And they were all lies.
Despite what London believed, he was nothing more than a chum to the ladies. Conversation. Support. A dance partner for a wallflower or to provide rescue from an unwanted suitor. However, for their own reasons some had claimed a passionate affair, and now his peers were certain he fucked every woman he spoke to. Even Pippa believed he’d bedded half of London, calling those who flocked to him Finn’s Regiment, and that stung the most. He was a virgin, damn it!
Aside from the unwarranted rake reputation, the men’s hypocrisy infuriated him. All who complained regularly indulged in affairs; they just didn’t want their women to have the same freedom. Hell, back in the day, his father had strived to bed all the actresses in London, only turning puritan when one fell pregnant and birthed a daughter. Although the marquess had never acknowledged her, Finn had recently found his half-sister Abigail and offered her and her infant daughter Nerissa lodgings at the Golden Square townhouse. Abby agreed, on the provisos she earn her keep helping with Bliss and their blood tie remain unknown, for she loathed Lord Pinehurst.
Finn well understood that particular sentiment. But as long as he remained under this roof, he enjoyed both close proximity to Pippa, and the generous allowance that funded Bliss. While it grated his last nerve to be so beholden, the fortune held in trust for him would only be released on his twenty-fifth birthday; earlier if he married; or heaven forfend, if his father died and he inherited the marquessate.
“Better hurry, Mother,” he said at last. “Don’t want to be late for the theater. Your friend will worry.”
Evangeline blushed. “Er, yes. Have a pleasant time at the musicale. But do speak to your father first.”
After her departure, Finn brushed his too-long brown hair, smoothed his black jacket and fawn trousers, then straightened his cravat before walking to his father’s bedchamber. The less things for him to explode about, the faster the audience.
He knocked on the door. “Father? It’s Knighton.”
No point saying Finlay; his father only referred to him by title.
After a muffled bout of coughing, a voice croaked, “Enter.”
Unease coiled in his stomach, but when Finn opened the door and saw his sweaty, ashen-faced father in a heavy robe shivering in front of the roaring fire, he almost yelped in horror.
The man looked ill. Very ill.
“I’ll send for a physician,” he blurted.
Lord Pinehurst glared at him from the armchair, even as he pulled his robe tighter. “Don’t be a milksop. It’s just a mild fever. Pour me a brandy.”
Unwilling to argue, Finn did so. “Here.”
“Ah. That’s better. All a man needs when mildly under the weather, a decent drink.”
“You wished to see me?”
His father took another gulp of brandy. Eventually, he replied, “London is falling to rack and ruin. Pleasure clubs. Women making money and decisions. But the latest insult to decency? A business called Bliss selling dildos. Criminals and liars. What is the world coming to?”
“Er…”
“Silence. I never thought my own son would betray me.”
He froze. Father knew? “With Bliss?”
“No, you damned fool. You’ve been meeting the actress’s gel after I expressly forbade it.”
Finn’s breath expelled in a rush of relieved shock. His father was aware of Bliss but not who owned it…yet he also knew about Abby.
Shit.
“You mean my sister? Your daughter Abigail?”
Lord Pinehurst threw his empty glass at the marble fireplace, smiling grimly when it shattered. “You dare provoke me? She is not family!”
Finn waited as his father succumbed to another coughing fit. “Abby has a small child—”
“Another bastard!”
“My niece,” he said firmly.
“You’ve forced me to act,” snapped Lord Pinehurst. “I will not tolerate my money being wasted on lowborn trash. No more allowance for you, m’boy. The bankers have been informed, my secretary will refuse all bills apart from tailor or bootmaker.”
The whole world tilted. “What?”
“You heard me. Disobedient sons get nary a penny. When you publicly throw those guttersnipes back on the streets where they belong, then we’ll talk. Now get out.”
“Father,” he replied grittily, as his whole body thrummed with hate.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t abandon his sister and niece, or lose the business he’d worked so hard to build. Bliss was the only thing truly his.
