Page 5 of Scoundrel for Sale
Talbot brought his fists up by his head, flexing his arms. This elicited a chorus of oohs and aahs from the crowd. Grinning, Talbot struck a series of poses, each garnering more cheers than the last, until he turned around, showing off back muscles Gabe hadn’t known existed in a grand finale that all but incited a riot.
Madame Heron stepped forward and trailed a hand along Talbot’s biceps. “As you can see, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. May I have a starting bid of twenty pounds?”
A dozen hands shot into the air. Gabe observed the bidding from the wings. Most of those assembled bowed out around the fifty-pound mark, but a pair emerged who seemed determined to claim the prize. One wore a hood instead of a mask, probably because of the spectacles Gabe could just make out glinting from beneath her cowl. She was short and plump and had a cringing sort of posture suggesting she dearly wished she could sink beneath the carpet. Her plain, frumpy dress buttoned all the way up to her chin and practically screamed, don’t look at me.
Her only real problem was that she didn’t know how to flatter those curves. Put her in a less dowdy frock and she would be delectable.
Her competition for the boxing champion was the young Lady Liddell.
“Seventy-two pounds!” Miss Spectacles called in a voice that shook.
Lady Liddell shot her rival a smirk. “Seventy-three pounds.”
“Seventy-four pounds.”
“Oh, are we going to do this all night? One hundred pounds,” Lady Liddell called.
The room fell silent. This was the highest bid that had been placed thus far, and Lady Liddell’s smile was triumphant.
Madame Heron had just raised her arm to declare Lady Liddell the winner when Miss Spectacles cried out in a shrill voice, “Two hundred and fifty pounds!”
The room fell silent. Lady Liddell’s smirk melted into a scowl. Seeing that the bidding was over, Madame Heron pointed to Miss Spectacles, declaring, “We have a winner!”
Tom Talbot grinned and jumped right off the stage. He waded through the crowd of women, several of whom reached out to squeeze his arm or stroke his chest as he passed, until he reached his purchaser. He was a good foot taller than Miss Spectacles. Much to her apparent shock, he swept her up in his arms and pressed her high against his chest. “Gonna make it worth every penny, love,” he said loudly enough for the entire room to hear. He proceeded to carry her down the aisle of the theater and right out the door while those behind him whistled and cheered.
As the crowd quieted, Gabe heard Lady Liddell declare for the benefit of those around her, “I could’ve bought him if I wanted to. I’m just making sure I have enough blunt to secure the man I truly desire.”
Gabe groaned. Given that he was the only one left, that didn’t bode well for him being able to stick to his personal code.
Madame Heron waited for the crowd to quiet. “And now, for our final bachelor of the evening!”
Gabe swallowed. To have to go out there after the reigning heavyweight champion—talk about a hard act to follow. But there was no bowing out now.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. And there wasn’t a man in England more desperate than Gabriel Davenport.
Madame Heron was really working up the crowd. “He’s the one you’ve aaaaaall been waiting for! A man who needs no introduction, such is his reputation for giving his lovers unimaginable pleasure!”
“Oui,” Veronique called out from the back row of the theater. “I can attest, it is true.”
Over the titters that filled the room, Madame Heron called, “And it is therefore my pleasure—although the pleasure will soon belong to one of you—to present England’s most talented lover, Gabriel Davenport!”
Well, there was nothing for it. Gabe pasted a devil-may-care smile on his face and strode out onto the stage, waving to the crowd.
As Madame Heron had instructed, he was dressed in nothing but a fine linen shirt which he wore gaping open to his sternum, top boots, and a pair of skintight midnight blue pantaloons. The ladies burst into cheers.
Madame Heron gave them a moment to settle down. “Now, tonight is more significant than you realize. I’m sure most of you have heard the news that London’s favorite scoundrel is now a viscount.”
Polite applause filled the theater as if Gabe had done something to earn this honor. In truth, his great-uncle, the fourth Viscount Fairbourne, had been sailing for Jamaica with both of his sons and their families, hoping to escape his creditors and restore the family fortunes, when the ship was lost in a storm. In an instant, the next seven men in line to inherit the viscountcy were gone, and Gabe found himself in a situation he’d never imagined would come to pass.
But along with his great-uncle’s title, Gabe had inherited the man’s debts, which were right around fifty thousand pounds. By the time he received word of his uncle’s passing and managed to get back from Malta, where he’d been stationed, the sharks were closing in. Thanks to his new status as a peer, Gabe couldn’t be thrown in debtor’s prison, but his creditors could ransack the family homes and seize anything that wasn’t nailed down.
Including, as his great aunt Matilda tearfully told him, her wedding ring.
Great-aunt Matilda happened to be the one who’d packed Gabe off to Eton at the age of seven. But he wasn’t so hard-hearted that he would deny a seventy-seven-year-old woman who had just lost her husband, both of her children, and all of her grandchildren one memento to cling to.
What Gabe needed was a spectacularly rich heiress who was willing to marry him for his title. Gabe was confident he could find someone. There were plenty of coal barons looking to marry their daughter to a peer.
He just needed more than one bloody week to do it.
