Page 28 of Lessons for Marquesses
“Indeed, my lord, I believe that to be true.”
Nicholas found the details on the lien. Georgiana owed eighteen thousand. With her arrears and another payment coming due, she would require over thirteen hundred pounds within the month.
“Apprise your man at the bank that the funds she depended upon to clear the arrears have been impeded.”
“Yes, my lord, I will with haste.”
As soon as the note was in his hands, he would foreclose and Farendon would be his. “She dresses as a man.”
The solicitor dropped back to his chair. “A—A man?”
“Yes. Relay this.” Nicholas hid his satisfaction in his clipped speech. “She dresses like a man, refers to herself as George, and races horses.”
“My lord, I…” Tate fumbled at his leather satchel. “I believe this news will secure their approval and appreciation for your generosity.”
“I am generous.” Nicholas avoided frightening the man off with a smile. “Now report to me, is the property and home in good condition?”
Nicholas had commissioned Tate to pose as a tax assayer in Georgiana’s absence.
“Indeed,” Tate said, “it is in fine condition. Except for a missing desk in the study, but that is hardly mentionable.”
Air shot from Nicholas’s chest. The desk had been in his family since King Henry who had sat at it on his progress. Clenching his fist, Nicholas bounced it upon his thigh. “Hardly mentionable.”
His body was ready for another night with Caroline. The satiating of lust, the visitation of lost love, even when he suspected it wouldn’t end well, had improved his mood. And ignoring Georgiana St. Clair on the course.
Her slender shoulders had gone half-mast when he’d nodded and passed her by. Georgiana was like a pup clambering for the Wolf’s attention. What did she see in him? Even as he’d lain in the dark, Caroline’s naked body clinging to his side, the question had plagued him.
Nicholas straightened the papers, bid Mr. Tate safe travels, and after securing the documents in his trunk, prepared to wash the sweat of the training ride from his body. Stripped to his shirt and breeches, he heard the cottage door slam back upon the entry wall below and Oliver St. Clair shouting to kingdom come.
CHAPTER TEN
Oliver stompedup the cottage stairs and thrust a finger at Nicholas. “You bastard! How could you?”
Nicholas shut the door and poured Oliver a drink, which he didn’t take, which meant Nicholas might have underestimated his friend’s regard for Georgiana. “Did you expect me to be her friend?”
“You could have let her race. Drearden was to allow it. I used my influence, and now I owe the man, and have nothing to show for it except you—you bloody fiend—and a heartbroken girl.”
“Is she heartbroken?” he asked, a grin slipping.
Oliver took the glass and hurled it into the august portrait of Old Squire, his grandfather’s champion.
“Friend, calm yourself.”
“I am not your friend! I do not befriend bloody fiends. Fiends who ruin a girl’s hopes. By God, it is all she has spoken of since that mare plopped out of the womb and onto the straw. The Stakes! The Stakes! The blasted Fordyce Stakes!”
Nicholas pulled off his shirt.
Oliver gaped at the scars marking Nicholas’s torso. “How did you…”
“Survive?” Shocks numbed his left hand as he found a shirt and yanked it over his head. “I killed, friend. That is how men like you get your victories.”
“Nick…”
“Sell Farendon to me. However much the girl owes her creditors plus five thousand pounds. Right now. The money is hers.”
“You’ve infuriated her. She’ll sell everything before admitting defeat. Georgiana loves the cursed place.”
Nicholas shoved on his boots, his left hand struggling to clasp the shaft. He had gone to war. One day his left hand would hang useless at his side. And Georgiana St. Clair loved Farendon.