Thank God he would be seeing Pippa shortly. Even if he couldn’t reveal all the details, she would have some practical ideas to resolve the situation.
Surely.
“Which gown for the musicale, my lady?”
At her maid’s question, Pippa halted her frenetic bedchamber pacing and waved a hand in the general direction of the armoire. “Oh, any of them. As long as it doesn’t have lace at the bodice. That always makes me itch like a hound with fleas.”
Ruby exhaled so deeply it might have launched a sailing ship. “A color? Please?”
She glanced apologetically at the older brunette. Poor Ruby had received the runt of the litter; not only did Lilian and Georgiana have wonderful figures; they also loved fashion, shopping, and having their hair styled. In Pippaland, shopping was a waste of good reading time; anything other than a loose chignon an annoyance; and the best gown was one that covered what it needed to and could survive several hours curled up with a book.
As for a color, blue suited quite well, but which one? Cerulean, that lovely Latin extraction that meant sky-colored? Calamine, like a robin’s egg? Gah. If only she could remember the shade mentioned in her latest book to describe the hero’s gaze.
“Travails of a Lonely Pirate King,” said Pippa, tightening her robe belt then lifting her spectacles with one finger to rub the bridge of her nose. “His piercing yet tender eyes.”
Fortunately, Ruby was used to such responses; they often discussed their favorite romance novels while dressing or bathing. Even the naughty parts.
Especially the naughty parts.
“Celestial,” said Ruby. “An excellent choice.”
Relieved her wardrobe required no more thought, Pippa returned to rage-pacing over the library debacle. How utterly galling, that her reward for years of holding the family together after Mother’s death, for coaxing them through their grief at the expense of her own, of keeping their secrets and providing endless practical assistance…was an unwanted marriage.
In all honesty, it hurt. A lot.
But she would not be marrying Devonshire, even if this presented the greatest challenge possible: out-maneuvering her grandmother, the most calculating and ruthless woman in London. At least Finn understood the depth of dragon beneath the grande dame mask, and would offer diabolically creative ideas accordingly.
“Here we are,” said Ruby cheerfully, as she returned with a petticoat, light blue velvet gown trimmed with a cream satin sash, and that most despised article of clothing: stays. They were hardly necessary for breasts that barely reached the handful threshold; her future romance hero husband might well require a magnifying glass just to locate them. Not that he would mind, being an unashamedly bold adventurer.
Once dressed, with her hair styled and reticule crammed with a pencil, Latin phrasebook, several chewy caramels (Finn’s favorite sweets) a few coins, and a clean handkerchief, Pippa hurried downstairs to where Grandmother and Georgiana waited in the entrance hall. Her father was attending some political dinner and Xavier had fled to drink and play cards with friends.
“About time you graced us with your presence,” said Lady Kingsford, her lilac gown pristine and diamonds discreetly winking from her throat and wrists.
“Looking pretty, though,” said Georgiana earnestly, stunning in rose pink as they walked toward the carriage waiting outside. “Devonshire will fall madly in love with you, I’m sure.”
“I’
m equally sure he won’t,” Pippa replied.
I’ll make sure of that.
Trapped with two women determined to extoll the virtues of hasty marriages, it seemed to take forever to reach Upper Brook Street. But when they finally arrived, Pippa scrambled out of the carriage and marched into the townhouse, thankfully remembering to greet the hostess before commencing her desperate quest to find Finn. Once she’d located him, as usual surrounded by the bevy of beautiful, laughing women she called Finn’s Regiment, Pippa near-sprinted over.
“Lord Knighton!” she said, bobbing a clumsy curtsy. Oddly, he didn’t make his usual jest about collapsing shipping rigging. In fact, his objectively handsome face looked grim; lines of tension narrowed his chocolate-brown eyes, and his square jaw was clenched.
“Lady Pippa,” he replied, bowing to the Regiment before ushering her away. “You are a vision of loveliness, as always. Perhaps a seat in the back row?”
