Chapter Twenty-Three

George was particularly pleased with himself. He'd managed the whole business well, and now had the club raising a toast to ‘Lord Raisin, King of Currants', the same name they'd called him at Eton.

For some reason, the name tickled him more than usual. He swigged down the glass of brandy somebody had pushed into his hand and hauled himself up to stand on a table.

His friends laughed and clapped, some offering steadying hands. Since he'd offered to pay for the drinks of everybody at his table, his count of friends had doubled, it seemed.

"I am the cleverest man in the world," he announced, once silence had fallen, "because I have won a wager that wasn't even mine!"

He received roars and laughter at that, as well as scattered applause.

"How did you do it?" somebody asked, which was the question George had been waiting for.

"Well, Mr. Simon Dudley wagered Viscount Henley that he couldn't thaw the ice queen's heart. Fifty pounds, it was, but I've managed to win much, much more that! Because Mr. Dudley used me as his secret weapon. Aha, I bet you didn't know that was in the rules!"

George tapped his nose confidingly. At least, he meant to tap his nose, but he missed somehow and poked himself in the cheek. It hardly mattered.

"Well, I've known the Ice Queen for quite some time, and I managed to worm my way in there. And now, our handsome rake of a viscount has lost his wager and his lady and lost fifty pounds into the bargain. And me? I've secured her hand in marriage!"

"You won the wager, then," somebody said, probably the same somebody as before. Faces were blurring for George at the moment. "You thawed her heart."

"Well, no, not really, but I don't need her heart," George conceded. "I require her substantial fortune to safeguard against the encroachments of poverty!"

He did a fairly good imitation of a howling wolf, and there was laughter and applause.

Grinning, George spread out his arms, accepting the adulation. To think he'd been about to throw over that dried old spinster and snatch up some silly, na?ve little debutante with barely a thousand pounds to her name. He hadn't been in love with Lady Isolde Belford for quite some time, but it was still satisfying to win her at last. It showed that all was right in the world, and that a man with enough determination could win any woman he wanted. As it should be. He supposed that she would make a decent enough wife, with a little training.

He snatched up somebody else's brandy and drank that too, but this time it had a sour taste, curdling its way down into his gut. Wincing, George staggered a little, hoping that he wasn't going to vomit.

And then, a tall, blurry figure enfolded itself from an alcove. He blinked, squinting, trying to make sense of the figure.

And then, quite abruptly, the figure resolved itself into Lord James Belford. The man was staring at George with seething anger, and it took George a moment to work out what he could have done to earn the man's hatred.

It came back with a rush, as did the nausea.

"Wait, James," George bleated. "It was a joke, not at all what you think…"

James did not answer, and only stamped out of the door. George swayed on his feet, wondering whether he was going to vomit or faint.

"Oh, bother."

It turned out that there was a third, much worse option, which he had not yet considered, and it was that he could do both.