Page 4 of Scoundrel for Sale
He would’ve been tempted to take a swing at his friend’s jaw.
He would’ve demanded an apology.
In any other circumstance. But as his friend lay on the battlefield with his life bleeding out of him, Gabe did none of those things.
Instead, he brushed his thumb over his friend’s cheek, wiping the spot where one of his own tears had fallen.
And he whispered, “I swear it.”
That was when a pair of stretcher-bearers came rushing up.
But Gabe knew they were too late. He’d marked the moment his friend’s features had fallen slack, when his eyes had gone absolutely still.
At least Hart was no longer in pain.
Gabe let the stretcher-bearers take Hart away, but he hadn’t been able to summon the will to follow them.
Hart wasn’t on that stretcher. Not anymore.
Instead, Gabe sat alone in that dusty field and cried until darkness fell and the sky was littered with stars.
Chapter 1
London, England
July 1818
Six Years Later
* * *
You wouldn’t think a man who’d been to war would find a roomful of women so terrifying.
But this wasn’t just any roomful of women.
Gabe peered around the red velvet curtain. He was standing just offstage at the Thalia, a theater in Soho. The Thalia was smaller and less prestigious than the theaters of Covent Garden just a mile or so away, and tonight the house wasn’t even close to full, with only about fifty or so in attendance.
But this particular event hadn’t been intended to attract a large crowd, so much as an exclusive crowd.
An entirely feminine crowd.
A crowd that could keep a secret.
Most of those assembled had come in quasi-masquerade dress, with masks and dominoes concealing their features. Not that this prevented him from recognizing a few familiar faces. The woman with the flame-red hair had to be Mrs. Seymour, an attractive widow of perhaps thirty-five years, and standing next to her was Veronique Lacroix, a successful actress with whom Gabe had conducted an affair many years ago. They had ended their liaison on good terms, and Gabe counted Veronique as a friend. Never one to shy away from a scandal, she hadn’t even bothered to wear a mask.
He also recognized the woman in the green dress as Lady Liddell, who was young, pretty, and spoiled. She had been married for less than a year to a man twenty years her senior. Lord Liddell doted on his feisty young bride, even if he had absolutely no idea what to do with her, and Gabe was certain he would not approve of her presence here tonight.
Oh, dear—and there in the back row was Lady Walsington, who was old enough to be his grandmother.
Although honestly, he would prefer Lady Walsington to Lady Liddell. Gabe might be a scoundrel, but he did have some standards, and one of those involved not sleeping with a married woman unless she had that sort of arrangement with her husband.
But it looked like he might be about to kiss those standards goodbye because the reason they were all assembled tonight was for London’s most notorious bachelor auction. The winner of each lot was purchasing one night with their chosen lover.
And, given his current level of desperation, Gabe had no choice but to enter.
He stepped back, letting the curtain drop. Not that anyone had been looking at him. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed upon the shirtless man at center stage.
The Thalia’s proprietress, Madame Heron, spoke in a voice that carried in the mostly empty theater. “As I’m sure you know, Tom Talbot is the reigning heavyweight champion. Believe me, ladies, you won’t find another specimen like this! Tommy, love, show us the goods, won’t you?”
