Page 22 of Betting on a Baron
“Since everyone knows I’m the furthest thing from a fool, let’s drop the pleasantries and get to the root of the matter. Do you or do you not love Lady Daphne?”
Ambrose recalled the rumors of Archbroke’s ability to whittle down a man until he confessed every sin. He didn’t have hours to waste in Archbroke’s company when he should be wooing.
He let out a sigh and took two steps to the side to lean his shoulder against the wall. “I do.”
“Then explain why you have not made her your wife.”
“I can’t.”
“What is it you fear?”
Never before had he been pressed for answers in such a manner. Archbroke’s pointed questions made him question what truly caused him to freeze when it came to pursuing physical passion. “It’s not so much as I fear the marriage bed as that I feel unprepared.”
“That is understandable.”
“Really?” Ambrose straightened and searched Lord Archbroke’s features. There was no trace of mocking or ridicule.
Lord Archbroke stood, placed his hands on his hips, and shrugged. “Of course. Everyone treads with trepidation when attempting anything for the first time.”
Ambrose thought he’d die of mortification discussing the matter with another gentleman, but Lord Archbroke’s clever phrasing and matter-of-fact approach set him at ease.
“I personally find if I educate myself upon a matter that I find myself anxious about, it greatly decreases my chances of failure.”
“I’m not sure how I’d go about ‘educating’ myself without…well…” He wasn’t as clever as his companion and Ambrose stumbled upon getting to the point. Lord Archbroke raised a hand, preventing him from continuing to make a hash of things.
Lord Archbroke said, “I have a good friend, Madame Sinclair. She assisted me many moons ago, and I’m certain she can assist you without compromising your stance. I can arrange for a meeting if you wish.”
Unable to speak, Ambrose nodded.
“Very well, I’ll make the necessary arrangements and send you word this evening.” With a nod, Lord Archbroke left the small room without a backward glance. Ambrose crumpled. Hands on his knees, he took deep breaths in and out. He was to meet with the renowned Madame Sinclair—the queen of the boudoir.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
One month’s worth of pin money had gained Daphne the cooperation of Paddy, one of the Sumnerson footmen. Paddy agreed to accompany her as she traipsed through the streets of Mayfair in the middle of the night in an attempt to find out why Ambrose had not returned after his meeting with Lord Archbroke.
Daphne wrapped her coat tighter about her shoulders. Plagued with concern for Ambrose’s welfare, she continued down the path that appeared familiar. She stopped at the corner and looked about. Blast. They’d stopped at the very same corner not but a half hour ago. Good gracious, she’d traversed these same streets during broad daylight to visit Alice many a time with her maid over the years, why could she not find her way now?
Daphne looked up at the footman who was standing to her right. “Paddy, won’t you help me?”
The footman who was five years her junior replied, “I’ll happily escort you back home if that is where you wish to go, but I’ll not be responsible should you find your way to Lord Harlowe’s residence.”
The quarter moon was overhead and time was running out. If she focused on her task instead of ruminating about Ambrose, she might succeed in finding her intended destination. She closed her eyes and pictured her route. “We shall continue on, for I shall not return home until I’ve completed my mission.”
Paddy groaned. “Very well, my lady.”
Her eyes popped open and noted Paddy was already a few feet in front of her to her left, the opposite direction she had intended to set off in. Reinvigorated by Paddy’s begrudging help, Daphne ran to catch up to the footman.
Paddy said over his shoulder, “His Lordship had better come up to snuff after this.”
“Beg pardon?” Daphne nearly ran into Paddy as he suddenly stopped and turned to face her.
The footman reached out and steadied Daphne before quickly releasing her. “Lord Harlowe had best declare his intentions to meet ye at the altar.”
“But he already has.”
“Is that so? Then why has he not met with Viscount Sumnerson?”
Paddy’s question caught her off guard. Here she had spent the day worrying and not once had it occurred to her that Ambrose had failed to seek out an audience with her papa. She met Paddy’s direct gaze and replied, “That’s an excellent question, one I intend to ask once we reach Lord Harlowe’s home.”
