Page 19 of To Catch a Viscount

Andrew joined in, appreciating that brief spot of amusement. He wasn’t above an emotionless entanglement if it meant a big purse and some woman who was content with a title and no fancy illusion of love and romance. No respectable lady, however, with the dowry the size of which he needed would waste her name and future on him. Not that he could or would ever blame her.

“Yes, well, there is always that option,” he said. Shaking his head, he followed his pronouncement with a mouthed, “No, there’s not.”

The hulking pair erupted with amusement once more.

But then the pair stopped, and gone was all hint of affability. In its place were the menacing threats they really were.

Creed set his glass down hard on the edge of Andrew’s desk and then dropped his palms on either side of the tumbler and leaned forward. “DuMond’s been patient, and he’s not going to be any longer. He wants you to know that.”

Yes, DuMond had been. But the owner of a gaming hell was only patient when funds were occasionally coming in, not when they werenevercoming in.

And there could be no doubting that Andrew had been on a long run of losing.

“Are we clear?” Tavish growled.

He inclined his head. “Abundantly so.”

Andrew was going to have to come up with some serious coin—and fast.

Or his life was likely forfeit.

Chapter 5

Over the years, Andrew had found himself facing any number of disapproving individuals.

He’d enraged any number of lovers when he’d broken off their relationships.

And, of course, he’d made cuckolds of even more neglectful husbands.

So being the recipient of all manner of annoyances and anger was not an unfamiliar way to find himself, even where his family was concerned.

Seeing them lined up alongside their respective spouses in a row, all frowning with disapproval, however, was.

As he descended the steps of Lord and Lady Wessex’s crowded ballroom, he briefly considered the exit behind him and then the group gathered below.

His elder sister, Phoebe, the Marchioness of Rutland, glared at him. “Do not even think of it,” she mouthed so perfectly that no audible sounds were necessary for him to understand her.

Throughout his life, Andrew had been threatened with duels and employed his skills from Gentleman Jackson to defend himself from sometimes bigger and stronger men.

None of that was anything when compared to the furious party waiting for him.

Forcing a grin, he tossed his arms wide as he approached that same lot who’d ordered him to stand in support of Marcia at these dull affairs. “Hello to my dear fam—”

“You are late.” His brother-in-law Rutland’s growl cut through the din of the ballroom as Andrew at last reached them.

“Ah, yes, but crush that it is, I daresay my appearance—”

“Or lack thereof,” his sister Justina put in with an annoyed mutter.

“Or lack thereof”—Andrew pointed a finger her way in agreement—“was noted.”

Justina rolled her eyes.

“Ahem.” He looked to his mother, who had her arms folded, and managed a sheepish grin.

“Mother!” Andrew dropped a kiss upon her cheek. “How very good it always is to see you, and it’s unexpected, as I thought you were set to leave.” With that, he swept her up and whirled her about, earning a small laugh. His mother often traveled to the Cook Islands, as his sister Phoebe did with Rutland, so it oft seemed Andrew was the lone member of the Barretts who never went anywhere.

“We were set to go,” his mother said when he’d set her on her feet. “We still are. Nathaniel and I, however, decided it would be best to remain behind awhile…”

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