and you would not be wise to continue to pursue this line of conversation with me, Sanburne.”
“Well, it’s not just me, Your Grace. It’s everyone.”