If He's Sinful. Hannah Howell

A few cutting remarks as I give Clarissa a ring. Mayhap I will purchase one, letting the fact that I did not adorn her delicate white hand with the famed Radmoor emerald speak for itself. I believe I am angry enough to deliver that insult. Although it is little more than a tightly trapped man’s last howl of defiance.”

      “An excellent idea, however. It will be interesting to see how she explains that to all who will rush to gawk at her ring. Myself, I would no longer trust her any further than I could spit.”

      “Oh, I am not sure I trusted her that much even before this trickery. I trust her brother even less. I cannot really say why, just instinct.”

      “God’s tears, Ashton, if that is so, why are you going to marry the chit?”

      “Because she was the only one with a hefty dowry who would look with any favor upon a nearly penniless viscount who has too many people living off his meager and rapidly diminishing funds. And one who carries the taint of a licentious father to whom ‘scandal’ was just another word.”

      “Ah, there is that. What about the fair Penelope?”

      Ashton slumped in his seat. “I wish I could say I will just forget about her. I remind myself that I am a man of reason. Reason tells me to get my wandering mind back on the path I need to take, the one that will keep my family out of debtor’s prison. Reason reminds me, continuously, that I need money, that my estates need money, and that my family needs money. Reason tells me that I need to repair the Radmoor reputation, repair all the damage my father did as he drank, gambled, and rutted his way to an early death. Reason tells me that I will gain none of that if I chase after a girl named Penelope who lives in a house in a just barely genteel part of the city with what appears to be a vast horde of younger brothers and cousins, somehow ends up in a brothel, and thinks she can see spirits and the like.”

      “Really? Spirits?” Brant grinned. “Fascinating. Do you know what I think?”

      “I am afraid to ask.” He was relieved, however, that Brant did not pursue the subject of ghosts.

      “I will tell you despite that scorn I hear in your voice. I say, bugger reason, bugger Clarissa and her brother, and go see the little Penelope. Either get her out of your head or groin or wherever she has settled or hold on tight, but you do not have much time to do that before you are married.”

      Ashton frowned. “Weddings take months to prepare.”

      “And betrothals are usually proceeded by a proposal and a ring. I would never allow myself to be caught alone with the fair Clarissa if you intend to dawdle the usual amount of time before actually standing before the vicar.”

      “Damn. Never considered that. If the Hutton-Moores feared I would not even propose, they could be very concerned about whether or not I will balk on the way to the altar. The question is—why? With her beauty and her dowry, Clarissa could easily find another husband. They do not need me. I need them or, rather, that dowry.”

      “A very good question. One that definitely needs an answer. Are you very certain Clarissa actually possesses that dowry?”

      “I had my man of business check the Hutton-Moores out thoroughly.”

      “And there is no chance he was lied to or fooled?”

      Ashton opened his mouth to say such a thing was impossible, but the words would not come out. Could Hudson have been gulled? And if he had been, how did one find out the truth? Society saw nothing wrong with the Hutton-Moores except for the few who disdained their title. There were no rumors slipping through the various balls and routs that would cause one to question what they claimed about their finances, and they did not live like a family teetering on the edge of ruin. Such a family would not work so hard, so deviously, to marry a lady of their house to a penniless viscount. A search would be on for a man with a full purse, and he said as much to Brant.

      Brant nodded. “That would be logical. Yet why this? Why shove you toward the altar? Do you think Clarissa might truly care for you?”

      “No,” Ashton replied, completely confident in his judgment. “She appreciates a viscount, the title, the family history, and all of that. All the things her family has not acquired yet. In a way, I am being bought. I believe she also has a covetous eye set on those even more impressive titles I am in line for.”

      “Ah, yes.” Brant helped himself to an apple. “Clarissa hopes to become a duchess. Well, do as you will, but I believe I will begin to take a much closer look at the Hutton-Moores. This trickery disturbs me, especially when there appears to be no reason for it.”

      “It begins to disturb me more and more as I think on it.” Ashton stood up, took the paper to the fireplace, and tossed it in. He did not get the sense of satisfaction he had thought he would as he watched it burn. “Yet I cannot break the betrothal without good reason. If nothing else, I will not subject my family to the scandal that would result from it. They have suffered far too many years of scandal already.” Once the paper was ash, Ashton returned to his seat.

      “If they have lied, promising you what does not exist, you could easily break the betrothal. Whatever scandal results from it will mark the Hutton-Moores, not you.”

      “And then I would have to start all over again. That is not something I look forward to.”

      “Better that than to find out that you have been taken for a fool on the day after the marriage is consummated.”

      Thus ending up with absolutely nothing, Ashton thought. No money to help his family and a wife he did not care for, trust, or desire. He had soothed his pangs of guilt over wooing a woman for her dowry by promising himself he would be a good husband to her. Yet thinking of marriage to Clarissa sans her promised dowry was chilling. This trickery had been enough to kill what little liking he had for her. He tried telling himself that it could have been her brother who pulled this trick, that she had had no idea of what he was planning, but he could not believe it. Clarissa would have to have been aware of it all if only so she could act accordingly when society came calling to congratulate her as they soon would.

      “I had best send a letter to my family to tell them what has happened,” Ashton said and then winced. “I shall have to be at least somewhat truthful or they will be hurt, thinking that I did not care to include them in such a momentous decision. They knew I was courting Clarissa, but they would expect me to have at least warned them that I was about to propose and that I was betrothed before the announcement appeared in the paper. They live close enough to the city that they will hear the news soon.”

      “And you must find a ring. I may be able to help you there.”

      “You carry betrothal rings around with you?” Ashton teased.

      Brant ignored that remark. “A small token I intended to give my last mistress before I caught her abed with her butler.” He smiled faintly when Ashton laughed. “I felt I was gracious by allowing her to remain in the house at my expense for two more months. ‘Twas gift enough. It is a pretty little diamond and sapphire ring.”

      “That is very kind of you, but—”

      “Ashton, do not waste what little blunt you have on this sly chit. Swallow your damn pride. I have a ring. Take it. Give it back to me later.”

      “You do not think I will marry her.”

      “I do not want you to, especially after this trickery. But if you do, I know you will eventually give her the Radmoor emerald. If you do not, you will get this back from her. If neither occurs, it is still nothing to worry about. Consider it a gift since the last one I tried to give you did not work out and I got my money back.”

      That surprised Ashton. “All of it?” Mrs. Cratchitt did not seem the type of woman to bow to that demand.

      “Down to the last hapenny. You were too angry, perhaps, to ask about all I had been doing while you took the lady home.”

      “I still think Mrs. Cratchitt ought to be put out of business.”

      “She will be. For little Penelope’s