doubt welcome the scandalous Gabriel back into the ton with open arms. But even so …
‘You are jesting, of course, Gabriel.’ Osbourne felt no hesitation in voicing his own scepticism concerning their friend’s announcement.
‘I am afraid I am not,’ Westbourne stated firmly. ‘My unexpected inheritance of the title and estates has left the future of Copeland’s three daughters to my own tender mercies.’ His top lip curled back in self-derision. ‘No doubt Copeland expected to see his three daughters safely married off before he met his Maker. Unfortunately, this was not the case, and as such, the three young women have become my wards.’
‘Are you saying that you have been guardian to the three Copeland chits for the past six months and not said a word?’ Osborne sounded as if he could barely believe it.
Westbourne gave a cool inclination of his arrogant head. ‘A little like leaving the door open for the fox to enter the henhouse, is it not?’
It was indeed, Dominic mused wryly; Gabriel’s reputation with the ladies was legendary. As was his ruthlessness when it came to bringing an end to those relationships when they became in the least irksome to him. ‘Why have you never mentioned this before, Gabriel?’
The other man shrugged. ‘I am mentioning it now.’
‘Incredible!’ Osborne was still at a loss for words.
Gabriel gave a hard, humourless grin. ‘Almost as incredible as my having inherited the title at all, really.’
It was certainly the case that it would not have occurred if the years of battle against Napoleon’s armies had not killed off Copeland’s two nephews, the only other possible inheritors of the title. As it was, because Copeland only had daughters and no sons, the disgraced Lord Gabriel Faulkner had inherited the title of Earl of Westbourne from a man who was merely a second cousin or some such flimsy connection.
‘Obviously, the fact that I am now the young ladies’ guardian rendered the situation slightly unusual, and so I had my lawyer put forward an offer of marriage on my behalf,’ Westbourne explained.
‘To which daughter?’ Dominic tried to recall whether or not he had ever seen or met any of the Copeland sisters during his occasional forays into society this past two Seasons, but drew a complete blank. He did not consider it a good omen that none of the young women appeared to be attractive enough to spark even a flicker of memory.
Westbourne’s sculptured mouth twisted wryly. ‘Never having met any of the young ladies, I did not feel it necessary to state a preference.’
‘You did not!’ Dominic stared at the other man in horror. ‘Gabriel, you cannot mean to say that you have offered marriage to any one of the Copeland chits?’
Westbourne gave a cool smile. ‘That is exactly what I have done.’
‘I say, Gabe!’ Osbourne looked as horrified as Dominic felt. ‘Taking a bit of a risk, don’t you think? What if they decide to give you the fat and ugly one? The one that no other man would want?’
‘I do not see that as being a problem when Harriet Copeland was their mother.’ Westbourne waved that objection aside.
All three men had been but nineteen when Lady Harriet Copeland, the Countess of Westbourne, having left her husband and daughters, had tragically met her death at the hands of her jealous lover only months later. The woman’s beauty was legendary.
Dominic grimaced. ‘They may decide to give you the one that takes after her father.’ Copeland had been a short and rotund man in his sixties when he died, and with little charm to recommend him, either—was it any wonder that a woman as beautiful as Harriet Copeland had left him for a younger man?
‘What if they do?’ Westbourne relaxed back in his chair, his dark hair curling fashionably upon his nape and brow. ‘In order to provide the necessary heir, the Earl of Westbourne must needs take a wife. Any wife. Any one of the Copeland sisters is capable of providing that heir regardless of her appearance, surely?’ He shrugged those elegantly wide shoulders.
‘But what about—I mean, if she is fat and ugly, surely you will never be able to rise to the occasion in order to provide this necessary heir?’ Osbourne visibly winced at the unpleasantness of the image he had just portrayed.
‘What do you say to that, Gabe?’ Dominic chuckled.
‘I say that it no longer matters whether or not I would be able to perform in my marriage bed.’ Westbourne picked up the letter he had set aside earlier to peruse its contents once again with an apparent air of calm. ‘It would appear that my reputation has preceded me, gentlemen.’ His voice had become steely.
Dominic frowned. ‘Explain, Gabriel.’
That sculptured mouth tightened. ‘The letter I received from my lawyer this morning states that all three of the Copeland sisters—yes, even the fat and ugly one, Nate …’ he gave a mocking little bow in Osbourne’s direction ‘… have rejected any idea of marriage to the disreputable Lord Gabriel Faulkner.’
Dominic had known Gabriel long enough to realise that his calm attitude was a sham, and that the cold glitter in those midnight-blue eyes and the harsh set of his jaw were a clearer indication of his friend’s current mood. Beneath that veneer of casual uninterest he was coldly, dangerously angry.
A fact born out by his next statement. ‘In the circumstances, gentlemen, I have decided that I will shortly be following the two of you to England.’
‘The ladies of Venice will all fall into a decline at your going,’ Osbourne predicted drily.
‘Perhaps,’ Gabriel allowed dispassionately, ‘but I have decided that it is time the new Earl of Westbourne took his place in London society.’
‘Capital!’ Osbourne felt no hesitation in voicing his approval of the plan.
Dominic was equally enthusiastic at the thought of having Gabriel back in London with them. ‘Westbourne House in London has not been lived in for years, and must resemble a mausoleum, so perhaps you would care to stay with me at Blackstone House when you return, Gabriel? I would welcome your opinion, too, on the changes I instructed be made at Nick’s during my absence.’ He referred to the gambling club he had won a month ago in a game of cards with the previous owner, Nicholas Brown.
‘I should have a care in any further dealings you might have with Brown, Dom.’ Gabriel frowned.
An unnecessary warning as it happened; Dominic was well aware that Nicholas Brown, far from being a gentleman, was the bastard son of a peer and a prostitute, and that his connections in the seedy underworld of England’s capital were numerous. ‘Duly noted, Gabe.’
The other man nodded. ‘In that case, I thank you for your invitation to stay at Blackstone House, but it is not my intention to remain in town. Instead, I will make my way immediately to Shoreley Park.’
An occurrence, Dominic felt sure, that did not bode well for the three Copeland sisters …
Chapter One
Three days later—Nick’s gambling club, London, England
Caro moved lightly across the stage on slippered feet before arranging herself carefully upon the red-velvet chaise, checking that the gold-and-jewelled mask covering her face from brow to lips was securely in place, and arranging the long ebony curls of the theatrical wig so that they cascaded over the fullness of her breasts and down the length of her spine, before attending to the draping of her gold-coloured gown so that she was completely covered from her throat to her toes.
She could hear the buzz of excitement behind the drawn curtains at the front of the small raised stage, and knew that the male patrons of the gambling club were anticipating the moment when those curtains would be pulled back and her performance began.