Page 18 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Chapter Five

What the hell had he been thinking? That she’d needed a kiss to shock her out of whatever game she thought to play with him? But as it turned out, everything had shifted onto him. Damnation if he didn’t want the chit.

He made his way to Benedict’s, the gaming hell his closest friend owned. Much of the success of Benedict’s was due to Oliver, but that was the way it should be. His father had nearly destroyed Benedict’s family. He’d certainly nearly bankrupted them as he’d done his own.

Much of Oliver’s fortune had gone into creating Benedict’s. He was a silent partner. And though his friend would not accept any additional funding, once the gaming establishment had opened, Oliver had done his best to patronize the place, infusing it with his funds. He was a decent card player, but damned if anyone in this town legitimately believed that for as many times as he lost.

At the moment, he waited in Benedict’s office, a spacious room set behind a wall of paneling and mirrors that framed the gaming room. He’d already helped himself to his friend’s brandy and sipped thoughtfully. Why had he agreed to his mother’s proposition? Because the poor woman had already wasted too much of her life on worthless Lords Davenport. Though he’d done his damnedest to not become his father, his accident had prevented his mother from moving on in order to stay at his side and assist him.

“Help yourself,” Benedict drawled as he entered the office.

“You know I always do.”

“You bought most of it, might as well enjoy it.” Benedict lowered himself into a chair adjacent to where Oliver sat, propping up his injured leg on the settee. He absently rubbed at the knee, crediting the achiness to the unusual chill in the air.

“I told my mother I would find a wife.”

Benedict paused mid-sip and grinned. “She was undoubtedly pleased.”

“She was.”

“It is about time. Have any prospects?” Benedict asked.

“No, but I have secured a matchmaker for myself.”

“That should be interesting.”

“Well, I’ve been out of society long enough, I don’t know any of the marriageable women. Nor do I truly want to, but there is only so much pestering a man can endure.” He took a swallow of the amber liquid. “Were she not so inclined to have grandchildren, I’d let the bloody title die with me.”

“No you wouldn’t,” Benedict said.

His friend was right, damn him. Still, Oliver liked to pretend that he didn’t care. But much of the last several years had been driven by his desire to right his father’s wrongs. Would he have bothered if he didn’t care about the Davenport name? Likely not. He could have simply made a fortune and paid off the debts and left it at that. But, instead, he’d repurchased all the Davenport properties that his father had lost in wagers and games of chance and repaid all of his debts and then some.

“So how did you find this matchmaker?”

“She’s not officially a matchmaker, we merely have a deal. She needed something from me and agreed to help me with this in exchange. She knows everyone. Talks to bloody everyone. Talks all the damned time, actually.”

Benedict chuckled.

“What?” Oliver asked.

“There’s a problem with her. I can tell. I know you, Oliver.”

It was irritating that Benedict could read him so well. He would make a phenomenal card player if he ever chose to gamble himself, because he would be able to identify every player’s stance. Benedict owned the gaming hell, but he never gambled. Oliver shrugged. “I want her.”

Benedict leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “The matchmaker?”

“Yes.”

“But she is married?”

“No.”

“Too old?”

“No. She is a virgin. I don’t seduce virgins.” He drained his glass and set it down on the table to his right.

“So marry her.”

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