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notorious female. I am trying to help my family in the only way I know how. I am not trying to make a spectacle of myself.”
The viscount stroked his chin. “I rather had in mind one of those cute, curly little creatures who gambol into quicksand.”
Sydney fingered her uneven curls. “I did it myself.”
“I never would have guessed. But I cannot keep calling you Miss Ah if we are going to be partners.”
“Partners? We are?” Sydney didn’t care if he called her Misbegotten, if he would lend her the money! “Oh, thank you!”
Lend it he would, and most likely was always going to. The viscount was acting against all of his better judgment ... and bowing to the inevitable. Giving her the blunt was the only way to keep the minx out of—”Yes, Mischief, I am going to give you the money, but with conditions.”
Sydney eagerly drew a pencil and a scrap of paper out of her reticule. “Yes, sir, what is the rate? Shall you want payment in installments or one lump sum? I can figure out a schedule, or reinvest from the dress allowance or—”
“Hold, Mischief. I said give. Consider it a parting gift from 0. Randall and Associates.” He ignored the louder thumps from the other room and pushed the leather purse with the thousand pounds over to her. “That way neither of us is ensnared. You know, ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be.’ “
She shook her head, sending curls every which way. The devil was quoting Scripture again. “And you say women have no head for business. You cannot just give away a sack of gold to a stranger.”
“Why not? It’s mine. My brother had some gaming debts.”
“And you collected from your own brother?”
The viscount didn’t bother refuting fustian. He pushed the purse a little closer.
Sydney could almost feel the weight of the coins, but she could not reach out those few inches for the sack. “I do not mean any offense, Mr. Mayne, but a lady cannot accept such a gift. There are certain standards of which you may not be aware, but it would be highly improper. Flowers, perhaps, but a thousand pounds?”
The viscount laughed out loud, even though it hurt his sore jaw and disturbed his ribs. “Doing it too brown, my girl. If you can dress up in your mother’s clothes and go to the Greeks, talking about boxing matches like they were afternoon teas, then you can take the money. It’s too late to stand on your uppers, Mischief.” He got up and put the sack in her lap. “Besides, I have a secret to tell you. I am not really a moneylender.”
Sydney looked at the bag of money in her lap, the rumpled man with the lopsided grin, the shambles of an office with the sign on the door. She nodded. She had the money; she could humor the Bedlamite.
“I am a viscount.”
“And I am the queen of Persia. Therefore I shall have no problem repaying you by the end of the Season.” She stood to leave.
“But you haven’t heard my conditions yet.”
He was standing quite close to her, still wearing that devilish smile. Sydney sat down. “Of course, the rates.”
He waved that aside. “I said you needn’t repay the deuced loan; I certainly would not make profit on it. Even we viscounts have some standards. But here are my terms: the first is that you never, ever try to contact another loan shark. You contact me and only me if you find yourself in difficulty again.” He scrawled his Grosvenor Square address on her piece of paper. “Next, you never return here, no matter how many musclebound footmen you have. Promise me on your honor, Mischief, and your family name that you prize so highly.”
He was no longer grinning. Sydney solemnly swore and he smiled like the sun coming out again. “Good. And finally, I get to keep the hair.”
“As collateral? But it’s not worth nearly enough.”
It was to him.
* * * *
Sydney stood by the door, cradling a sack of currency instead of a basket of hair, and vowing again to repay the reckoning. Up close, Forrest got a hint of lavender
The viscount stroked his chin. “I rather had in mind one of those cute, curly little creatures who gambol into quicksand.”
Sydney fingered her uneven curls. “I did it myself.”
“I never would have guessed. But I cannot keep calling you Miss Ah if we are going to be partners.”
“Partners? We are?” Sydney didn’t care if he called her Misbegotten, if he would lend her the money! “Oh, thank you!”
Lend it he would, and most likely was always going to. The viscount was acting against all of his better judgment ... and bowing to the inevitable. Giving her the blunt was the only way to keep the minx out of—”Yes, Mischief, I am going to give you the money, but with conditions.”
Sydney eagerly drew a pencil and a scrap of paper out of her reticule. “Yes, sir, what is the rate? Shall you want payment in installments or one lump sum? I can figure out a schedule, or reinvest from the dress allowance or—”
“Hold, Mischief. I said give. Consider it a parting gift from 0. Randall and Associates.” He ignored the louder thumps from the other room and pushed the leather purse with the thousand pounds over to her. “That way neither of us is ensnared. You know, ‘neither a borrower nor a lender be.’ “
She shook her head, sending curls every which way. The devil was quoting Scripture again. “And you say women have no head for business. You cannot just give away a sack of gold to a stranger.”
“Why not? It’s mine. My brother had some gaming debts.”
“And you collected from your own brother?”
The viscount didn’t bother refuting fustian. He pushed the purse a little closer.
Sydney could almost feel the weight of the coins, but she could not reach out those few inches for the sack. “I do not mean any offense, Mr. Mayne, but a lady cannot accept such a gift. There are certain standards of which you may not be aware, but it would be highly improper. Flowers, perhaps, but a thousand pounds?”
The viscount laughed out loud, even though it hurt his sore jaw and disturbed his ribs. “Doing it too brown, my girl. If you can dress up in your mother’s clothes and go to the Greeks, talking about boxing matches like they were afternoon teas, then you can take the money. It’s too late to stand on your uppers, Mischief.” He got up and put the sack in her lap. “Besides, I have a secret to tell you. I am not really a moneylender.”
Sydney looked at the bag of money in her lap, the rumpled man with the lopsided grin, the shambles of an office with the sign on the door. She nodded. She had the money; she could humor the Bedlamite.
“I am a viscount.”
“And I am the queen of Persia. Therefore I shall have no problem repaying you by the end of the Season.” She stood to leave.
“But you haven’t heard my conditions yet.”
He was standing quite close to her, still wearing that devilish smile. Sydney sat down. “Of course, the rates.”
He waved that aside. “I said you needn’t repay the deuced loan; I certainly would not make profit on it. Even we viscounts have some standards. But here are my terms: the first is that you never, ever try to contact another loan shark. You contact me and only me if you find yourself in difficulty again.” He scrawled his Grosvenor Square address on her piece of paper. “Next, you never return here, no matter how many musclebound footmen you have. Promise me on your honor, Mischief, and your family name that you prize so highly.”
He was no longer grinning. Sydney solemnly swore and he smiled like the sun coming out again. “Good. And finally, I get to keep the hair.”
“As collateral? But it’s not worth nearly enough.”
It was to him.
* * * *
Sydney stood by the door, cradling a sack of currency instead of a basket of hair, and vowing again to repay the reckoning. Up close, Forrest got a hint of lavender
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