Page 11 of This Earl of Mine

And so Benedict had put his money in with Alex and Seb, and they’d opened the Tricorn Club, named after the three-cornered hat favored by rogues and highwaymen. They’d deemed the name both appropriate—since there were three of them in the joint enterprise—and suitably disreputable. The club, after all, would be open not just to an elite few, like White’s or Brooks’, but to any who could pay the subscription fee, honor their gambling debts, and abide by the house rules. The Tricorn was the most progressive of clubs: It welcomed lords and ladies, actresses and tradesmen, bankers and lawyers.

Conant had been correct in his initial assessment; the Tricorn was a bridge between all levels of society, the perfect place for ferreting out secrets and overhearing gossip. Drink, pretty women, and an intimate atmosphere, all encouraged men to talk. Fortunes changed hands at the turn of a card, the roll of dice, and those who owed money could often be induced to divulge valuable snippets of information in exchange for forgiveness of their debts to the house. The owners of the Tricorn held a great deal of power. The power to tear up incriminating IOUs, or, conversely, the power to call in the debts and ruin a man completely.

Ben, Alex, and Seb had slipped back into their previous roles, appearing to the world as reckless, aimless pleasure-seekers, but this time they had a purpose. Asex-soldiers, they didn’t flinch at encountering the darker elements of society, but they were also on friendly terms with all but the highest sticklers in theton.

Benedict gave a wry smile as he glanced around the room. The disapproving matrons kept inviting him to their soirées, clutching their pearls in scandalized dismay. Most of them secretly hoped he’d show an honorable interest in their daughters. Or a dishonorable interest inthem. He’d lost count of the number of married women who’d offered themselves to him over the years.

He ran his hand over his freshly shaven jaw, relishing the smoothness. His handsome face and family name had always allowed him access to the highest society. Scandalous and debt-ridden he might be, but he was still a member of one of the oldest aristocratic families in England. Still a catch.

At least, he would be, if he weren’t already married.

Benedict’s heart gave an impatient lurch.Shewas the real reason he’d braved Lady Langton’s ballroom. His wife. Georgiana Caversteed. Or rather, Georgiana Wylde.

He’d relived the brief moments they’d spent together in the flickering torchlight over and over, trying to make sense of it. She must have been in considerable trouble to have resorted to such a plan, but that was no excuse. He didn’t have time to become embroiled in some spoiled princess’s machinations.

He’d been deliberately crass in Newgate to test her reaction. Everything about her—from her soft skin to her crisp voice—had proclaimed her a lady of quality. He’d wanted to shock her into reconsidering her plans. And yet she’d countered his raw cheekiness with a cool confidence he’d found amazingly attractive. Georgiana Caversteed was an extraordinary woman, no doubt about it.Her stubborn intelligence intrigued him almost as much as the taste of her had aroused him. But that still didn’t mean he wanted to bemarriedto her.

The only consolation was the fact that she’d be as keen to dissolve their union as he was, once she discovered his true identity. He couldn’t wait to watch those generous lips part in shock.

“What are you smiling about?” Alex shot him a sidelong glance.

Benedict shrugged. “Women. Or rather, one woman in particular.”

Alex’s brows lifted. “I thought we were here to pick up rumors, not find you a new mistress.”

Benedict sent him an enigmatic smile.

“She’s not married, is she?” Alex asked warily. “Married mistresses are more trouble than they’re worth, believe me. Widows are infinitely more amenable. No irate husbands to deal with, for a start.” He eyed Benedict’s evening attire with a severe eye. “You should have come in uniform. No woman can resist the allure of a military man. It’s a basic law of physics. The amount of scarlet, gilt braiding, and medals on your chest is directly proportional to how attractive a girl finds you.”

Benedict shook his head in mock disapproval. “So cynical.”

His companion shrugged. “We escaped relatively unscathed from Boney, when you consider it. Not a missing limb between us. No dashing facial scars.” He nodded across the room at a seasoned old soldier surrounded by a gaggle of admiring ladies. “Look at Uxbridge over there. Lost half his leg at Waterloo, and he’s a bloody hero.”

“I got a ball in the shoulder at Salamanca,” Benedict reminded him mildly.

“And I have a sabre cut on my thigh and a blind spotin my left eye,” Alex finished. “My point is, you can’t play the ‘gallant wounded hero’ sympathy card with injuries like ours. No one knows about my loss of vision unless I tell them about it. And by the time a lady sees my scar, we’re already a long way past the sympathy stage.” He grinned wickedly and tilted his head. “I wonder if I should contrive a limp?”

Benedict snorted. “As if you need any help getting women.” Alex took after his mother, who had been a famous beauty, and his sulky good looks had females sighing and salivating over him wherever he went. “If you must know, I’m looking for one of the Caversteed girls.” He enjoyed the look of surprise that passed over his friend’s face; he should have waited until Alex had a mouthful of champagne.

Alex turned to the dance floor and unerringly picked out a girl who was dancing with the Duke of Upton. “What, the fair Juliet? She’s a beauty, I’ll give you that, but you don’t stand a chance. She’s turned down a whole raft of suitors. You’re overestimating your charms if you think she’ll have a fling with a scapegrace second son who’s part owner of a gaming hell. The mother’s after a title. A marquis, at least.”

Benedict eyed his wife’s younger sister as she swirled about the floor. The girl was undeniably beautiful, but her features seemed watered-down versions of the ones he’d found so arresting in her sibling. Her nose was too small, her eyes too doll-like, her rosebud mouth lacking the sensual generosity of Georgiana’s.

Not that he’d been thinking about the damned woman’s mouth.

Not more than once or twice a day, at any rate.

He wanted to divorce her, not sleep with her.

Actually, that wasn’t true. He wanted to do both of those things. Divorce her.Andsleep with her. But onlyone of them was going to happen. Bedding the prickly Miss Caversteed was not in the cards, even if she was, technically, at this very moment, his wife. That way, as Shakespeare so rightly put it, lay madness.

He was going to sort out this mess, then find someone far less complicated with whom to sate his seething lust, because every one of his finely honed battle instincts told him that tangling with Georgiana Caversteed would only lead to trouble.

He scanned the edges of the room impatiently. “Not her. I was looking for the other one.”

Alex’s dark brows rose in question.

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

---