She nodded at their long-established code. Front row meant they actually wanted to watch the performance; back row indicated a need to talk. That they had been friends since childhood and society was terrified of both her grandmother and his father meant no one fussed if they conversed sans chaperone. “Definitely the back row.”
Each paused at the refreshment table for a glass of lemonade to keep up appearances, before settling into the two seats nearest the drawing room wall.
Finn leaned closer. “What is your disaster, Pippet?” he asked in a hushed tone.
At the nickname only he dared, a blend of Pippa and poppet that she unaccountably found endearing, angry tears threatened. “The very worst,” she began. “Grandmother has decided I’m to marry Devonshire, his family agree, and the man himself will be attending a soiree at Kingsford House next week to commence our official courtship. Lilian is indisposed so cannot assist. Georgiana would serve me up on a platter with cream sauce, she is so eager to wed her mystery beau. I’m doomed, Finn. I’ll be a bloody damned duchess in mere weeks, forced to spend the rest of eternity in my personal purgatory, traipsing between parties and greenhouses. I couldn’t bear it. I don’t love the duke. He’s not my hero.”
“I know,” he growled.
Startled at his fierce, almost primitive tone, Pippa blinked. Finn never spoke like that. He was the playful spaniel, not the menacing wolf.
Wasn’t he?
Even more unsettled, she delved into her reticule. “Would you like a caramel?”
“Maybe later.”
Good lord. Finn never refused a sweet. Ever. The situation was officially alarming. “You’d best tell me your disaster. I feel like between us, the apocalypse approaches.”
“It does. Pinehurst cut off my allowance.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? Why?”
“Shhhh!”
Pippa sipped her lemonade until the curious onlookers grew bored and continued with their own conversations. “Why?” she repeated in a whisper.
Finn rubbed a hand across his face. “It’s complicated. I’ve been running a business from a house in Golden Square—”
“A business! And you didn’t tell me? For how long? Selling what?”
“Yes, a business. I wanted it to make a profit before saying anything. Ummmm, three months or so. As to what…I can’t reveal that here. But I need that allowance. It pays the rent, and for materials and employees. One staff member lives at the house with her adorable toddler, and she is the kindest, nicest woman, but…she is unmarried. Father found out and exploded like gunpowder. You know how he is.”
Yes. She did. Lord Pinehurst was second on her loathe list after Grandmother. “Are you cut off forever?”
“He said we can talk if I evict the mother and daughter. Which I won’t do. So, I’ll be penniless until I turn twenty-five. Or marry,” he finished with a humorless laugh.
“No, you won’t. I’ll lend you the money,” said Pippa impatiently. “I’m annoyed you didn’t ask me to be an investor, but shall magnanimously forgive such a shocking lapse.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “That is a spectacularly generous offer, but I need a rather large amount. For another year’s rent, staff wages, business expenses until we turn a regular profit…about two hundred pounds or so.”
“Well, you know I’m frugal with pin money, then Gabriel went and doubled the amount after he took over the family finances, so I have enough. I’ll arrange a draft. Now, back to my problem. Thwarting an unwanted marriage.”
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “The dowager won’t retreat, nor will the duke. You have to be unavailable.”
“Yes. Good. Keep thinking. Any idea, no matter how outlandish. Desperate times and all that.”
“In a romance novel, this would be the scene where a long-lost lover stormed the soiree to claim you as his betrothed. In real life, it might have to be an actor. Or a gentleman courtesan. Are you secretly chums with either?”
“Alas not,” said Pippa drily. Then she went very still as a wildly ridiculous notion lodged in her mind. “However…”
“Yes?” he encouraged, taking a gulp of lemonade.
“I am chums with you.”
Finn choked on his drink, coughing and spluttering for breath until she abandoned discretion and pounded him on the back. Gah. Not the most flattering reaction.
“Beg pardon?” he wheezed eventually, accepting her handkerchief to dab the tears from his eyes.
Embarrassed, Pippa began to babble. “I’ll lend you the money no matter what. But if you wanted to do me a favor in return, swoop in as my secret betrothed. Then, when everyone departs for the country, I change my mind as ladies sometimes do, and we resume being best friends. See? Easy.”
