Page 51 of Too Scot to Handle
She nestled about, like a cat circling before settling to the exact most comfortable spot on a cushion.
“Is the worse hurt to your pride or to your purse?”
“The hurt to my purse is considerable.” He named the sum, lest she think him exaggerating the situation, and explained the jest, if a jest it was.
“They spent that much? In less than a month?”
“I know who did it, between recollection, Maarten’s research, a few pointed discussions with the trades earlier today, and Win’s confirmation. A dozen men conspired to empty my pockets. I’m supposed to make light of it, pay every penny, and stand the perpetrators to another round.”
That Win had joined in the joke rankled badly, though he’d seemed remorseful at how far matters had gone.
Anwen sat up and peered at Colin. “You’re supposed to pretend this is humorous, and merrily hand over a small fortune? That makes no sense. You said it yourself: If our boys had stolen from the orphanage, then letting their misdeeds go unpunished was tempting them to steal again. That would have made us nearly complicit in their next theft.”
Our boys. They were her boys, not Colin’s.
“Winthrop Montague isn’t a former cutpurse. He’s my friend.” On the ride back to Town, Colin had figured out the true problem. He could leave Win’s cronies to pay the expenses they’d incurred, meaning the trades would be unreimbursed.
That in itself was wrong.
The true problem, though, was that Win would also be held responsible for Colin’s decision to not play along. Win would be subtly excluded, whispered about, and treated to small indignities, because Win had tried to open doors for Colin.
Colin could not allow his friend to be treated thus over a prank.
Anwen subsided against Colin’s chest, and if he had been capable of purring, the feel of her in his arms would have inspired him to it. She felt that right, that sweet, and perfect in his lap.
Also that desirable.
“Winthrop Montague spent two years marching about in Spain,” Anwen said. “Though if you question him about the battles, he has little to say. I gather he was more of a secretary than a soldier. Other than that, I don’t think he’s worked a day in his life. Most of his friends can’t claim even a stint in the army. If they stole from you, it’s because they have no sense of what it takes to earn money.”
“They stole from me. They stole my dignity and my coin, and I want both back, but not at the cost of what friendships I have.”
Colin wanted Anwen too. More with each passing moment, which she had to be aware of. She fiddled with his cravat, with his hair, and with the buttons of his waistcoat, while desire fiddled with Colin’s wits.
“Can you pay the debts?” Anwen asked, kissing his cheek.
“Easily, though it will mean moving money from Edinburgh to London. That’s not the point. Win suggests I do nothing in retaliation, and if anybody grasps how gentlemen go on with each other, it’s Winthrop Montague. His advice thus far has been sound.”
A delicate warmth tricked across Colin’s throat.
She’d undone his cravat. “Anwen, I didn’t lock the door.”
“I did. What has Win advised you about?”
Should Colin be dismayed, terrified, or pleased that she’d locked the door? “Win has told me which clubs to join, which tailors to patronize, when to drop in at Tatts. God, that feels good.”
Anwen had wound her hand around Colin’s neck and was massaging his nape. He’d touched her in the same fashion in the park, making the caress all the more intimate.
“My cousins could have told you the same things,” she said, “and done a better job of it. Their friends would not have set you up for penury and called it a jest. Had Win advised you regarding investments, which entertainments to avoid, or whose sister had taken an extended repairing lease in the north last year, I might see your point.”
Anwen made sense, even as she made a muddle of Colin’s ability to think. Hamish was a shy man, not given to even brotherly displays of affection. Edana and Rhona expected Colin to offer his arm at their whim. The men in the clubs might slap Colin on the back or shake his hand.
Nobody offered this, this bliss, this warmth, this combination of affection, pleasure, friendship, and desire.
“If you keep that up, madam, I will become incoherent.”
She kept it up. “I caught Uncle Percival rubbing Aunt’s feet once. I’d forgotten my workbasket in the music room. They didn’t see me.”
Colin would adore having his feet rubbed, among other places. “You’re not the least bit tipsy, are you?” He’d have to return her to her sisters if she was.
