Page 7 of So Wild A Heart

With an impatient noise, Devin pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time up to Stuart’s room, the valet running at his heels, squawking anxiously. The noise awakened Stuart, and he was sitting up in his bed, sleeping cap slipping to the side, looking both annoyed and befuddled, when Devin opened the door and stepped into the room.

“Hallo, Stuart.”

“Good Gawd, Ravenscar,” his friend replied without any noticeable appreciation of his visit. “What the devil are you doing here? What time is it?”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, sir,” the valet put in, wringing his hands. “I beg your pardon, sir, I could not keep him out.”

“Oh, give over.” Stuart waved the nervous man out of the room. “I’m not blaming you. No one can keep Ravenscar out if he decides to come in. Just go fetch me some tea. No, make that coffee. Very strong.”

“Very good, sir.” The man backed subserviently out of the room.

“When did you get him?” Devin asked, strolling over to a chair and flopping down in it. “Nervous sort.”

“Yes. I know. Afraid I’ll let him go. I will, too,” Stuart went on meditatively, “if he don’t stop messing up my ascots. I miss Rickman. Damn that Holingbroke for stealing him away from me.”

“Hardly stealing,” Devin pointed out mildly. “I believe he offered to actually pay the man.”

Stuart grimaced, muttering, “No loyalty.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Damn, Dev, what are you doing here? I have the most ferocious headache.”

“Mmm. Not feeling too well myself. But my mother and sister visited me an hour ago.”

“No excuse to inflict yourself on me,” his friend pointed out reasonably.

“Lady Ravenscar wants me to marry.”

Stuart’s eyebrows rose. “Anyone in particular?”

“An American heiress. Fur trader’s daughter or some such thing.”

“An heiress, eh? Some people have all the luck. What’s her name?”

“I have no idea. I have no intention of marrying her.”

“Good Gawd, why not? You’re on your last legs. All of London knows it.”

“I’m not done in yet,” Devin protested.

Stuart snorted. “You owe at least three gentlemen of our acquaintance gambling debts, and you know your name will be blackened if you don’t pay them soon. Last night we had to leave by your back door, if you’ll remember, because that damned bill collector was hanging about out front. No need to pay a tradesman, of course—won’t ruin your name. But it’s a damned nuisance, tripping over those fellows all the time.”

Devin sighed. “I know. It’s worse than it was that time Father cut me off. At least then everyone knew I had an inheritance coming when he died. Between gambling and putting people off, I did all right.”

“Not the same now, though. There’s no blunt lying in your future. I’ve experienced it for years—younger son, they know I won’t inherit, never give me an inch. It’s bloody unfair, but there you have it. Tailors are the worst. As if it don’t bring them plenty of other business, my wearing their suits.”

Devin smiled faintly at his friend’s logic. “That’s true. It’s terribly selfish of them to want to get paid.”

“That’s what I told that Goldman chap, but he just kept chattering about payment. Finally had to give him a few guineas to shut him up.” He brightened a little. “Mayhap I’ll pay him off, now that I won that pot.” He stopped, frowning. “But no, there’s that gold-handled cane I saw yesterday—rather spend it on that. What’s the use of paying for something you already have?”

“Good point. I am sure Goldman will understand.”

“Oh, no.” Stuart, not given to sarcasm, especially upon waking, shook his head. “He’ll squawk. I may have to start going to another chap. Pity. Fellow knows how to make the shoulders of my coats exactly as I like them.”

“Padded?”

Stuart rolled his eyes. “Why did you say you came here?”

“The American heiress.”

“Oh, yes. Are you saying you’re thinking of not jumping on the offer?”