Page 44 of The Art of Sinning
“Me too.”
The hard clip in Blakeborough’s voice made Jeremy look up. Did the man suspect what had been going on in the evenings between him and Yvette?
How could he? Blakeborough would’ve already tossed him out on his ear.
“Well, then.” Jeremy lifted his glass. “If you’re not alarmed, neither am I.” He set the glass down a bit harder than he’d intended, and some of the liquid sloshed over the edge. “I was just thinking of my own sister. How I’d react if some ass took advantage. If your sister’s a boiling pot and Lady Clarissa’s exploding champagne, then Amanda is a churning hot spring.” He scowled. “And plenty of men are drawn to the heat.”
“Too true.” Blakeborough finished off his glass. “Haven’t forgotten my promise to you, y’know. About finding your sister a husband. I made some inquiries. Haven’t heard much yet, though.”
“You haven’t had a chance. You’ve been in the country ever since we first talked.” Jeremy swigged more brandy. “But you can ask around at the masquerade tomorrow, right? Or go to your club after and ask there? I’ll go with you. Yvette can stay with my cousin till we get back.”
Blakeborough leaned forward unsteadily. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure. Why not?” Jeremy bent forward, too, nearly oversetting his chair.
“I don’t much go to my club. Don’t like it.”
“Oh, right. Yvette says you don’t really like people.”
Blakeborough drew himself up. “Now see here, I like people. Some of them. Just... not the ones in gentlemen’s clubs.”
“Don’t blame you. I don’t like ’em, either,” Jeremy admitted.
“You’ve been in a club?”
The earl sounded so incredulous that Jeremy glared at him. “A few. As a guest. I’m a famous artist, y’know. Got relations in high places, too.”
“True, true. I keep forgetting.” Blakeborough poured himself more brandy. “Why don’t you like the clubs?”
“I’m a solitary man. Prefer my own company.”
“Or the company of whores.”
Jeremy scowled into his glass. “At least whores aren’t boring. Like the gentlemen in clubs.”
“Club menaredull,aren’t they?” The earl shook his head. “No one says anything interesting. It’s all cards and bragging about mistresses and betting on which drop of water will reach the bottom of the window first.”
“That really happened?” Jeremy snorted. “I thought that was a joke.”
“Nope. Two fools made a bet on it.”
“Stupid.”
“Ridiculous. But that’s the clubs. I only went to mine to drum up a husband for Yvette. That was pointless.” He rolled his eyes. “Bunch of whoresons and doddering old fools and reckless gamesters.” Sitting back against his chair, he gulped some brandy. “It did help me figure out whonotto throw at her.”
Jeremy blinked. “Did throwing men at her ever work? Haven’t tried that with Amanda.”
“Don’t bother. The women don’t like it. Talk abouttrouble...”
Blakeborough shuddered, and they both drank in a silent gesture of camaraderie.
“Honestly,” the earl went on, “would you want a chap from the clubs to marryyoursister?”
“Probably not.”
“We need better suitors. Good ones. Steady ones. If we could find a club with those...”
“We should start our own club,” Jeremy said with a sweep of his glass. “For gentlemen looking out for their sisters.”
