Fortune's Son by Emery Lee Read Free Book Online

warnings.
    She opened the drawer to reveal a large sheaf of papers, all past-due accounts that he had forwarded to her in exasperation: Longacre the cartwright, for refitting the velvet interior of her carriage, one hundred sixty pounds; Madame Guilane, London’s most fashionable mantua maker, two hundred forty-four pounds.
    Perhaps she should have selected something other than hand-painted Chinese silk for her last three gowns, let alone the imported Mechlin lace for trim and fichus, one yard of which could have bought a simple day dress. Another sixty pounds was owed to the vintner.
    Her hands began to tremble as she continued to leaf through the pile. Twinings Tea House, twelve pounds eight shillings. Hodgins the butcher, eight pounds six shillings. The milliner, the glover, the haberdasher, the chandler, and on and on. She mentally tallied her mounting debt, awakening to the undeniable reality that in less than three months’ time she’d already spent thirty-six months of her living allowance.
    Others would have already been arrested for much less. Due to her mourning, the merchants had been uncommonly forbearing, but in short shrift she would find herself face-to-face with the magistrate at the sponging house.
    She had held off her creditors as long as she could, and the servants’ wages had to be paid, at least to ensure their loyalty.
    A drawer full of debts and no way to pay them. Was this all she had to show after a lover’s betrayal, and ten years of her youth sacrificed to a man who could have been her grandfather? Her eyes misted at these lugubrious reflections.
    In frustration, she crumpled the papers in her hands. It was past time to put her plan into action. She had hoped that he would have come to her voluntarily by now, but after days of waiting she could delay no longer.
    Desperate for any means out of her morass, she resolved to summon all the wiles at her command. She sat at her escritoire and wrote, My Dearest Young Gallant…

Six
A Dubious Code of Honor
    â€œChild! I am so pleased you have come.” Lady Messingham greeted Philip with a brilliant smile when he entered her small salon. “Have you, perchance, your dice box? I thought we might resume where we left off.” Her expression was innocent, but her voice seductively husky.
    He bowed over her extended hand, his eyes never leaving her face. “As I recall, where we left off had nothing to do with dice.”
    â€œIndeed? Then perhaps my memory falters.” She artlessly tapped her fan against her lips, tauntingly invoking the memory but altogether ignoring his reference to her kiss.
    Philip cleared his throat, speaking stiffly. “I have come at your summons, my lady, and I ask what you mean with me?”
    Normally arrogantly self-assured, he puzzled at his sudden gaucherie. No other woman had such an effect on him, but truth be told, he was not accustomed to intimate contact with ladies of her social standing, or used to ladies at all, for that matter. The females of his close acquaintance were little more than girls, buxom and cheerfully free with their favors. Lady Messingham could not have stood in stronger contrast if she’d tried.
    She laid a hand on his arm, and her expression became coy. “Did I not say in my missive? I thought I was especially clear?”
    â€œMayhap mine is the memory at fault. I fear I was distracted at the time.”
    She had the effrontery to laugh at him. “What do I want with you? Why, I want you to teach me the games, Philip. I wish to win at the tables.”
    â€œThe skills you desire to learn are not so easily or rapidly acquired as you appear to believe. Besides, gaming of any sort is rarely harmless. You would do better to attend the theater or the opera, if it is diversion you seek.”
    â€œI have attended the theatre, and the opera bores me. I’d much rather attend the masquerade at Belsize House Thursday sennight.”
    â€œI can only