Page 41 of The Scoundrel and the Lady

In love with Iris? That was preposterous. He desired Iris; he recognized that. It was hard to ignore.

Merritt did not believe in love, aside from the familial type. He’d thought he’d fallen in love once, but he’d been a fool. The woman, the daughter of a viscount, had been everything he’d sought in a potential mate: smart, funny, beautiful. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been good enough for her. She had never seen past his lack of title, despite his fortune. Though she claimed to care about him, she “simply couldn’t marry without a title.”

That had been the moment he’d realized the truth about the gentry. They cared for nothing but bloodlines. All of the things he valued most—hard work, ambition, integrity—mattered naught to them.

Chapter Nine

Iris stepped into the offices of her family’s solicitor, Mr. Fernish. He’d sent her a note earlier that morning requesting a private meeting with her, and she’d come straight away.

“Lady Iris, thank you for coming on such short notice,” Mr. Fernish said.

She shook the man’s hand and sat across the desk from him. “Of course. Is there a problem with our accounts?”

He frowned. “No, nothing such as that. I thought it time, though, that we discuss the inevitable.”

“Jasper,” she said. She released a heavy breath.

“Precisely. Eventually he is going to come to me and demand to be the one in charge of your coffers,” Mr. Fernish said.

“Yes, I know. And you will have to give him that control, even though he will likely lose it all at the card tables.” So far, her plan to have Merritt teach her to be a gentleman so that he could see how ridiculous his advice was had failed spectacularly. Instead, it had given her the opportunity and, frankly, the desire to behave badly herself. Perhaps that meant that Merritt had been right all along, that all men acted this way. It was just that some were better at hiding it than others.

“Yes, I have seen your requests for payments to be sent to a variety of clubs around town.” Mr. Fernish smiled warmly at her. “Lady Iris, I have known you since you were but a girl, and you have done a remarkable job with your family’s finances. You’ve made smart investments, and they have built upon your father’s previous wealth, leaving you quite flush, as they say. Though I could likely lose my certificate for doing so, I have placed a part of that fortune in an account for you. One that Lord Nickerson is not able to touch.” He tilted his head. “Though, if you marry, then the funds would be controlled by your husband.”

“I have no desire to marry, Mr. Fernish. And thank you.” Having that security meant that someday she’d be able to travel and research her book, teach women in other parts of the country and continent how to defend themselves, take care of themselves. But none of that could happen until she was certain that Jasper wouldn’t destroy himself in the midst of his wild living.

“I wanted to let you know this in person, rather than in a letter, in case your brother reads your post,” Mr. Fernish said.

She nodded. “And I know that someday he’ll figure out that I don’t have the authority to control the purse strings, but until he discovers that, I suppose I’ll keep approving his debt payments.”

She left the office feeling bested. Arriving home didn’t offer any consolation.

Upon entering her bedchamber, she found Jasper digging through her belongings.

“Jasper, what are you doing?”

He started at the sound of her voice and spun to face her.

“I asked you a question.”

“I need some funds,” he said.

Her heart wilted. “And you thought to simply take them from me?”

“You weren’t home for me to ask.”

But something told her even if she had been, he would have found a way to skirt her and scrounge for the monies himself.

“I do not keep any funds in here. What do you need them for?” She held up a hand. “And before you think to lie to me, know that I am fully aware of your gaming efforts.”

“Very well. I need them to pay a debt.”

She searched his face looking for regret or remorse, but found only terse irritation. “How much do you require this time?”

“Fifteen pounds.”

“Jasper,” she whispered. Where had she gone so wrong with him? Had she loved him too much, coddled him? Or was this simply what happened when boys went off to school? “Follow me.” She led him down to her parlor and withdrew a handful of bank notes from her writing desk. “This is the last time.”

“What?”

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