Chapter 13

I t was Wednesday, which meant Parliament wasn't in session. And as he'd done every Wednesday for the past month, he would be calling on Lucy to take her to Hyde Park. The open-air carriage was by far the safest way to spend time with her without giving in to the temptation to find a quiet corner and allow themselves to get carried away.

But since it was still too early in the day, he needed a distraction.

He was on top of the world when he entered White's. His courtship of the beautiful—and surprisingly resourceful—baroness was going according to plan. And after the incident in the garden with the young man who'd tried to take liberties with her, it seemed she was no longer worried about showing a preference for his company.

She still accepted requests to dance with other men, but if someone asked to partner her for a waltz, she informed them she'd already promised that dance to another. Because all her waltzes were now his.

He glanced across the men gathered in the morning room, hoping at least one of his close acquaintances was there. He smiled when he saw Hargrove and his brother-in-law, Baron Cranston, seated next to the unlit fireplace on the far end of the room. Their heads were close together, and when he approached, he realized their voices were low murmurs. It was obvious they were taking care not to be overheard.

When he drew near, he cleared his throat to gain their attention. He was about to apologize and ask if they wanted him to return later but hesitated when he saw the way they glanced at each other before shifting to look at him. There was something in their expressions that told him they'd been talking about him.

Still, good manners had him asking, "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Hargrove indicated an empty armchair. "Please join us."

Holbrook examined the pair as he sat. Their serious expressions warned him something was amiss. "Why the long faces?"

Cranston blew out a breath. "We're debating an important matter that concerns you."

Holbrook raised a brow and waited for him to continue.

After a few seconds, Hargrove spoke. "It relates to the widowed baroness and, by extension, you."

Holbrook waved off the footman who was approaching, his senses on high alert. "Lady Mansfield?"

Hargrove leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "You're the one who insisted we tell him immediately."

Cranston frowned. "I think you should break the news."

Holbrook was going to bash both their heads together if one of them didn't tell him what was going on.

When Hargrove didn't reply, Cranston leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "We've just learned that a bet has been placed."

Cranston didn't have to say anything else. Holbrook knew exactly what he was talking about. The infamous White's betting book. Idle gentlemen with far too much time on their hands placed wagers on all manner of things.

Anger had him clenching his fists. "Someone placed a wager about Lucy?"

Cranston nodded. "They're betting on who will be the first to claim her as their mistress."

A haze of red descended over Holbrook's vision.

Hargrove leaned forward. "If it's any consolation, you've taken a commanding lead."

Holbrook swore. "Give me the name of the person who dared to put her name in that damned book."

Cranston frowned. "There was no name attached."

Hargrove shook his head. "Of course not. Making a bet about Clarington's sister is social suicide."

"Especially one that would tempt every ne'er-do-well to proposition his sister." Cranston shook his head. "Whoever it was, he'd better hope Clarington never learns his identity."

"We have to remove that bet." He tried not to think about how many men would force themselves on Lucy just so they could gain bragging rights. "The jackals are already circling her."

"Of course they are," Cranston said. "Even without that bet, she's highly desirable. Young, beautiful, supposedly barren. Add to that the fact she's the sister of a powerful duke?"

Holbrook tensed, ready to leap to his feet.

Cranston stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, man. If you take any rash action, it will only cause more gossip."

Holbrook wanted to ignore the baron and demand the betting book be brought to him immediately. Then he wanted to compare the handwriting of the man who'd placed that bet against every member of the club.

What he did instead was will himself to relax. A quick glance told him they were beginning to attract attention, and Lucy was already at the center of far too much speculation.

Hargrove's eyes had a knowing glint in them. "Remember that prodding you gave me concerning Eleanor?"

Of course he did. Hargrove had been so turned around that he'd almost thrown away his chance at love.

"Unlike you, I'm actually courting the woman I love."

Cranston let out a low whistle, which Holbrook ignored.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Hargrove asked.

What indeed. "I'm trying to behave with honor."

Cranston shook his head. "Fuck honor. This is war. If you don't go on the offensive, you just might find yourself on the losing side."

Since the baron had spent years serving in the army, Holbrook wasn't surprised by his choice of analogy. Cranston was correct, but that didn't mean Holbrook had to like it. Even without that damned bet, every man—both scrupulous and not—would want Lucy. And since she hadn't fallen pregnant while married to Mansfield, most wouldn't even consider marrying her.

What exactly was he waiting for? What if Lucy tired of his courtship and approached someone else about having an affair? He almost snorted at the thought. She wouldn't even need to ask. All she'd have to do was send another man an encouraging glance and they would leap at the chance to be with her.

A spear of white-hot jealousy threatened to steal his breath. No. Lucy was his.

He rose to his feet.

"What are you going to do?" Hargrove asked.

"I'm going to give the lady in question what she wants."

The gloves were off. It was time to end the dance in which they'd been engaging for the past month. He was going to give Lucy Mansfield the pleasure she wanted from him.

She'd insisted she didn't want to marry again, and like a stubborn fool he'd been hoping she'd change her mind. But his stubbornness—his insistence on doing the honorable thing—might cause her to turn to another man.

Hell would freeze over before he allowed that to happen.

He was going to show Lucy that the attraction they both felt went far beyond mere lust. That their souls were bound together. And if he could only achieve that by ensuring she was addicted to his touch, so be it.

He was grinning when he left White's and climbed into his carriage.