The Devilish Mr. Danvers: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series by Vivienne Lorret Read Free Book Online Page A

him for a fool.
    “Not until Greyson Park is mine.” And likely not even then. The entire ordeal had soured him on the idea of marriage.
    His father withdrew the pipe from his teeth and pointed at him with it. “That house has been out of our family for over a hundred years, sold off in a marriage bargain. These things happen.”
    But Greyson Park was more than just a house. The treasure it held could restore the Danvers name in society. Not that the ton mattered to Rafe, but he was still looking to protect his family. He wanted the best for them. Emma had a perfect life with Rathburn. Now, his parents were long overdue for theirs.
    “Dear me!” a feminine voice exclaimed. “Did Rathburn break through the door?”
    Looking out into the hall and up to the top of the stairs, Rafe saw two of Emma’s closest friends—Merribeth and Delaney—begin their descent.
    “Aye. He did,” Rafe said.
    Merribeth arched a dark eyebrow and shook her head. “Then I am glad I told Simon to spend the day at Tattersall’s. I wouldn’t want him to get any ideas,” she said with one hand on the rail and the other over her gently rounded belly.
    “And I am glad Griffin is with him,” Delaney added, glowing brightly beneath a fall of auburn hair. “That way we can simply tell our husbands how patient Rathburn was and to live by his example.” Both women laughed as they crossed the hall to the study.
    “How is Emma?” Rafe was still tempted to mount the stairs.
    Merribeth beamed. “She is positively resplendent.”
    “But tired,” Delaney said, looking first to Rafe’s father and then to him. “And your grandson—and your nephew—has all ten of his fingers and ten of his toes.”
    “And a healthy set of lungs,” Merribeth added.
    “Grandson,” Cuthbert Danvers said, clutching Rafe’s shoulder again and giving it a squeeze.
    “Nephew,” Rafe breathed. A mixture of familial pride and something he would almost describe as a bittersweet yearning filled him. But the latter was more likely the effects of fine scotch on an empty stomach.
    “Penelope should be down directly,” Delaney said to Weatherstone. She walked into the room and sat in one of the wing-backed chairs. “She wanted to retrieve your son from the nursery.”
    Merribeth sat across from her and sighed. “In the meantime, the new grandmothers and great-grandmother are cooing over the baby while Rathburn and Emma have a moment alone together.”
    “A son. That reminds me,” Weatherstone said, withdrawing a small ledger from inside his coat. “Danvers, I believe you and I have won the wager. Both Croft and Knightswold claimed the child would be a girl.”
    “You wagered on your own sister’s child?” Merribeth gasped.
    Rafe looked to Weatherstone, wondering if he was missing the significance. His friend closed the ledger and tucked it away with a shrug. What else was a man to do when presented with fifty-fifty chance of winning?
    “Men will wager on absolutely anything,” Delaney said, as Penelope Weatherstone sauntered to the study, bouncing a handsome lad on her hip. A maidservant followed with a tray of tea.
    While the women were distracted with pouring, and Weatherstone with his wife and son, Rafe’s father shook his head and poked him with the tip of his pipe. “I’ve recently heard of another wager, though I sincerely hope I’ve been misinformed.”
    It was foolish to believe the wager between Everhart, Montwood, and himself would remain a secret. Rafe and his father stepped into the hall for a more private conversation. The last thing he wanted to do was cast a pall over their merry party. “In my own defense, I know I cannot lose.”
    “I’m certain that not even Weatherstone could calculate how many times men have turned that phrase . . . ”
    Making an attempt at levity, Rafe offered, “Some of them were bound to be right.”
    “Not many, I’d gather.” There was an unmistakable edge to his father’s voice. “I assume that this is