Free Nothing But Scandal by Allegra Gray Page A

to say they shared similar ambitions and tolerated one another’s presence. Both rented town houses in the not-quite-fashionable district, and both wanted—felt they deserved —better.
    “I loaned Lord Medford a goodly sum, a few years back,” Harold answered. “Could scarcely afford it at the time, but I needed the man’s support, his connections.” He shrugged.
    “Never paid you back?” Cutter guessed.
    “No. Died last fall, suddenlike. Carriage accident in a storm.”
    Cutter nodded sympathetically.
    Harold glared at the letter again—a polite note from the solicitor handling the Medford estate. The money was gone. And, apparently, he had no chance of recovering his losses.
    He slammed his fist on the desk.
    “Damn it.” It didn’t matter that he could afford the loss now. The baron had used him. And while Harold himself wasn’t above using people, he didn’t like having the tables turned.
    Cutter wisely absorbed himself in the newspaper.
    Harold ground his teeth. He had ambitions. As a child he’d hated being the “poor relation,” hated the way people dismissed him, or thought to invite him and his mother to an event only when someone “extra” was needed to even the numbers. As a youth he’d used his girth, and his fists, to gain respect, or at least fear, from the other boys. But he’d soon figured out he wanted more.
    “What galls me,” he finally said, “is how someone like him is considered polite Society, while no matter how I study, how well I invest, how I advance myself, I’m still an outsider to the ton.”
    Cutter raised his newspaper in a mock toast. “To the English aristocratic system.” He pitched the paper into the fireplace.
    “Bet that daughter of Medford’s isn’t smirking now,” Harold said, finally latching onto a thought that cheered him. “She’s taunted me for years, with her careless acceptance of her place in Society. Thinks herself too good for me.”
    Anger flooded him as he remembered their last encounter. Elizabeth had been flirting in Society, barely out of full mourning, and she’d done it to avoid him . Because to her, he was nothing.
    Harold ground his teeth again. He had Cutter’s attention now.
    “Threw my suit back in my face,” Harold confided. “As though she could afford it. She had the nerve to slap me. As though she had a better offer.” He snorted.
    Cutter shrugged. “Haven’t seen any engagement announcements for her in The Times. Everyone in town knows she’s practically penniless.”
    Elizabeth had failed.
    She’d soon learn what it felt like to have to scrape and bow for every ounce of approval. She’d soon understand how it felt to have doors closed in your face simply because you weren’t wealthy enough—or, in his own case, because he hadn’t been born in line for a title.
    Harold smiled—the thought of Elizabeth’s discomfort gave him pleasure.
    Cutter stood. “I’d best be off,” he said. “I’ve an appointment with my tailor. I can see my way out. Sorry about your funds, Wetherby.”
    Harold nodded, waving off his friend and choosing to ignore the faint distaste he thought he detected in the man’s tone.
    He was far more interested in the new idea taking hold of his mind. Elizabeth Medford could still be of use to him.
    Her father could no longer pay his debt. But she could. Maybe not in pounds…but how much better would it be to have her obeying him, serving him, as she’d been so loathe to do before? He’d touch that sweet body, own it, and in the meantime, he’d use whatever connections the Medfords had left to further his political purposes. Before, he’d courted her, minced about, hoping to curry favor. But now, with proof the family owed him, he had leverage.
    Harold smiled. He would call on them directly.
     
    The duke was true to his word. Even after the Grumsbys’ other guests returned to London, he remained. Everywhere Elizabeth went, it seemed he was there.
    She wondered how long he could