The Madcap by Nikki Poppen Read Free Book Online Page A

mother’s arguments.
He sank into a deep chair, prepared to enjoy a freshly
pressed edition of the Times. He hadn’t gotten far into
the financial news when Lord Brantley approached,
flanked by two of his gambling cronies.
    “I am starting to think it was no accident you spilled
champagne on my shirt,” Brantley began without preamble, taking a chair uninvited. “I was rather suspect
that night, and seeing how things have turned out, I’m
quite convinced I was right. You spilled on purpose”
    “Accidents are accidents, Brantley, because they
don’t have causes or explanations,” Alasdair remarked,
not setting aside his paper and thus hoping to make
the message clear that he wanted to be left alone. “I do
hope the stain came out, at any rate”
    Brantley didn’t take the hint. He settled into the
chair comfortably, giving the impression of committing himself to a lengthy conversation. Alasdair had
never spoken with Brantley for more than a span of
minutes. He couldn’t guess what the man had to discuss with him now.
    “Oh, the stain came out as did the news that my intended partner for that dance is a bonafide heiress to a multimillion-dollar fortune. Did you know that night?
I think you did,” Brantley said coldly. “I should have
been the one dancing with her. But instead it was you,
and now you’ve been seen everywhere with her. Both
the World and the Morning Post have noticed you’ve
made a regular habit of dancing with her.” Brantley
tossed a newspaper at him, the paper folded back to the
appropriate page.

    Alasdair took a moment to scan the article. It was
the usual social news, one-line mentions of who had
been seen where and with whom. He scanned a few
lines before one section leapt out at him: “A certain
Viscount P has been seen in the company of the
newest American heiress to visit London. The said
American, Miss A, is the daughter of a sourdough
bread baker from San Francisco. Her father is reported to be worth millions. This author wonders if
her main attraction for Viscount P is her bank account. While it is not known for certain, it would not
be beyond the realm of possibility that Viscount P
is looking for a way to bolster flagging family coffers
before the situation becomes dire.”
    Alasdair fought his rising temper. It would serve no
purpose for Brantley to sense his frustration. Showing
his anger would only be seen as a validation that the
rumors about his finances were true, something he’d
worked hard to keep away from prying gossips.
    “What’s your point, Brantley? The social columns
are full of half-truths. The writer even admits it is all speculation.” Alasdair gave a cynical chuckle. “Surely
you don’t believe everything you read?”

    Brantley leaned forward, his voice low and menacing. “The point is that she should have been dancing
with me. You stole my chance. Like any other rich
American, she’s probably hanging out for a title. Mine
would do just as well as yours in that case. She probably doesn’t even know the difference between a baron
and a viscount. You wanted her for yourself and you
deliberately undermined my attempts”
    “As I recall, you didn’t seem overly disappointed,”
Alasdair shot back, his temper rising now at the disparaging remark about Marianne.
    “I have my pride,” Brantley said coldly. “What else
was Ito do that night?”
    “I see” Alasdair did see. Brantley had feigned ennui
over the prospect of dancing with the American to save
face, as he’d suspected. Of course the man couldn’t
look desperate in front of his friends.
    But hearing the man slander Marianne and talk so
crassly about her motives caused Alasdair’s protective
hackles to rise. He was doubly glad he’d spilled the
champagne on Brantley. He only wished it had been
more. The blasted man saw Marianne as a financial
remedy. He saw none of the qualities Alasdair had
come to appreciate about her: her quick wit,