Page 9 of Scoundrel for Sale
“Considering you were present during the key moments of the evening, one would assume you might know.” She took a fortifying sip from her glass, then turned to face him. “I purchased you.” He continued staring at her, his face completely blank, so she added, “In the bachelor auction.”
He blinked and shook his head. “Yes. But why would you bid on me?”
He was going to make her spell it out.
Lovely.
“My reasons were twofold. I must confess, the reason I opened with a bid of one thousand pounds, rather than trying to obtain you for the lowest possible price, is because your financial difficulties have become common knowledge.” She bit her lip. “I consider you to be my friend, Gabe. One of my dearest friends. I hope you won’t take it the wrong way when I say that I wanted to help you.”
He sagged against the sideboard, relief washing over his face. “You’re the best, Abbie. I can’t say how much I appreciate it.” He snagged the brandy, refilling his own glass. “I’ll pay you back. I swear I will. Just as soon as I’ve found some heiress who’ll have me.” He turned to face her, grinning as he raised his glass. He paused just shy of taking a sip and said, “It’s such a relief to know you were just helping an old friend. That you don’t mean to collect on your purchase.”
“Oh, I mean to collect on it,” she said.
He promptly choked on his brandy and came up coughing.
Based on his previous displays of horror at the most incidental contact, she decided it best not to thump him on the back.
Once he recovered, he regarded her, wild-eyed. “What do you mean, you intend to collect on it? You said—”
“I said that my reasons for purchasing you were twofold. One was a desire to help you during a rough patch. As for the other…” She could feel heat rising in her cheeks, but she forced herself to continue. “I daresay it is the same reason as every other woman in that room.”
He looked so aghast, you’d have thought she’d just pulled out a gun and shot his dog. “You can’t mean… You want to…” He pointed to her, and then to himself. “With me?”
Oh, good gracious—did it really come as such a shock? He was widely hailed as the most handsome man, and the most skillful lover, in all of England! Every other woman wanted to make love with him.
Why should she be any different?
Although in truth, it was more than that. Abbie had always had an infatuation with Gabe, which was unsurprising. What girl didn’t have a tendre for her brother’s best friend, especially when he looked like a golden Greek god?
But that had just been a schoolgirl’s fancy.
It was not until they had begun exchanging letters that Abbie’s feelings for Gabe had deepened. And, of course, she hadn’t seen him in six years. She might find him very different than the man she thought she knew through his letters.
But she really thought there was a chance that he was the love of her life. And if losing her parents and brother in the space of one month had taught her anything, it was that life was as precious as it was fleeting. Never again would she miss a chance to chase after her dreams.
And she knew full well that her dream of Gabe was doomed. All of London was talking about how he needed an heiress with more than fifty thousand pounds to clear the old viscount’s debts. Abbie’s husband had left her a dower house and a little nest egg, but nowhere near that amount.
And, considering recent events, there was an alarmingly high chance she was going to lose what meager funds she had.
It was indisputable. He couldn’t marry her. She couldn’t have forever.
But she could have tonight.
So, refusing to feel ashamed, Abbie drew herself up and gave her most regal nod. “I do.”
“But… but…” He was glancing wildly about the room, looking anywhere but at her. “Why would you want to do that?”
“Let’s see, where to begin?” She downed the rest of her drink for courage, then set the glass on the sideboard. “I believe you are aware that I was married to Lord Dulson.”
“Of course. What of it?”
Through gritted teeth, she asked, “Is that not sufficient explanation?”
He pushed off from the sideboard and began pacing the room. “I’m sure marriage to Dulson was, er, satisfactory.”
She crossed her arms. “I just spent a thousand pounds to spend one night with you. Is that the mark of someone whose marriage bed was satisfactory?”
She could tell by his rueful expression that he understood completely, but he chose to soldier on. “You’re probably imagining there’s more to it than there is. I’m sure my, er, performance, is not materially different from Dulson’s.”