“Er…yes. Easy. That’s all? A pretend engagement?”
“Hmmm. If you were amiable, kissing lessons. I need real-life experience for when I do marry, and you’ve kissed countless women. Plus, you wouldn’t tell, so would be the perfect tutor.”
At her utterly brazen words, Finn stared at her, and for the first time ever, she had no clue whatsoever to his thoughts.
“Pippa—”
“Or, you could forget everything I just said and I’ll go hire an actor,” she finished, trying to laugh and failing dismally. “But we have to pause this discussion, because here come Grandmother and Georgiana.”
“Yes,” he blurted.
“Excuse me?”
He took her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. Oddly, it made her tingle. “I hereby accept your generous investment offer. And freely agree to be your pretend betrothed. Also, your kissing tutor.”
Confusion at her body’s strange response and pure relief at his agreement made her light-headed; it was fortunate Finn held her, otherwise she would have tumbled to the floor.
Good lord. They were really going to do this.
Heaven help them both.
Chapter 2
What had he done?
No matter how hard Finn rode his horse toward Golden Square, he couldn’t escape the thought that had kept him awake all night pacing his bedchamber and draining three brandy bottles. Truthfully, if he hadn’t arranged to meet Abby this morning for a business meeting, he might well have run mad.
Who agreed to a pretend betrothal with the woman they’d loved for sixteen years? To be their kissing tutor?
Only a fool of the worst kind. A fool named Finn Knighton.
He sighed and slowed his mount to a trot. Light rain was making the streets treacherous; tumbling headfirst into a fresh manure pile would not be a glorious end.
Now, for the first time, he truly understood the phrase ‘between the devil and the deep blue sea.’ Leaving Pippa at the mercy of her grandmother’s marital plots wasn’t an option. But his future would certainly include a broken heart. Surely if his best friend had any romantic or even lustful feelings for him, she would have said something. No, it was just him who sketched miniature portraits and stared longingly across Hanover Square. Just him who woke in the middle of the night aching for release after yet a
nother dream involving Pippa, pleasure toys, and romance novel orgasms.
Finn winced. Trotting on cobblestoned streets was not the time to be thinking of Pippa and orgasms. He did need to think of pleasure toys though; for while Abby and the staff at Bliss were doing a sterling job, they required far more customers than they currently had. Due to the risqué nature of the business, word of mouth would sell the goods far better than any discreet, vague ‘accessories for the discerning’ notices in a newspaper or scandal sheet.
Fortunately for both his cock and riding skills, the journey to Golden Square never took long on horseback. The mews behind the three-story townhouse was tiny but clean, dry, and possessing a fresh supply of well water and oats. Once he’d settled his horse, Finn crossed the pocket-handkerchief sized courtyard, unlocked the back door, and stepped inside. The ground floor looked like any other in London, with an entrance hall, parlor, and dining room. But all the second-floor rooms had been converted to make a pleasure toy factory and distribution office, while the third floor contained Abby and Nerissa’s private rooms. Below stairs were the kitchens, and where there had once been a cellar and the housekeeper and butler’s quarters, was his personal space for inventing as well as storage.
“Finlay! Thank goodness.”
He turned to see Abby hurrying toward him, and as always, he was struck by how similar they looked. The same brown eyes framed by thick lashes and thicker eyebrows, same nose, same crooked grin. If it weren’t for the flaming red hair she’d inherited from her mother, they might have been twins. But there was no grin lighting up her face today. In fact, she looked downright anxious. “What has happened, Abby? Is it Nerissa?”
“No, she is upstairs napping with her faithful cloth companion, Miss Wabbit. But this note was delivered right when we were eating breakfast.”
Finn took the letter and unfolded it. As he read the familiar handwriting of his father’s secretary, his fingers clenched so hard the paper rustled. Pinehurst was well enough to still dictate threats, it seemed. “Sack of shit or sewer rat are names too good for him.”
THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2 Page 2