Free Mary Jo Putney by Dearly Beloved

fate.
    Just as surely, she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was the man she had come to London to find.
    * * *
    The seventh Viscount St. Aubyn had been brought to Harriette Wilson's much against his will. Two blocks before reaching her house, he had said abruptly, "I've changed my mind. I'll let you off and send my carriage back to wait for you."
    His cousin Francis Brandelin grinned. "Oh, no, you don't, Gervase. It's taken weeks to get you this far, and you'll not elude me that easily. You spend far too much time on whatever it is that you do in the Foreign Office. The government won't fall if you take an evening's pleasure, and Harriette has one of the best wine cellars in London."
    "I don't doubt that—it's a requirement for a demirep of her standing," Gervase commented dryly. "However, if it's good wine I want, I can get it at home more easily."
    Francis laughed outright, undeterred by his lordship's attitude. "Perhaps you can get wine, but if you want a replacement for that opera dancer of yours, you'll do much better at Harry's than at home."
    Though not sure that he agreed with Francis, Gervase did not dignify the remark with an answer. The opera dancer, Colette, had been no great loss. She had made it clear that she preferred more gaiety in her life, then been disconcerted at how quickly Lord St. Aubyn had agreed that he neglected her shamelessly and she could do better elsewhere.
    Still, any demirep Gervase found at Harriette Wilson's was apt to have Colette's faults—volatility and greed—in spades. The most successful courtesans were even more temperamental and demanding than society ladies, not at all the kind of mistress he sought. He knew exactly the sort of woman he wanted; she should be reasonably attractive, undemanding, and uncapricious. Perhaps a woman with children who would occupy her attention, so she would not always be pining for her protector's company. He had no objection to children so long as he needn't see them.
    Well, it wouldn't kill him to spend an evening sipping Harriette's wine, and he owed it to Francis. The younger man was a sociable sort, and he had undertaken to ensure that the new viscount didn't become a hermit. His cousin was his heir, an easygoing, intelligent young man whose light brown hair and slight, elegant figure came from his mother's side of the family, not the dark, intimidating Brandelins. As a child Francis had looked up to his older cousin, and they had corresponded all the time Gervase had been in the army in India.
    When the new viscount returned to England after his father's death, he had felt very alone and Francis' genuine welcome had been like sunshine on a rainy day. It had been gratifying to find someone who cared whether Gervase lived or died. Though they were very different, they had developed a friendship that went well beyond mere blood kinship. Gervase asked idly, "Have you given any thought to marriage?"
    In the flickering lamplight Francis' expression was more than shocked, and it was a moment before he replied in a tone whose lightness seemed forced. "What makes you ask that, cousin?"
    The viscount said reasonably, "Well, you are my heir and you will inherit someday. Life being uncertain, I would like to know that the succession is assured for another generation."
    After a narrow look, Francis said with amusement, "Isn't taking care of the succession your responsibility?"
    The carriage halted at their destination and Gervase was glad to let the subject drop. It sounded like Francis was disinclined to matrimony; perhaps it was a family failing. Someday the viscount would have to explain exactly why he himself would never have legitimate heirs, but it was a topic he preferred to avoid as long as possible.
    The butler bowed them in without comment since Francis was a regular visitor to the establishment. Sounds of laughter and music floated down the stairs as Gervase followed his cousin up to the drawing room.
    Just before they entered, Francis