Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

Lord Gage Croft, the rather impoverished Duke of Vale, drank a toast of Ceylon tea to the final of his personal fortune, currently earmarked to pay off his dead brother's final remaining vowel. The Croft men were known for their love of drinking and gambling, from gaming halls to cockfighting to anything in between. No prize was too small, no wager too big. They were notorious for their brand of boldness. Their utter daring.

Their folly .

The vice was in their blood. And anyone who could bleed his late father and brother dry had tried… and had mostly succeeded. Fake ventures, loans, illegal races, prizefights, absurd wagers—the schemes added up to an obscene amount, one that had nearly ruined the ducal name.

Anything that wasn't entailed had been sold to pay off the accrued mountain of debts, down to the last pair of candlesticks in the ancestral estate. Everything of value had been put up for auction—heirlooms, art, furniture, even clothing. The only things Gage hadn't sold were the family portraits, a few necessary items, and his bed.

A man needed somewhere to sleep, after all.

Thanks to his Scottish mother, Gage had stayed away from the gaming halls, seeing what it had done to his father and grandfather, but he scratched that bone-deep itch—the thrill-seeking curse of the men in his family—in other ways. The same rush that plagued them was the same one that had driven him to bare-knuckle boxing.

A younger Gage had loved the primal buzz of it, of giving in to the feeling of pitting his body and his fists against the odds, and the high of being named champion, the scent of sweat and blood thick in the air. It was still a compulsion, he knew, an addiction . He craved the excitement like an opium eater and gorged himself on it whenever the need arose. But he never wagered or played any stakes. Strenuous physical activity like boxing—and later on, caber tossing—had kept his head clear.

But then, in a sudden and awful twist of fate, his brother Asher died in a curricle race gone wrong, and the dukedom had become Gage's reality. A reality he resented, but was now his nonetheless. He was responsible for dozens of tenants, staff, and servants, all of whom were suffering from unpaid wages on his family's account, not to mention living off lands that were fallow and quite barren.

He had to make things right. Then, perhaps, once that was done, his life could finally go back to what it had been in Scotland. Calm, steady, predictable. No temptations and no irredeemable vices. A trustworthy steward would be more than capable of managing the estate in his place.

Cracking his scarred, thickened knuckles, Gage blew out a breath as he glanced at his somber solicitor. Mr. Boone had worked for Gage's family for years, and Lord knew how much money he probably owed the man. Perhaps he might be amenable to overseeing the ducal lands, if Gage offered him a persuasive enough raise. Not that he had the funds for that at the moment. One hurdle at a time.

"So the accounts are in the clear?" Gage asked.

"The remaining balances were the last of it, Your Grace."

"And you?"

The solicitor nodded. "I have been compensated in arrears as well, Your Grace, including the rest of your staff and the remaining servants. Thank you."

Gage bit back another sigh. Said household was down to a meager few—barely enough to toe the boundaries of respectability for a duke. His house may be empty, and his coffers scraped to the absolute bottoms, but he was out of debt, barring one outstanding gambling vowel owed to a society fop by his late brother. A debt that was now his to bear… on top of an estate that still required an enormous amount of upkeep and a leaking roof that needed replacing.

Boone cleared his throat. "Do you plan to be in London for the season, Your Grace?"

As if he could afford a fucking season. Gage glanced down at the frayed cuffs on his coat and the abraded wear of his boots. "No."

"Pardon my impudence, Your Grace, but perhaps you should consider it," Boone suggested. "A wealthy wife could be an excellent option for a peer in your position."

Gage couldn't quite curb his derisive response. "And which highborn lady in your estimation, Mr. Boone, would fancy the penniless Duke of Vale and move to the wilds of Scotland?" The man blanched, but Gage waved an arm. "Trust me, I'm aware of what the gossip rags say."

The half-Scottish Destitute Duke with his pugilist hands and rough edges was much too uncouth to be welcomed in pretty London ballrooms. He was in fact quite unkindly ranked the worst duke in London by the Times . A lady would have to be desperate to want him. In fact, he might have to pay her a dowry.

Gage let out a dark chuckle at that last thought. "One day, I'll wed a bonny Scottish lass, Boone. In the meantime, I'll find a way to settle Asher's debt and pay for the remaining repairs on the estate. There are some railway investments I'm looking into as well as some shipping ventures. Real ones, not the absurd, sham schemes that my brother and father fell prey to. If that fails, I can always field a fight or two for the prize money." The solicitor balked, and Gage laughed. "Sorry, old man, that was in poor taste. No gambling, I swear. You don't have to worry about me taking unnecessary risks like Asher or my father did."

