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Authors: Amylynn Bright
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actually.”
Thomas hardly needed an accounting of her assets . “It’s not a love match then?”
“No.” Dalton took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “But at the risk of sounding boorish, I do appreciate her beauty, and begetting an heir will not be a trial.”
Thomas was suddenly nauseous, and it wasn’t due to the fastest hangover in the history of drunken debauchery.
“I see.” Thomas wondered how he’d feel about that if the other man knew she might already be carrying his heir. With great effort he tamped down a hysterical giggle by taking a big gulp of brandy. How did one know if they were losing their mind?
“I know that young ladies hope for a love match. I, on the other hand, simply hoped for compatibility, and we have that,” Dalton admitted.
Christian rejoined their table, sitting down in the leather chair with a thump. “Waverly over there is looking to rid himself of his new stallion. Paid a fortune for him. Won’t say why, but I’ve got a good notion it’s because the huge black beast scares him.”
“So can we assume then that your stable is expanding?” Dalton drained his glass and agreed to a refill.
“It’s a sure thing.” Christian beamed. “Come with me tomorrow to Waverly’s.” He looked from Dalton to Thomas, his eyes excited with the promise of a new toy.
They whiled away the evening in this manner—playing cards, smoking, and drinking the finest brandy in the luxury of the gentlemen’s club. This was something else that Thomas had sorely missed while away—the comfort and luxury of it all.
After several hours, it was apparent that Thomas’s luck had changed as the pile of money shifted from in front of him to the other side of the table, heaped in front of a rather bored-looking Dalton. In addition to Thomas’s coffers dwindling, his mood became more and more ill-tempered. In fact, he growled at the footman when the man inquired if he needed anything.
The fact that he hadn’t lost a great deal of money—well certainly no more than he could comfortably afford—wasn’t the point. The real problem was that he couldn’t find sufficient reason to despise Dalton. And he tried. He brought up every topic he could think of that would show Christian that his future brother-in-law was a boor. Unfortunately, he was a friendly, quick-witted sort of chap much like himself. But it didn’t matter. The money that he had come in with now sat in a fat wad in his rival’s pockets. Thomas didn’t like that metaphor one bit.
“Gentlemen, this has been a most enjoyable way to waste my evening,” Dalton noted as he stood. Leaning over his chair, he reached across and downed the last of his brandy. “But I really must get going.”
“Oh,” Thomas growled, “where do you have to be that is so vital?”
Two sets of eyebrows rose in question at the brashness of Thomas’s tone. Christian also stood from his chair. “What is on your plate for the rest of the evening, Dalton?”
“Not much, really.” The man stifled a yawn. “I’m pretty knackered from the trip this week. I had no idea the place in Chesterbrook was so run down. It was a much bigger deal than I originally thought.”
“Dalton won Chesterbrook from Llewellyn in a card game,” Christian explained with a lazy stretch.
“Llewellyn is still playing cards?” Thomas was aghast. “How can he possibly have anything left?”
“I felt bad taking it, but the man needs to learn when to quit,” Dalton said.
“Dalton is one of the luckiest sons-of-bitches I’ve ever met,” Christian told Thomas.
Thomas snorted, leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cheroot. The man’s luck would have to run out some time.
Christian turned to look at his friend. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been acting like a jackass most of the night.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Thomas insisted.
“Really?” Christian said dryly. “You’ve growled at every one of the footmen. If it’s
Thomas hardly needed an accounting of her assets . “It’s not a love match then?”
“No.” Dalton took a thoughtful sip of his brandy. “But at the risk of sounding boorish, I do appreciate her beauty, and begetting an heir will not be a trial.”
Thomas was suddenly nauseous, and it wasn’t due to the fastest hangover in the history of drunken debauchery.
“I see.” Thomas wondered how he’d feel about that if the other man knew she might already be carrying his heir. With great effort he tamped down a hysterical giggle by taking a big gulp of brandy. How did one know if they were losing their mind?
“I know that young ladies hope for a love match. I, on the other hand, simply hoped for compatibility, and we have that,” Dalton admitted.
Christian rejoined their table, sitting down in the leather chair with a thump. “Waverly over there is looking to rid himself of his new stallion. Paid a fortune for him. Won’t say why, but I’ve got a good notion it’s because the huge black beast scares him.”
“So can we assume then that your stable is expanding?” Dalton drained his glass and agreed to a refill.
“It’s a sure thing.” Christian beamed. “Come with me tomorrow to Waverly’s.” He looked from Dalton to Thomas, his eyes excited with the promise of a new toy.
They whiled away the evening in this manner—playing cards, smoking, and drinking the finest brandy in the luxury of the gentlemen’s club. This was something else that Thomas had sorely missed while away—the comfort and luxury of it all.
After several hours, it was apparent that Thomas’s luck had changed as the pile of money shifted from in front of him to the other side of the table, heaped in front of a rather bored-looking Dalton. In addition to Thomas’s coffers dwindling, his mood became more and more ill-tempered. In fact, he growled at the footman when the man inquired if he needed anything.
The fact that he hadn’t lost a great deal of money—well certainly no more than he could comfortably afford—wasn’t the point. The real problem was that he couldn’t find sufficient reason to despise Dalton. And he tried. He brought up every topic he could think of that would show Christian that his future brother-in-law was a boor. Unfortunately, he was a friendly, quick-witted sort of chap much like himself. But it didn’t matter. The money that he had come in with now sat in a fat wad in his rival’s pockets. Thomas didn’t like that metaphor one bit.
“Gentlemen, this has been a most enjoyable way to waste my evening,” Dalton noted as he stood. Leaning over his chair, he reached across and downed the last of his brandy. “But I really must get going.”
“Oh,” Thomas growled, “where do you have to be that is so vital?”
Two sets of eyebrows rose in question at the brashness of Thomas’s tone. Christian also stood from his chair. “What is on your plate for the rest of the evening, Dalton?”
“Not much, really.” The man stifled a yawn. “I’m pretty knackered from the trip this week. I had no idea the place in Chesterbrook was so run down. It was a much bigger deal than I originally thought.”
“Dalton won Chesterbrook from Llewellyn in a card game,” Christian explained with a lazy stretch.
“Llewellyn is still playing cards?” Thomas was aghast. “How can he possibly have anything left?”
“I felt bad taking it, but the man needs to learn when to quit,” Dalton said.
“Dalton is one of the luckiest sons-of-bitches I’ve ever met,” Christian told Thomas.
Thomas snorted, leaned back in his chair and took a deep drag on his cheroot. The man’s luck would have to run out some time.
Christian turned to look at his friend. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been acting like a jackass most of the night.”
“Nothing is wrong with me,” Thomas insisted.
“Really?” Christian said dryly. “You’ve growled at every one of the footmen. If it’s
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