Today's Reading
The money in question was no trivial sum. It was a substantial amount of privately raised funds to support the Greek independence movement. The last thing the Greek cause needed, or England for that matter, was to have six hundred thousand pounds and a significant arsenal of weaponry fall into Ottoman hands. England was keen to support the independence movement, but less keen to publicly acknowledge that support as an act of official policy. If this shipment came to light, the government would have to answer for this lavish display of 'private' support and arms, which would displease certain European allies.
'Besides,' Kieran was still talking about the silly girls who continued to advance, 'their mothers would murder them if they talked to the likes of us. The Four Horsemen are off limits to debutantes. We're far too dangerous to their reputations.' That reputation was indeed their best protection from becoming outright prey: four gentlemen brothers, grandsons of an earl, sons of a third son, none of them with significant prospects of their own, all of whom rode like hell, raked like hell and had reputations to rival Lucifer himself.
Caine had taken great care to make sure everyone knew just how wildly they lived, shamelessly promoting the idea that the drawing room of Parkhurst House was akin to a St James's gambling hell and that they were not strangers to the Covent Garden opera singers. Matchmaking mamas approached the Four Horsemen with extreme caution if they approached at all. However, their naive daughters were less concerned with such considerations and perhaps more concerned with the mystery of what lay behind those reputations.
He and his brothers were the wild Parkhursts. Their cousins were the desirable Parkhursts and therein lay Kieran's miscalculation. The giggling girls might not stop for the Four Horsemen, but they'd definitely stop for Alexander Parkhurst, one of the Season's most eligible bachelors as the scion to the heir of the Earl of Sandmore. Unfortunately, he and Kieran had the dubious privilege of standing next to that eligible parti. Attention by association as it were. It was Caine's estimation that they would pay for that proximity, collateral damage in the making.
'Ladies.' Alex bowed politely to the group of girls in acknowledgment of their attentions. Caine made no such conventional overture. Beside him, Kieran swore under his breath, his wager lost.
The 'ladies' in question curtsied, eyelash-fluttering gazes moving with adolescent excitement between the gentlemen in the group. Townsend's niece offered Alex her hand. 'I believe we were introduced at my aunt's Venetian breakfast last week.' Ah, that explained the chit's boldness, then. She was presuming on a prior introduction. If it had been up to him, Caine would have said something like, 'Forgive me, I do not recall'—probably without the 'forgive me' part—but Alex was cut from a much better cloth of manners.
Then again, his cousin had prospects to preserve. Alex didn't have the luxury of speaking his mind.
'Yes, I believe we discussed your aunt's rose garden.' Alex smiled— whatever suffering he felt over doing the pretty was neatly hidden away behind grey eyes that reflected polite, neutral interest. That might have been the end of it if the orchestra hadn't chosen that moment to start back up, the sounds of instruments tuning inviting guests to return to the dance floor. The Townsend girl's gaze took on an expectant quality and Alex, damn him, felt obliged. 'Would you do me the honour of this dance?'
Townsend's niece—Caine had no idea what her name was and didn't care to learn it—blushed prettily and made a polite show of concern for leaving behind the party of girls with her. How would it be, she protested, to dance if her friends were left on the sidelines? Caine's cousins, the decent Parkhursts, leapt into the breach, making offers to the other girls until only he and Kieran were left with Lady Mary Kimber. She'd hung back during the bold interaction. Perhaps she'd been rightly mortified by the behaviour of her companions. 'I'll get us some punch,' Kieran offered, effecting his escape.
'You'd better get me my five pounds. It looks like I won this wager,' Caine growled as Kieran slipped off to the refreshment room. In this crush, it would take him a good twenty minutes to make the journey. Until then, Caine was stuck with Lady Mary Kimber, daughter of the Earl of Carys, one of the most impeccably mannered, well-dowered girls on the marriage mart, the personification of dutiful and beautiful, and the least likely to seek out the company of the Four Horsemen.
Her father had made no secret in the clubs that Lady Mary was meant for a duke. She had, in fact, spent a week at the end of May at the Duke of Harlow's house party expressly for that purpose. But Harlow had come back with his intentions firmly and rebelliously fixed on a pretty nobody from Dorset despite Lady Mary's beauty, bloodlines and bank account. Her father had thrown a fit over it at White's a few weeks back.
...