After Boone took his leave, Gage ran a hand through his thick tangle of hair. He needed a haircut and a shave. He was starting to resemble one of the shaggy red roan Shetland ponies in his paddock that he'd brought in to sell for extra coin. His brother's old valet had retired due to his fading eyesight, and without money to replace him, Gage had just managed to make do over the past few months.

"Jenkins," he called out, and waited for the young footman turned butler to come to the study door. "Do you know how to cut hair?"

"Not unless you wish to lose an eye, Your Grace."

Gage blinked. Was looking presentable worth losing an eye? He was seriously deliberating the question when sharp, booted footsteps echoing noisily in the empty foyer snagged his attention. He frowned, wondering why whoever it was hadn't been announced and then realizing that he'd summoned Jenkins from his post.

"See who that is, will you?" he told him. He wasn't expecting any visitors, not that many came to Vale Ridge Park these days, unless it was to either purchase his family's heirlooms for pennies on the pound or buy the occasional head of livestock.

Or to collect monies owed.

Gage frowned. He smoothed a hand through his sweaty matted hair, attempting some semblance of civility, and straightened his threadbare coat. The few days' growth of thick copper stubble gracing his cheeks and jaw would have to stay. When Jenkins ushered his visitor into the study, Gage's gut tightened.

Lord Evan Huntington, the owner of his brother's last vowel, stood scowling in the doorway. He'd come to collect his two thousand pounds, no doubt. A bloody fortune. Why his brother owed such an exorbitant amount to Huntington, Gage did not know, but the loan had been the straw that had broken the camel's back. That fatal curricle race had been Asher's last-ditch effort to cancel out the debt. He'd bet on himself and lost.

"I told you, I'll get you your money," Gage bit out without preamble once the butler had shut the door. "You gave me six months to repay what my brother owed you."

The man's nose lifted in a haughty gesture. "You look like you were dragged and trampled by a wild horse, Vale."

"Did you come all the way here to compliment me?"

"I have a wager for you," Huntington said, ignoring the sarcasm.

Gage's eyes narrowed. "I don't gamble."

"Call it a gentleman's agreement then. Do this one thing for me, and your brother's debt— your debt—will be forgiven."

He stared at the man with suspicion. Huntington was filthy rich, but what one thing could possibly equate to two thousand pounds? It had to be illegal, whatever it was, and Gage might be desperate, but he wasn't a fool.

"Not interested," he said.

Huntington cleared his throat, spreading his pristinely gloved hands wide as he perched on the edge of the desk, the only seating option since the rest of the furniture that once filled Gage's study had been sold.

"Goodness, it's like a mausoleum in here, Vale. Did you sell every piece of furniture you own?"

"I kept the desk as a memento. I'll thank you not to sit on it." Devil take it, Gage wanted to punch Huntington in his supercilious mouth. "If there isn't anything else, I do have a busy afternoon."

"Hear me out, Vale," Huntington cajoled, pushing off the desk. "It's worth it, I promise you."

Obviously, he wasn't going to get rid of the man until he said his piece, so Gage nodded, folding his arms over his chest and sighing. "Go on."

"Do you know the Raine sisters? The Earl of Oberton's daughters."

In Chichester, everyone knew of the Raines. Oberton was a decent man, one of the few good peers, in his estimation, but Gage had had little opportunity of late to cross paths with either the earl or his family. He'd spent the last month working on the deteriorating portions of the estate with toil, elbow grease, and no small amount of patience. He hadn't had the time to be social and, in truth, hadn't wanted to be.

A forgotten memory of two girls skipping in the creek that bordered their neighboring estates filled his head. Both had haloes of pale hair; one was plump and pretty, and the other was thin with sharp, foxlike features. He and Asher had seen them from time to time, but the gap in their ages meant they hadn't been in the same circles.

"No, I wouldn't say I know them," he replied.

Huntington sent him a patronizing nod. "Of course not. Well, I intend to set my cap for Lady Viola, the younger of the two. However, her father has stated that she will not be in London for me to court, unless her older sister goes to town as well."

Gage frowned. "And why is that my concern?"

