Priceless by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online

flesh?”
    Unbuttoning his waistcoat, Walpole rubbed the expanse of belly beneath the linen shirt. “I’ll have my mistress check later.”
    “Not your wife?” Lord Gaynor asked with interest.
    “Not tonight. My wife’s not scheduled for tonight.” A leer spread across Walpole’s broad face. “Nor for tomorrow night, either.”
    “You didn’t get those five children with Catherine by ignoring her,” Adam interposed.
    “There’s enough between my legs to satisfy all the ladies,” Walpole boasted, “and keep the prostitutes of all London in business, too.”
    Adam reached for the brandy decanter. “I’ll need a drink to wash that down.”
    Walpole’s hearty laugh rang out. “Never had the stomach for whoring, did you, Adam?”
    “A seaman gets enough of whoring when he puts into port.” Adam passed a glass to Walpole.
    “Admit it, it was a liberal education,” Walpole teased.
    “Education? Well, perhaps. I learned how to make love in four languages.” Adam poured for Lord Gaynor and himself, then set his glass on the table and stared through the amber liquor.
    Lord Gaynor, too, lifted his glass and stared through it. “Looks almost like my Bronwyn’s eyes.”
    “Mm, no,” Adam said absently. “Her eyes have a tinge of auburn to them. More like sherry.”
    “So I’ve always said.” Lord Gaynor downed his drink in validation.
    Walpole pushed back his chair. “How are your stock investments proceeding, Adam?”
    “As usual.”
    “Making a fortune, are you?” Walpole shoved his feet on the table with a sigh.
    “I’ve managed to escape the buying frenzy that’s attacked the rest of the London populace.”
    “Bless the fools, they’ll fling their money after any ludicrous venture,” Walpole agreed.
    “Did you hear the latest?” Adam sipped his brandy. “Some man sold stock in a company to create perpetual motion.”
    Lord Gaynor looked from one to the other with wide eyes.
    Walpole nudged the plates before him with the toe of his boot. “I’ll go one better. A fellow sold stock in a company to import jackasses from Spain.”
    “As if there weren’t enough of them on Change Alley already.” Adam signaled to the footman, and the footman rushed to remove the offending china.
    Lord Gaynor chuckled nervously.
    “And there was the scheme for extracting oil from radishes.”
    “Why?” Adam loosened the ribbon tied at the back of his neck and shook his dark hair to free it.
    “Lamp oil?” Lord Gaynor suggested, and Walpole laughed at the wit.
    “A good joke. The amazing thing is, there are jackasses”—he lifted his glass to Adam—“who bought stock in these companies.”
    “My favorite,” Adam said, “is the promoter who announced he was selling stock in a company for carrying on the undertaking of great advantage, but nobody is to know what it is.”
    “And?” Walpole asked with interest.
    “And he received a thousand subscriptions of two pounds by midday.”
    “And?” Walpole insisted again.
    “He disappeared in the afternoon,” Adam reported, his eyes alight with amusement.
    Contagious amusement, for Walpole chortled and Lord Gaynor smirked.
    Walpole grimaced in disgust. “I tried to tell them. Didn’t I try to tell them?”
    “You tried to tell them, Robert. You gave an elegant speech in the House of Commons about the fallacy of assuming the South Sea Company would pay off the national debt.” Adam grinned with false sympathy. “Too bad all the Members of Parliament left while you were giving it.”
    “Damned MP’s. Think I’m a common squire, too stupid to see what’s as plain as the nose on my face.” Walpole touched the bulbous growth with his finger.
    Adam shoved aside his glass. “How could you fight those bribes? The directors of the South Sea Company spread money so thick, every politician stubbed his toes on the coinage.”
    “The South Sea Company?” Lord Gaynor asked with interest. “But aren’t they a legitimate company, authorized by