Page 50 of If the Slipper Fits
“What was the woman wanted for? Let me guess. Murder?” With a chuckle, he studied his hand for the first time. God awful.
Harrison chuckled alongside Caden. “Right. Lady Wentworth’s hired a murderess.”
A small smile played at the corner of Hardasher’s mouth. Eyes on his cards, he gave an unhurried reply. “No murder involved. Evidently the lady in question was abducted during the wee hours of her wedding night.” He paused, his glance sliding toward Caden. “…to Baron Bolton. He’s offered a substantial reward for her safe return.”
“How in hell does one steal a bride on her wedding night?” Harrison demanded, clearly appalled. “You’d think the groom would pay better attention.”
Several men snickered in commiseration. Not Hardasher, whose eyes remained on Caden.
“Bolton?” Caden all but spat. “That drunken lech? He’s old enough to be her father.”
Across the table from him, Harrison folded his hand. “Calm yourself, Thurgood. It’s not as if your angel-faced rescuer married Bolton. The sketch merely resembled her.”
“Photograph,” Hardasher put in.
“Photograph, sketch.” Caden waived a dismissive hand. “Harrison’s correct, Hardasher. Whoever you saw emblazoned on that advertisement couldn’t possibly have been Mrs. Jones.”
Hardasher cocked his head. “Out of curiosity, how are you so certain?”
Baron bloody Bolton, that’s how. HeknewBolton. The baron had once numbered amongst his late father’s posse of immoral, over-imbibing, gaming-hell cohorts. The lout wasn’t fit to carry Anna’s gold slipper now safely ensconced in Caden’s chamber, much less marry her.
Caden propped his elbow on the table. “Simple. Bolton needs an heiress to fund his estate thanks to years of neglect under his watch. Lovely though Jones is…” He shrugged and left the rest unsaid. Anna was no heiress.
“It’s true Bolton’s estate has seen better days.” Hardasher broke off, revealing his cards with a smirk. “Trump, I believe.”
A grumbling consensus ensued.
“Congratulations, Hardasher. Looks like Lady Luck finally smiled on you.” Caden shoved back from the table, prepared to rise.
Hardasher scooped-up his share of the winnings. “I detected an air of censure concerning Bolton, Thurgood. I submitmanyamongst the nobility must wed in order to restore the family coffers. Not all can beborn a Claybourne, with access to the Claybourne connections and fortune, and thus the ability to withstand a few years bad luck. Men do what they must to survive.”
Harrison looked aghast. “I say, Hardasher.”
Caden sent Harrison a quelling look. No need for the afternoon to degrade into a cock fight, when he himself couldn’t care less what Hardasher thought of him, never mind he had it all wrong.
True enough, the Claybourne estate boasted substantial wealth. But not because buckets of money had passed down through generations, as Hardasher insinuated. Nor had Zeke married into money.
Instead, through ingenuity, hard work, and wise investing, his brother amassed the fortune necessary to restore the estate after their own ne’er do well father drained it nearly dry.
Caden had benefited, of course. Quarterly stipends, club memberships, the use of familial estates. Better still, under Zeke’s tutelage, he learned the art of investing well to grow a tidy nest egg of his own—the very nest egg he’d pilfered recently in his efforts to re-purpose the quarry. Not that Zeke thanked him for it. Mayhap it had not been the best time to sayno thank youto his brother’s strings.
At least he still had his skill at the tables.
“The point is, Lord Hardasher, Mrs. Jones lacks the means to save the hapless Bolton, victim of tradition though he may be. And now, gentlemen, I bid you good day. Thank you for an”—He patted the bulging pockets of his waistcoat containing the coin he’d won—“enriching afternoon.”
He made his way to the exit with a spring in his step, a whistle on his lips, and a plan forming in his mind. True, he had made up his mind to cut Anna a wide berth for the remainder of the party. However, the news he had to share with her thanks to Hardasher’s illuminations changed things. She would appreciate knowing she had nothing tofear from the man, that he had simply confused her with a hapless woman who’d had the misfortune to marry Bolton.
He snorted. In all likelihood, the poor chit had not been abducted at all, but had wised up after the ceremony and fled the scene.
***
Caden scrutinized his appearance in the dressing mirror beside the wardrobe. Clean shaven, tawny waves oiled and tamed. Crisp white shirt, simple cravat. Black superfine, lint-free and expertly pressed from his jacket to his trousers.
He snorted even as he inspected the sheen on his boots. He’d never worried overmuch with his grooming. He didn’t really need to. Women found him appealing. They liked his looks. They lapped-up his charm. Why should Anna be immune?
Still. He felt more than a little foolish, activelytryingto make a favorable impression. But, damn it, he would have her eyes on him and him alone.
He pulled his pocket watch from his waist coat and checked the time. Early.
