Free A Not So Respectable Gentleman? by Diane Gaston

something last night. Covendale is deep in debt. Gambles.’ He took another bite of bread. ‘I could not discover if he owes Kellford, though.’
    ‘Stop chewing so loud,’ Walker mumbled. ‘Don’t know about that. Kellford’s in deep with money lenders, though.’
    ‘What?’ Leo was taken aback. ‘How did you learn that?’
    Walker slumped into a chair. ‘Drinking. Followed his valet to a tavern. Got him talking.’
    ‘Excellent.’ This was why he valued Walker. ‘What did you learn?’
    Walker pressed his head again. ‘The valet is unhappy. Hates Kellford. Gossips like a woman. I’ve discovered what you need to know, I believe. Even have a solution.’ He grinned up at Leo. ‘How would you like to again become a thief?’
    * * *
    Lord Kellford stood in the office of Mr Carter of Messrs Carter and Company, No. 14 Old Cavendish Street.
    ‘Payment is overdue, Lord Kellford,’ Mr Carter intoned.
    It was a humiliation to be spoken to in such a tone. And to be required to beg. ‘A month’s time is all I ask.’ Kellford favoured Carter with his most charming smile.
    ‘A month is a long time.’ Carter looked at him over spectacles worn low on his nose. The money lender dressed like any cit, in plain coat and trousers, devoid of the tailoring that would have marked him a gentleman. It was unconscionable that he held Kellford under his thumb, like an insect about to be squashed.
    ‘I shall have to demand more interest,’ Carter drawled.
    Kellford kept smiling. ‘Do not fear. I am marrying an heiress in less than three weeks. In four weeks I shall pay you in full.’
    ‘At twenty per cent, Kellford.’
    ‘At twenty per cent.’
    Carter nodded and waved Kellford out of the office like some inconsequential underling.
    Infuriating.
    How he’d like to slice that man in two. No. No. Better to kill him slowly. Flail him with chains. Burn him with hot irons. Unfortunate they did not live in medieval times. Think of the pleasure of placing Carter on a rack and slowly turning the wheel.
    Kellford crossed into the hall and walked out the door. As soon as he stepped onto the street, the skies opened up with rain. Perfect.
    After receiving Carter’s summons, Kellford had taken an ordinary hackney coach to Old Cavendish Street. It would not do for a coach with his crest to be seen waiting in front of a money-lender’s door.
    He was soaked to the skin by the time he reached the line of hacks awaiting riders. ‘Take me to Charles Street, Mayfair,’ he demanded of the first coachman.
    He climbed in and settled back against the cracked leather seat, closing his eyes.
    Only a few weeks more of this degradation. He abhorred kowtowing to a manipulative money lender. When the Covendale chit’s inheritance was in his hands, he’d be free of the man.
    And he’d have plenty of money to spare, which was as it should be. He deserved the luxuries of life.
    And the pleasures.
    She had angered him the previous night, making him look the fool for chasing after her in Vauxhall Gardens. After she had spoken her marriage vows, he would teach her not to make a fool of him.
    Ever.
    Until then, he’d play the devoted future husband. He’d make sure the ton all knew about the dinner he was hosting the next night, the one honouring his prospective bride and her family. Perhaps it would quiet her prickly nerves when he impressed her with the finest delicacies and wines.
    He rubbed his chin. Knowing his betrothed had such spirit made him want to break her like a wild horse.
    Tame her.

Chapter Six
    M ariel sat at Kellford’s right at the long table laden with every delicacy that might impress. Kellford, at the head of the table, urged his twenty guests to try each dish, and, as if he were a besotted lover, offered a toast to her, calling himself the most fortunate man in the world.
    She inwardly scoffed. If he thought himself the most fortunate, then surely she was the least. The only good fortune he wanted was her inheritance.
    Her