Page 1 of The Risk of Rogues
One
CAPTAIN LORD HARTLEYCorry had come to his brother Warren’s Shropshire hunting lodge, Hatton Hall, to play cards, drink fine brandy, and do some shooting with his male friends. So when, upon his arrival, he was shown into a ballroom filled with dancing couples, Hart could only groan.
“You came!” a decidedly female voice exclaimed behind him.
He turned to find his sister-in-law Delia approaching. “I don’t understand,” he muttered. “Warren invited me here to do things men do. Without women.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Ah, but that was before I reminded him that he’d chosen the week of St. Valentine’s Day and that his friends were all married. Once I did, he very sensibly altered his plans, changing this into—”
“A marriage mart?” he growled.
She blinked. “No, indeed. Why would I have a marriage mart and invite married couples?”
Uneasily, he glanced about. “Notjustmarried couples. I see a few bachelors from St. George’s Club—not to mention a few unmarried friends of yours.” He narrowed his gaze on her. “All eyeing me as if I’m dinner. I know a matchmaking scheme when I see one, dear lady.”
“Well, aren’tyoufull of yourself?” she said archly. “I would never foist you on my friends. You’re a cantankerous second son with a penchant for trouble, a tendency to gamble, and no fortune to speak of. Why on earth would I want them to marryyou?”
“Now see here, I’m still the son of a marquess.” He didn’t like being characterized as some wastrel, even if he understood why, given their history. “And I’ve paid back, with interest, every penny I owed your family.”
Her features softened. “Yes, you have, which is admirable. But honestly, matchmaking was the farthest thing from my mind when I invited you. Warren misses you. These days, you spend all your time doing heaven knows what for Lord Fulkham.”
That was precisely how Hart had gained the money to repay the funds he’d purposely cheated her brother out of to keep the man from hunting down his exiled cousin.
For the past few years, Hart had been spying, first abroad and more recently in England, for the undersecretary of the foreign office. Indeed, Fulkham was grooming him to step into the position of spymaster, something Hart was considering now that Fulkham had become foreign secretary.
Hart liked the work. It challenged and intrigued him in ways his position in the army hadn’t. That was why he’d sold his commission a few months ago. His future looked brighter by the day.
So heoughtto find a wife. Unfortunately, he’d only ever wanted to wed one woman, and he’d lost her long ago. She’d vanished during those years he was posted abroad, and his few brief leaves hadn’t enabled him to find her. He’d even considered searching for her now that he was permanently situated in England—now that his skills as a spy had been perfected.
But after eleven years, Miss Anne Barkley was probably the wife of some squire up in the north country, whom she was steadily providing with a string of progeny. It would explain why he hadn’t been able to locate her—her name had changed. And he simply couldn’t bear the thought of finding her happily married and thus out of his reach forever. So instead, he did nothing.
Yet there didn’t seem much point in courting anyone else, when his image of the perfect woman was still onlyher.
“Youwillstay, won’t you?” Delia asked, jerking him back to the present. “You don’t have to speak to a single young lady if you don’t want.”
He snorted. He didn’t believethatfor one minute. If Delia was here, then the other wives were, too, and they were all bent on marrying him off.
“Besides,” she continued, “on Saint Valentine’s Day we’re having a charity sale of handiwork made by the Ladies of St. George’s Club.”
“Wait a minute, who arethey?”
“You know, wives of the members. We’ve formed a charitable group.”
A hen party, no doubt.
“Anyway, the proceeds of our sale go to Burke Orphanage in nearby Shrewsbury. It’s for a good cause and I could use your help with it.”
“How?” he asked, suspicious.
“Entertaining the ladies from town who will be coming to buy things, of course. Having a few gentlemen around to charm them will help them be more generous with their purses.” When he eyed her askance, she added, “Do stay, Hart. It would please Warren enormously.”
God, but the woman knew how to tug at a man’s guilt. “Will there still be cards? And shooting?”
She brightened. “Of course. And fishing, too. You’ll have fun, I promise.” She surveyed his slapdash traveling clothes—a frock coat of brown wool, buff trousers, and a waistcoat he generally only wore among other men bent on masculine endeavors. “Although not until you change into appropriate attire for dancing.”
“I have a better idea.” He winked. “I’ll simply go find my friends in the card room. No one there will care about my attire.”
“You’re incorrigible,” she said with a rueful shake of her head.
