Free Formidable Lord Quentin by Patricia Rice Page A

the girls emerged from the carriage.
    Bell glared as Quent helped her out—possibly because he
glanced down to catch a glimpse of her trim ankle. He was developing an
unhealthy obsession with the lady’s limbs.
    “Perhaps the trick to children is hiring tutors to keep them
interested and busy,” Bell said sweetly.
    Well, maybe her glare was for other reasons. Quent shrugged
off the barb. “You’re the one who left without tutors and maids. Fortunately,
you won’t need to buy another carriage to transport them. My father can handle
that. He’s quite adept at dealing with rambunctious boys.”
    That remark earned him an even blacker glare, and he bit
back a smile. He’d badgered, negotiated with, and twisted the arms of far
wilier businessmen than Bell. He knew how to achieve what he wanted, and his
spirits rose in anticipation of the challenge.
    He just needed to be more certain of what he wanted. He’d wanted Bell for ten years. He’d never
wanted marriage. Or children. He’d moved to London at first opportunity to
escape his chaotic, noisy family and enjoy the ordered serenity of a bachelor
life. It would behoove him to study the lady’s preferences—did she want the chaos of family disrupting her well-organized
household? He couldn’t fathom it.
    Assuming her stiffly dignified marchioness posture with nose
in the air, Bell swept after the countess and the children without a second
look back.
    “She’s not the chatty sort, at least,” Penrose said,
following Quent’s gaze. “A bit like you, actually, subtle and clever.”
    “Doesn’t mean we can’t discover her weak spots. Let’s find
Fitz.” He strode after the stable lads leading his Friesian, knowing Danecroft
was far more likely to be working with the horses than his account books at
this hour. John Fitzhugh Wyckerly had been Fitz for so long, and the title so unlikely to be his, that his friends had
difficulty recalling his recent acquisition of the earl of Danecroft title.
    “Shouldn’t you tell the lady that your carriage will be
arriving tomorrow? She could send for the rest of her servants.” Penrose limped
to keep up with him.
    “I’m thinking about it. Is it better to let her learn how
family oversets everything so she might finally surrender and send them to my father?
Or will she be more grateful for my aid and give me what I ask if I solve all
her problems?”
    “If you’re asking me, she’s most likely to take a dirk to
your gullet if she learns you’re pulling her strings as if she were a puppet in
a Punch and Judy show, but I’m just a soldier, not a lady’s man.”
    “We’re both bachelors. We need the advice of a married man.
And there’s one now.” Quent hailed the slender earl.
    Fitz Wyckerly only bore a slight resemblance to the refined
man-about-town who’d once gambled at the best tables wearing silk and lace.
Today, his riding coat sported worn elbows, his linen had mysterious spots, and
his once-polished boots appeared ready to part from their soles.
    But beneath his cow-licked mop of light brown hair, he still
wore the unmistakable grin that had charmed his way into London’s parlors.
“Quent! Acton! You’re sights for sore eyes. I thought I was about to be
inundated with petticoats. What brings you here? Not my wine cellar, I’m
certain.”
    “We have come for a professional consultation. And to see
the horses, of course,” Quent said. “I’ve heard you’ve expanded the stables.”
    “Horse acquisitions are a question of balance. Come along,
I’ll show you.” The earl loped back toward the horse barn. “Since this building
is the only decent thing my father left, it’s served me well.”
    Quent remembered the enormous edifice with high oak ceilings
and polished stalls that stretched nearly as far as the eye could see. The late
earl had been a spendthrift, a gambler, and a drunkard. Fitz was probably still
paying the debts on the construction of this monument to selfishness. But Quent
admired