Free When the Marquess Met His Match by Laura Lee Guhrke - An American Heiress in London 01 - When the Marquess Met His Match Page B

that you’ll be engaged by the end of the season, in spite of Talk of the Town .”
    “Really?” Nicholas’s spirits brightened a bit. “Did you place a wager on me?”
    “Only a small one. I picked Lady Idina Forsyte.”
    “The Earl of Forsyte’s daughter?” He made a grimace. “Doesn’t she have adenoids?”
    “At least I didn’t say Lady Harriet Dalrymple. She was one of the choices. Long odds on her, though. Most chaps think you’ll do a bit better than that.”
    He gave the other man a wry look. “I wonder if Landsdowne placed the bet. Lady Harriet is his choice, which means that even if she were Helen of Troy, Sappho, and Aphrodite all rolled into one, I wouldn’t have her.”
    “You really do hate Landsdowne.”
    “Do you blame me?”
    “I suppose not. Still, Lady Harriet is horrid, and it would be no more than you deserved to end up with her.”
    “How vengeful you are. But, no, I can assure you that my bride will not be Lady Harriet. I’d never give Landsdowne the satisfaction. Besides, I’ve other, more delectable fish to fry.”
    “You’ve already set your sights on someone?”
    “Perhaps. What do you know of Miss Rosalie Harlow?”
    Denys whistled. “That’s going for high game. She’s one of the season’s acknowledged beauties, and her father is one of the richest men in America. Of course, you’ll have to make it past the dragon at the gates.”
    “Lady Featherstone being the dragon in question? She’s already breathed her fire on me. I came away quite singed by the encounter.”
    “Good on her.” Denys grinned. “That pleases me more than words can say.”
    Nicholas grinned back. “Pleased enough to give me a loan?”
    The other man stared at him in amazement, shaking his head, laughing as if in disbelief. “How do you manage it?”
    “Manage what?”
    “To keep us friends.”
    He straightened the camellia in his buttonhole and smoothed his lapel. “My charm? My wit? My—”
    “Enough,” Denys cut him off. “Any more of that, and I’ll be sick. How much do you need?”
    “Can you spare a thousand?”
    “All right, but I’m charging you interest. Four percent.”
    “Per annum?”
    “Per month.”
    “That’s extortion.”
    “No,” Denys corrected, folding his arms. “It’s justice.”
    He was in no position to negotiate. “Four percent it is. Are lodgings at your house included in this offer?”
    “What? Allow you to live in my house for the foreseeable future?”
    “This isn’t your house. It’s Earl Conyers’s house. You, Viscount Somerton, live here due to your father’s goodwill.”
    “And my mother’s. She won’t like it, you know, having you here with all the scandal attached to your name.”
    “Couldn’t she see her way clear for the man who saved her son’s life?” Ignoring Denys’s sound of exasperation, he added, “And I won’t be staying forever, just until the end of the season.”
    “Only if you’ve found a wife by then. If you don’t, we shall be stuck with you for God knows how long.”
    “You said yourself the odds are in my favor. But if I am to find a wife, I simply must have a respectable address. And, anyway, you have a bet riding on this, so it’s in your best interests to assist me as much as possible.”
    “Lease a house. Let a flat. Find a hotel.”
    “This is London, Denys, and it’s the season. A house, or even a flat, is rare as hen’s teeth this time of year, meaning that even if I could find one, I couldn’t afford the rent. And hotels are so inconvenient if one wants to entertain.”
    “Is there anything else you need? Seats in my father’s box at Covent Garden? An evening of cards with the Prince of Wales? Use of the carriages?”
    “All those would be splendid,” he said, jumping on the offer and ignoring the sarcasm. “And if you could persuade Montcrieffe to invite me to his ball tonight, I believe I’ll be on my way to a smashing season.”
    “Lovely. I think I shall go to the