"I need you to convince the older sister to go to London."

"Convince her how?" he growled.

Huntington spread his palms wide. "Woo her, seduce her, tell her she's pretty. Whatever you do to get women to capitulate. Lie, if you have to."

Gage opened his mouth and closed it. Surely, he could not have heard right—Huntington wanted him to play some kind of Lothario? He squinted at the man, searching his eyes for signs of cloudiness or confusion. "Are you in your cups, Huntington?"

"Stop staring at me as if I'm daft. I'm quite serious," he snapped. "Simply get her to go to London for the season, and I'll erase your debt."

Gage flinched, fist curling at the reminder of his inherited obligation. "I have no plans to go to London."

"Then make some." Huntington stood, adjusting his pristine lace cuffs. "Think of it, Vale. Two thousand pounds gone just like that. All for one little favor."

A favor that would cost him funds he did not have. The season was expensive . Not to mention annoying and exhausting.

"Perhaps you did not hear me, Huntington. I am not fit for town." Gage drew a hand down his worn, stained clothing with a pointed glance. "You are well aware I have no money to pursue anyone, much less a lady of quality. Furthermore, I can barely afford to keep myself in last decade's style, much less this season's fashions. I will not be made a laughingstock to help you get your prick wet."

"Watch your tongue. I intend to marry the girl," Huntington shot back, nostrils flaring in outrage.

"Congratulations."

The man stalked toward him, oozing arrogance as if it was only a matter of time before Gage agreed to his asinine plan. "I'll pay for it all," Huntington declared, his eyes gleaming. "New togs, boots, a carriage, whatever you need. No expense spared."

It sounded much too good to be true, and offers like this usually were. Gage's brows drew together, a thought occurring to him. "Is something amiss with the lass? I've been in Scotland for a decade and a half, if you recall."

"Not exactly, no." Huntington hesitated, lips thinning. "Other than the typical lineage and acceptable upbringing, she might be… a bit unusual in looks. Unremarkable, really. A spinster prone to nattering on about animal welfare and whatnot. She'll be an easy conquest."

Gage blew out a breath. Nothing in Huntington's description sounded alarming, unless unremarkable meant something else entirely. Uniqueness of face did not bother him, nor did a love of animals.

He cleared his throat, bringing himself back to the business at hand. "So, if I have this right, you wish for me to falsely woo a spinster so that you can court her sister, and for this task, you will forgive my brother's entire debt and pay all my expenses for the forthcoming season in London?"

"Expenses within reason ," Huntington amended quickly.

The man was harebrained. But if the offer was real, there was no question, Gage would have to do it. He could not afford to let his pride or morals get in the way of finally being out of the red. Then he could wash his hands of this place, hire Boone to be steward, and go back home.

"How long do you expect this farce to go on?"

"Get her to London and keep her there long enough for me to win the sister, and I will do the rest." Huntington's expression was smug. "As soon as my offer for Lady Viola is accepted by the earl, consider the debt paid in full."

That sounded much too dependent on Huntington for Gage's liking—what if the fop failed in his suit? That wasn't something in Gage's control. He narrowed his eyes. "I will convince her to go to London and keep her occupied for a month, that's the agreement."

"A month?" Huntington spluttered. "I need two, at least."

"Surely you have better faith in your abilities than that?" Gage scoffed, watching the man turn red at the snide insinuation that his skill with women was lacking. "Six weeks. I will require the agreement in writing and access to an account."

Huntington conceded with a gnash of his teeth. "Fine. You shall have both."

Something tugged at Gage's conscience… a warning, perhaps, that this was just another kind of wager in disguise. Another bet . He shrugged it away. This was opportunity, and he would be a fool to walk away. Not when two thousand pounds was at stake.

"Very well, you have yourself a deal."

A satisfied grin crossed Huntington's face as he shook his hand and then walked to the door. He paused. "One more thing, Vale."

Of course there was. "What's that?" he asked, gut clenching uneasily.

"Lady Viola can never know about this."

Gage nodded. "Naturally."

He raked a calloused palm over his face. It mightn't be bare-knuckle boxing, but anticipation coursed through his veins all the same. Poor, on-the-shelf, unremarkable Lady Evangeline Raine wouldn't know what hit her, and maybe, just maybe, she might actually thank him for it.

After all, what highborn female didn't like a bit of attention?