Page 12 of West End Earl
That was something to look forward to. The morning might have been a trial, but at least the day would end well.
Or so he thought, until he found out why his father had asked him to drop by.
“At any point in this horrifically misguided thought process, did it occur to you that human beings are not currency? This isn’t a tailor bill or a new pair of boots. This is too far, even for you.” Cal scrubbed his palms over his face and wished he had ignored Eastly’s summons.
The marquess appeared discomfited for the first time in recent memory, avoiding Cal’s gaze to fiddle with a crystal paperweight on the desk in his rarely used library. “Well, you see, it’s like this, Son.”
Cal sighed. When the marquess started calling him Son, it always spelled disaster.
“Everything will be fine once my investment in theWilhelminapays out. The debt is rather sizable,” his father said.
“Rather sizable? Or crippling?”
“It’ll ruin us, Son.”
“No, it will ruinyou.”
“I don’t know if the estates can recover from this,” Eastly said.
Cal took a moment to process those words and still couldn’t quite make his brain accept them as real. The estates were healthy. Sizable. Sure, he paid Eastly’s Bond Street accounts—but because his father was irresponsible, not broke. Cal bit out words through gritted teeth. “What was it? Cards? Horses?”
“Lady Winslow,” his father muttered.
“I’m sorry—Lady Winslow?”
The marquess took a deep breath as if preparing to tell a tale, and something told Cal that was exactly what this would be. A story for the record books of ridiculous wagers. Depending on how utterly preposterous it turned out to be, it might even be true. But he hoped this one time, his father would be honest and have the grace to feel ashamed of himself.
“Lady Winslow tends to be…well, let’s say, not so loose with her favors,” his father began.
“You mean she’s faithful to her husband.”
“Yes. Odd duck, that. Baron Rosehurst and I bet about who could get under her skirts first.”
“And you lost.” Did that mean the baron overcame the lady’s determination to stay faithful to her husband? Curiosity won out over the anger long enough for Cal to ask, “How did Rosehurst manage that?”
“We set a time limit. Neither of us won the lady, so we each owe a forfeit.”
Ah, there was the utter lack of forethought or logic he’d come to expect from his father. At some point Father’s scandals had turned from opera dancers and mistresses to blatant recklessness, and Cal had failed to notice. Or perhaps he’d become numb to it all, and the escalation of consequences had sneaked up on him. “So, you were so confident in your ability to woo a lady—who by all appearances actually loves her husband—that you put a time limit on this bet, with a default that will cripple our estate’s ability to function.”
“Unless you marry the chit, yes. But in all fairness, the baron defaulted too.”
“Please tell me the baron’s default is some kind of boon to this situation.”
For the first time in the conversation his father’s face took on the animated excitement of a little boy receiving a present. “Mason’s Square. The prize stud from his stables. Gorgeous, leggy bay. His offspring will bring a tidy sum.”
Cal’s fists clenched so tightly his fingernails cut his palms. “A horse. A woman and a horse. You thought ahorseequal to a default that threatens the financial security of our entire family? You literally traded your own son’s future for ahorse.”
“He’s a beautiful horse,” his father said sheepishly.
“Forget the fact that we don’t have a horse-breeding operation—let me get these details straight.” Cal cleared his throat, hoping in vain to extinguish the fury threatening to close his airway. “Either I have to marry his daughter, or we pay a monetary default that will drain the coffers. In exchange for my freedom, you gain one single blasted horse.”
“A prize-winning stallion,” his father interjected.
Cal wouldn’t honor that with an answer.
“Very generous of Rosehurst,” his father said, bobbing his head as if he could somehow nod hard enough and with enough enthusiasm that he might sway Cal through sheer force of will. Classic Marquess of Eastly.
“And if I don’t marry her, we’re ruined,” Cal growled.
