A Scoundrel of Consequence. Helen Dickson

by,’ Grisham went on. ‘I saw Mark in town recently—upholding the family name while you’ve been chasing the Frenchies. I have to say he doesn’t improve with age—still the same old bore he was at Cambridge. With so much starch in his veins, it’s a miracle the man can sit down. It’s difficult to believe he’s your cousin. Is it true that he jumps to the tune of his wife?’

      William smiled mildly, knowing of Grisham’s intense dislike of Mark—in fact, Mark’s austere, intolerant attitude did seem to put most people’s backs up. There were certain things about Mark that irritated even him—and the same could be said of his acerbic wife, Lydia. But being possessed of a fierceness to protect any member of his family, which had sadly dwindled to just Mark and Edward during the past five years, with the demise of both his parents and older brother in a riding accident, William would not therefore, speak against his cousin.

      ‘If he does, then it is entirely their own affair. I couldn’t have left my affairs in better hands, Charles. My cousin is a man of steadfast character and unimpeachable honour, and I would be grateful if you did not cast aspersions.’

      ‘I applaud your loyalty—though in my opinion he doesn’t deserve it. Loyalty is a rare virtue in either sex these days.’

      ‘Besides, Mark is next in line to the title and the estate—unless I marry and produce an heir.’

      ‘And is there a possibility of that on the horizon?’ Charles enquired, his eyes lighting with obvious interest, for with this devilishly handsome lord off the social scene, the likes of himself and his associates would stand in better favour with the ladies.

      William’s eyes suddenly glinted with amusement. ‘Marriage is not high on my list of things to do just now. When I feel inclined to pledge my hand in order to produce an heir,’ he replied with grim humour, ‘I’m sure you will be one of the first to know.’

      ‘I shall be journeying to Hertfordshire tomorrow—I’m to stay with my aunt for a few days. I’ve neglected her disgracefully of late,’ Charles confessed. ‘I’m quite fond of the old dear.’

      ‘And her money,’ William uttered pointedly.

      ‘I admit it does hold some attraction,’ he said without shame. ‘I shall be close to Carlow Park and I’ve arranged to ride over to see Mark—though I intend the visit to be of short duration.’

      ‘Then, feeling as you do, why do you visit him at all?’

      ‘Two rather splendid horses you have in the stables—saw them on the hunting field in January and I was impressed. A chestnut full of quality took my fancy, although the grey was damned fine, too. I heard Mark’s selling them, so I approached him with an interest to buying one. He invited me to Carlow Park to look them over.’

      William’s expression was bland when he turned and fixed him with a quizzical stare. ‘And these are Mark’s horses to sell?’

      ‘Damned if I know—although I don’t suppose they are, seeing as they’re stabled at Carlow Park.’

      ‘Their names?’

      ‘Monarch and Franciscan.’

      William’s expression hardened. On learning of his brother’s death, from Spain he had asked Mark to keep an eye on the estate until his return. He hadn’t given him carte blanche to do as he pleased and he felt a faint stirring of antagonism over Mark’s having usurped his position by selling off his horses—in particular Franciscan, his brother’s horse. Although, on second thought, perhaps it had more to do with Lydia than Mark.

      ‘The horses are not for sale.’

      Not to be outdone, Charles’s eyes narrowed and a calculating gleam shone in their depths as he moved close to William so that what he was about to say would not be overheard. ‘A wager I will make, William.’

      Apart from one sleek dark brow cocked in question, William’s features remained impassive. ‘A wager? I wonder what you’re intending to propose, Charles. I’m listening.’

      ‘A wager that you fail to seduce the delectable Miss Greenwood before the Season ends in June.’

      ‘And why should I want to seduce her?’

      Charles shrugged. ‘To prove that you can—that you haven’t lost your touch.’

      The challenge was thrown lightly and William teetered on the brink of accepting when caution reared its head. Seducing virgins wasn’t his forte—never had been—but the lovely Miss Cassandra Greenwood had captured his attention and the challenge was intriguing. He was a man who must conquer, must win, whatever the odds stacked against him. Whenever he set his mind on having something, he was not easily dissuaded.

      ‘And if I don’t?’

      ‘Then one or the other of those splendid beasts in your stable will be mine.’

      ‘And what’s in it for me—besides the delectable Miss Greenwood, of course?’

      ‘A thousand guineas if you succeed.’

      William rose to the challenge with a confident smile. ‘That’s unfortunate for you. If there’s one thing I dislike, it’s seeing my opponent lose.’

      ‘So do I. Think on it, William. To seduce a woman famous for her strict morals—a virgin, I have no doubt, and as yet untouched by world’s cynicism—a lovely rose, just waiting to be plucked. What could be more prestigious?’

      ‘What more, indeed?’

      ‘A wager it is then. No need to put it in writing. A gentleman’s agreement will do.’

      When a well-satisfied Sir Charles Grisham had moved on, William watched Miss Greenwood move about the room with renewed interest. So, she was untouchable. Suddenly she had become an exciting enigma, a mystery, which had multiplied tenfold. Gentlemen of the haut ton hesitated to go near her, to take liberties with her. Suddenly she had become a challenge he could not resist.

      William watched her pause to speak to this person and that, careful to be as charming and polite as her nature allowed, for it did not do to antagonise. She was well versed in taking hold of a situation and bringing it round to her advantage, since the future of the institute might depend on people such as these. Sharp and witty, she sparkled, encompassing them all with her brilliant smiles and laughter—a light and joyous sound that caressed him, enticed him—and animated chatter, all serving to project the persona of a confident and capable young woman. These people were like children, thrilled and flattered to the core to be noticed by this gorgeous woman. It didn’t matter if she schemed to capture their attention. She had it.

      Miss Greenwood was quite exquisite, William decided, with an air of fragility about her, but she reminded him of a rapier blade, a sliver of silver made of steel. He wanted to laugh out loud. So this was how she extracted donations for her precious institute.

      Moving out of the shadows, completely impervious to the stir he was creating, since it was the first society event he’d attended since returning to London, William advanced towards her, the crowd parting as if he had ordered it.

      Cassandra was in the process of deciding who to approach next when she saw him moving in her direction. He was tall, with an authoritative air of breeding and command and an unconscious swagger of arrogance, which spoke of generations of influence and superiority and advantage. With wide shoulders and a hard, stern face and iron jaw, his bright blue eyes beneath fine dark brows were disconcertingly amused as they gazed into hers. When he was close a strange, unfathomable smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he slowly inclined his head towards her.

      ‘Hello, Miss Greenwood,’ he said, in a deep, resonant and incredibly seductive voice.

      His very nearness had her stiffening. The sensation unnerved her. His towering figure left her no avenue of escape. She wished she were nearly a foot taller so she could meet him eye to eye. He was too attractive and had too much charm for his own good. Some people were born like that. It was as if they had a magnet inside them.

      ‘Why,