Page 6 of Duke Most Wicked

He moved closer to the doorway of a room where several men, just out of sight, were laughing loudly and placing wagers.

“My money’s on Miss Brunhilda Shufflebottom for Wallflower of the Year. Her name alone makes me convulse with laughter. No gentleman in his right mind will ask her to dance for fear of the japes he’ll endure,” said a loud male voice that West didn’t recognize.

“No, no, it’s Lady Blanche who’ll take the honors again this year.”

West recognized the blasé tones of Lord Laxton, the coxcomb of a viscount whom Blanche fancied herself to be in love with.

“You’ve led her a merry chase, Laxton. Not going to make an honest woman of her this Season?”

“Or ever,” Laxton replied, with casual cruelty. “She’s not bride material. She’s tainted by association with that ruinous wreck of a brother.”

The floor dropped from beneath West’s boots. He steadied himself with a palm against the wainscotting.

“Westbury’s so wicked,” Laxton continued, “that his poor sisters are clinging to respectability by a thin thread which could snap at any moment, leaving them mired in the muck of scandal. Not to mention the fact that he’s gambled away most of their dowries.”

“I heard he sold the ancestral jewels to settle a debt,” another man said.

“That’s not true,” West whispered to Rafe, who gave him a sidelong glance. “I only sold the antiquities.”

“I heard he contracted a wasting disease from brothels catering to gents who prefer, ahem, you know... flagellation and that sort of thing.”

“Definitely not!” West whispered hoarsely. “I don’t pay for punishment.” He shuddered. “Had enough as a child. And I don’t have any diseases.”

“Relieved to hear it,” Rafe replied with a sardonic twist to his mouth. “Now can we leave?”

“Not yet. I . . .” West gripped the carved wood. “I hadn’t considered that I was causing such harmto my sisters. I want to know what they’re saying about me.”

The men in the billiard room continued assassinating his character, trying to outdo themselves with the outrageousness of the rumors they’d heard about him.

“I saw this one with my own eyes, gents,” a man said loudly. “He picked a fight last night with the barkeep at The Devil’s Staircase and had a bottle of gin broken over his head, and his ribs kicked in when he went down. Shouldn’t wonder if he’s lying in an alley right now, reeking of gin, with several broken ribs.”

“Now that one’s true as gospel,” Rafe said.

West caught his friend’s eye. “Rafe. Tell me truly. Have I ruined my sisters by association?”

“Well, you certainly haven’t helped their reputations.”

“I thought... I thought that they were irreproachable. They’re such bright, lively, intelligent young ladies.”

“Like brother, like sisters,” Laxton drawled loudly. “That’s all I can say on the subject, gents.”

“What do you mean?” a man asked eagerly, scenting more gossip. “Do you know something salacious about the Delamar sisters?”

Laxton snorted. “The things I could tell you about Lady Blanche...”

“Tell us!”

“Come, Laxton, it’s only us gents here. Spill your guts.”

“Well, I shouldn’t spread rumors,” Laxton began, with a poor show of reluctance. “Lady Blanchemight act proper and untouchable but when she gets you alone in a secluded alcove... she’s as debauched and debased as her brother. I tell you I barely escaped with my trousers intact.”

Several guffaws from the men.

“Are you saying she attacked you?” someone asked.

“I’m saying that her frosty facade hides a wanton. She’s cut from the same wicked cloth as her brother and will make no man a respectable wife. The best she can hope for is spinster... or courtesan.”

“The devil!” West launched toward the doorway, fists raised, only to be caught around the neck by Rafe’s elbow.

---