Scandal in Spades (Lords of Chance) by LaCapra Wendy

Author:LaCapra, Wendy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Marquess; Bastard; Marriage of Convenience; Tortured Hero; Vingt-et-un; Card suits; Spinster; Pure bloodlines; Beau Brummel; Twice-betrothed scandal; Regency; Historical Romance
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-04-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

“Free and frolic we’ll couple gratis”—vulgar fun, these drinking songs—“thus we’ll show all the human race…” Bromton stretched his voice to hit the note. “That the best of the marriage state is…Blowzabella’s and Collin’s case!”

Like men surrounding the table on which he stood, Bromton celebrated the end of the song with a deep swig of gin. Ahhh. He cast his arms wide. Had he been bothered by something? He couldn’t quite recall. Blue ruin melted everything into cozy joll—jollity. He smiled at his tankard.

Now that was good reason to cheer.

“Huzz—” He stopped mid-yell, interrupted by a fuzzy, feminine face scowling up at him. Scowl? Why would anyone scowl? Everything was fine. Just fiiiine.

“Enough, my lord,” the woman said. “It is time to get down off the table.”

“Aww, let ’em alone, Lizzy,” said Grizzly.

Bromton grinned at his new friend. But, wait. Grizzly was not his name. His name was Smitty…or Smithy…or, possibly even, Spitts. Then again, Hopkins sort of rang a bell as well. He shrugged. Salt of the earth, whomever the man was. Bromton loved Hopkins-Smitty-Smithy-Spitts.

“Your room is readied,” the grouchy woman said, punctuating her words with a surprisingly strong tug to his breeches.

Hold on a moment—he looked down at his leather riding breeches—one did not tug a marquess. Then again, he was not really a marquess, was he?

Persistently annoying, that realization, and, always intruding at precisely the wrong time.

He waited for the usual sense of shame to din his senses. His mood did not dim. Was it the worst thing in the world not to be a marquess? Hopkins-Smitty-Smithy-Spitts here seemed to be doing well, thank you very much.

And since Bromton had given up airs and decided to join the other men, he’d been having a marrrrvlelous time.

He felt another tug to his breeches. The serving woman—he drew his brows together—Lizzy! Her name, he remembered. He smiled. She was serving-woman-Lizzy-who-brewed-fine-tipple, and, her lips were moving. He concentrated until her message penetrated his gin-soaked brain. Ah, yes. His room was ready.

A pint, a room, and a basin. That’s why he’d come into The Pillar in the first place. He’d accomplished the pint part. Accomplished? No, he’d obliterated that goal. He closed his eyes, imagining the sensation of splashing warm water against his skin. Yes, indeed. On occasion, he had the best ideas. But to get upstairs he’d have to first get down off the table.

He put his hands on his knees and leaped down. He tottered for just a moment but managed to stay upright—much to the glee of his newfound friends. They hoisted their tankards.

“Huzzah for the Marquess of Bromton!” Smitty-Spitts said.

“Huzzah!” the men answered.

“Huzzah!” he repeated, before tossing back his last swallow. Part of it, anyway—his shirt absorbed the better amount.

“A good rest will do you.” Lizzy looped her arm through his and then led him to the stair. “I assume you want to get nice and clean before you return to your betrothed.”

Damn. His betrothed. His betrothed was decidedly something—someone—he should not have forgotten. He hadn’t forgotten.

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