Free Too Wicked to Wed by Cara Elliott

found his anger ebbing away. “You did warn me. So don’t cut yourself up about it,” he muttered gruffly. “Besides, I fully intend to recoup my losses.”
    The marquess took a swallow of his drink and grimaced. “You think she will accept the offer you have in mind?”
    “How many ladies have you met who can resist the allure of money?” The Wolfhound’s mouth curled up at the corners. “What do you think all the primping and posturing is about on the Marriage Mart, if not to sell themselves to the highest bidder?”
    “You have a point.” A slight furrow creased his friend’s brow. “But Seb’s sister struck me as somehow…different. I daresay there are those who care for aught than money or material things.”
    Were there? Connor turned for a moment to watch the dancing couples, aswirl in a vortex of rich silks, costly jewels and polished manners. He supposed he should not be so cynical. However, after all he had experienced in his life, assuming the worst of people had become an ingrained habit.
    He was rarely disappointed.
    The wife of a duke passed, so close that her fluttering skirts brushed his evening shoes. A tiny turn of her head revealed a fluttering of lashes as well, and a wink. A wink reflected a million times over by the ornate diamond necklace kissing the cleavage of her bosom. The earl had bedded enough such ladies of the beau monde to know that beneath many a soft curve and sultry smile beat a mercenary heart.
    There were the odd exceptions, he supposed. In his walk of life, he rarely encountered them.
    And Alexa Hendrie?
    No question she was different. His lips gave a grudging twitch. Not many innocent young ladies would have possessed the courage or imagination to barge into a brothel, undaunted by the danger to her person and her reputation. Just as not many innocent young ladies would have dared dress as a man and risk playing at high-stakes games of chance.
    What was she hoping to gain?
    He didn’t know her nearly well enough to hazard a guess. Their first two encounters had revealed a stubborn streak of loyalty and fierce show of independence—not to speak of a hidden depth of passions. But as for her most recent escapade…
    It was, he reminded himself roughly, a matter of complete indifference to him what the chit was after, as long as he got back his damned scrap of paper.
    “Every lady has her price,” he said softly. “It’s merely a question of whether a gentleman is willing to pay it.”
    Gryff, looking thoughtful, did not reply.
    A moment later they were joined by another gentleman. Impeccably attired in elegant evening clothes, he appeared the very picture of patrician elegance—save for the shocking pink neckcloth that frothed down in a perfect Waterfall knot.
    “I got your note.” Cameron Daggett arched a well-groomed brow at Gryff. “Very amusing. And here I thought that I was the one with the lurid imagination.”
    Of the three Hellhounds, Cameron Daggett was perhaps the most whimsical. And enigmatic. Known for his biting wit and flamboyant style, he gave the appearance of viewing life as nothing more than a scathing joke. Connor and Gryff were among the few people who could stand up to his worldly cynicism. But even they did not know all the secrets that lay beneath the show of detachment.
    “Perhaps you ought to eschew your lyrical landscape essays and take up writing novels for Minerva Press,” went on Cameron. He pinched a speck of dust from his fuchsia neckcloth. “Now, what’s the real story?”
    Gryff scowled at the veiled reference to his artistic endeavors. “Swallow your usual sarcasm, Cam. The Wolf’s teeth are already on edge.” His expression screwed tighter. “By the by, where did you find that garish rag? Wrapped around the thigh of a French whore?”
    Unlike his two friends, who appeared in unrelenting black and white, Cameron enjoyed tweaking the rules of gentlemanly dress as well as deportment. “I’ll have you know this bit of rare