Page 9 of Almost A Scoundrel
Deerhurst wanted to punch Saville in the face.
Warrick pulled his brows together. “I heard it above the orchestra once. Ear-splitting, I’ll give you that.”
Deerhurst glared inwardly at Warrick. Lady Phaedra’s laugh was merriment itself. She laughed from a place they could only hope to ever discover—her heart. It was a piece of magic.
“What about her greatest attribute?” Avondale asked.
“Wealth,” both Saville and Warrick answered.
“Other than that,” Avondale interjected.
Both men shrugged.
Deerhurst could have throttled his friends. However, selfish as he may be, their comments served his purpose, so he held his mouth.
Avondale took a deep breath. “While it’s good to know you’re taking my mother’s search for a wife seriously, it doesn’t matter anyway,” Avondale said. “I plan to restore my wealth another way.”
“Are you going to pillage England’s villages?” Warrick asked.
“Don’t be absurd,” Avondale muttered. “Nothing as extreme as that.”
“You have a plan, then?” Saville asked with interest.
“Not yet, but marrying for wealth is akin to admitting defeat. I’m not ready to admit surrender yet.”
“Noble,” Deerhurst murmured. “But building wealth takes years—centuries, even.”
“Legally, yes,” Saville said and chuckled when all of them raised their brows. “I would never suggest Avondale do anything underhanded.”
“Wouldyoumarry one of the women on the list?” Avondale challenged Saville.
“Christ, no. I’ll fulfill my duties in my fiftiesafterI have tasted all the pleasures of life.
Deerhurst couldn’t argue with Saville’s logic.
It was a truth that few men would admit: no man wanted to marry for duty. It went against their very nature. Men were born to conquer. Which was why Deerhurst envied the simple man. Of course, men in the upper crust of society were told they could still conquer anything they wished. As long as it fit within the bounds of accepted society and they did not lose sight of their responsibilities. Simply put, they had a leash around their necks, and it wasn’t very long.
But it was a fair deal longer than a woman’s.
Deerhurst did not blame Avondale or Saville for their aversion. He, too, had held the same view before Abigail had entered his life. That day had changed everything for him. He loved his daughter more than he cared for duty.
Of course, the weight of that duty had never lifted. In fact, it became even weightier, because with Abigail came another secret. A secret not even his friends knew. A secret that could cost them both everything.
The only people who even knew about his daughter were his servants—all carefully selected and loyal to a fault—and the men that sat around this very table.
And her.
Cassandra Heath, the Duchess of Linley.
Abigail’s mother.
A she-devil in disguise, but one that wouldn’t dare breathe a word about her daughter for fear of what the duke would do if he ever learned the truth.
Yes, he had made many mistakes in his life. He couldn’t afford to make more.
Deerhurst directed his focus back to his friends and noted the list was now filled up with Warrick’s scribbles. What had begun as a bit of fun suddenly felt unfair and unprincipled, and Deerhurst could not help wondering how many of these women’s leashes would tighten if word of this list ever got out.
It was going to be a long night.
