Page 8 of Ruthless with a Rogue
“I wonder…” Derek murmured, glancing between Rafe and Dorothea, “If there is anything we could do that would shock you, Dorothea.”
Without glancing up from her plate, she murmured, “I daresay you could not.”She froze, her fork halfway to her mouth, her gaze shifting between him and Rafe.“Save for the event either of you marry, I suppose.”
Derek drained his wine and signaled for a refill, a happy buzz settling over him.“Not any time soon, Dorothea.”
She hummed, and unease skittered down Derek’s neck.When Dorothea started thinking—plotting—it was best to run far, far away.Because Dorotheaalwaysgot her way.Well, at least ever since she and Rafe had fled Ironcrest to live at Derek’s country seat in Northamptonshire.
Derek didn’t know what she’d endured at Ironcrest, but he knew whatever it was, it was no better than what one would experience in a penitentiary.She deserved to finally get whatever she wanted.With the exception of marrying him and Rafe off.Obviously.
“I have yet to find anyone I deem suitable for either of you.”She took a ladylike sip of her wine, her gaze still locked on him—calculating.“Yet.”
He plastered a grin on his face and toasted his friend with his freshly refilled wineglass.“And good thing.Rafe and I do not dare disappoint the ladies of London.”
“Speaking of,” Rafe began, “I believe we have a few ladies of London who are anxiously awaiting us.We should be going.”
Derek and Rafe pushed back in their chairs.Rafe stood.Derek’s arse lifted off his chair—
“Sit!”Dorothea’s voice sliced through the dining room.
Derek snapped straight in his chair, and Rafe was back in his chair before the word stopped ringing through the chamber.
“Goodness, is it not trying enough that I have to endure your inebriated state and sexual recounting throughout our meal?And now you propose to cut the meal short?I think not.You will depart when I say you are free to do so.”Dorothea casually popped another bite of lamb into her mouth.
Derek discreetly glanced at a slumped-shouldered Rafe, his friend’s gaze downcast.Dorothea had a knack for making them feel like adolescent boys.Which he supposed was apt, since she’d acted as a maternal figure for them both—Rafe from the day he was born and Derek once she and Rafe had arrived at Dunmore Court when Derek had been seventeen.She was the only maternal figure Derek had ever had.The only one who’d wanted to take on that role.
Rafe glanced up and caught Derek’s gaze.His lips pulled back in a grimace.A memory flickered through Derek’s mind—a younger, gangly version of Rafe, wearing that same expression while sitting at the Dunmore dining table after they’d swapped out the tureen of soup with one filled with frogs.Though Rafe’s hair had been longer back then, riotous tight black curls.His best mate had always hated them.
The corners of Rafe’s lips tilted up almost indiscernibly, and he mouthed “frogs.”
Derek rolled in his lips to hide his answering smile.He and Rafe always seemed to know what the other was thinking.That came with being best mates.And sharing like demons.
“In addition…” Dorothea paused to dab her lips.
Derek tensed, glancing quickly at Rafe, whose alarmed expression mirrored his own.
“You both will be escorting me to the Chesterfield Ball this evening.”
She placed a neatly speared bite of asparagus in her mouth, her lips curling into a smirk as she chewed.
His and Rafe’s groans echoed through the dining room—followed by Dorothea’s soft laughter.He needed another drink if he was going to endurethat.
7
Derek
Derekwantedtoscratchhis eyes out.Lord Finley was rambling on about his idiotic investment strategies.He glanced around the tightly packed Chesterfield ballroom, the mundane deep, rich colors of gentlemen and matrons and the pale washed-out gowns of unmarried misses blurring before him.Tonight was much too boring.Rafe had already disappeared with Lady Camoysanda blonde he hadn’t been able to make out, and it seemed the fools of the ton were gathering around Derek like flies to shite.Not the most flattering comparison for himself, but it was apt.
“Government securities are a waste of time, in my opinion.The returns are much too low for my liking.If there’s not a substantial payoff, what purpose does it serve?You must take a risk if you want to make money,” Lord Finley spouted.All the men’s heads bobbed in agreement like a sea of demented seals.
All but one.“What say you, Lord Dunmore?”Lord Wessex asked, a gleam in his eye.
Derek had an inkling the man knew his stance on the topic.The young buck lived for the sport of scandal.Which was probably why he slept with every womanexcepthis fiancée.A fiancée Dunmore would be more than happy to satisfy if the fop wasn’t up to the task.She was supposedly demure and decorous.Derek didn’t buy it.That woman had fire in her eyes.She’d be a fantastic shag.
The sea of heads turned to look at Derek, awaiting his response.Oh, right.Correcting the blinking lobcocks.“Ignoring an opportunity to make money, however small, is pure idiocy.”
The group of men stilled.Lord Finley gaped, mouth working as he stared unblinking up at Derek’s much taller form.
“Not to mention,” Derek continued.“If you had any understanding of the bond market, you would know there are plenty of ways to make a fortune by investing in that alone.As you all already know, I believe in a diversified portfolio, of which a sizeable portion is made up of the funds.A man may take larger risks if a man can afford to do so.But investing based on speculation is a fool’s game.”
