Mutual Consent Read Free

streets, the earl’s lip curled. If he had not been under irresistible duress, there was no power on earth that could have otherwise persuaded him to enter this small area sandwiched between the Bloody Tower and the Temple Bar.
    The carriage stopped. The Earl of Chatworth got out and instructed the driver to wait. He swept cold eyes over the faces of the curious who passed by him on the sidewalk and who had instantly recognized him as the stranger that he was, and by will alone he forced them to avert their gazes.
    Upon the outside wall of the building in front of him was a plaque with the business stated upon it, as required by law. Without a backward glance, the earl entered the building.
    He was shown immediately into the office of the man at whose summons he had come.
    The cit was behind his desk. He did not rise upon the earl’s entrance, a discourtesy that the Earl of Chatworth perceived as a calculated insult. The cit waved the earl to a chair. “This is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure, my Lord Chatworth,” said the cit blandly, leaning back in his chair.
    “Indeed, Cribbage? How unlike my man of business to mistake the matter,” said the earl grimly.
    Cribbage smiled thinly. His heavy face seemed unsuited to such frivolous exercise. His hard eyes did not lighten. “A sense of humor is always an advantage, my lord,” he observed.
    “I see nothing humorous in this business,” Lord Chatworth bit off.
    “Ah, but I do, Chatworth,” Cribbage said softly. He was aware of the earl’s anger at his deliberate lack of respect in addressing his lordship without making use of his title. However, he was obscurely disappointed that his lordship did not call him on it. It would have pleased him to be able to squelch the peer’s inbred arrogance. “You realize the irony, of course. Hat in your hand and all of that.”
    The earl’s lips tightened. His eyes were icy. “Quite. I should like to conclude this interview as quickly as possible.’’
    “And I,” Cribbage agreed. He tapped a number of parchments under his wide hand. “These are the mortgages to your estates and ancestral home. Also, I have the vowels of honor that you have lost at cards these past two months. The total comes, if I am not mistaken, to several thousand pounds.”
    Lord Chatworth was white of face as he looked up from the pile of chits. He could scarcely control his rage. “How came you by those?”
    Cribbage quirked a heavy brow. “I am a very wealthy man. Hard currency appears much more advantageous to many people than does a handful of worthless chits.”
    Lord Chatworth could not imagine any of his acquaintances agreeing to such a bargain. It went completely against the gentleman’s code of honor. Unless the vowels had been unscrupulously attained, he thought, recalling how two of his friends had said his vowels were redeemed. But the puzzle of the debts of honor was small compared to what else the cit held.
    “What is it you want of me?” Lord Chatworth asked harshly. The cit already had the mortgages to his estates, so it was not the land that interested the man. Wild speculations raced through his head. Surely Cribbage must know that he could never raise all at one time the amount represented by his vowels.
    “I am a businessman, my lord. I never speculate unless I am certain of a profit. You would have been wise to do the same,” said Cribbage, tapping a thick forefinger on the stack of vowels in front of him.
    The earl choked back his anger, aware that the cit was deliberately baiting him. But he would be damned before he gave the man the satisfaction of an ill-bred outburst. “What is it you want?” he ground out between his teeth.
    Cribbage’s hard eyes glittered. “I want your name, Chatworth.”
    Lord Chatworth stared. The man was mad, he thought. He laughed and replied in clipped contempt, “You damned fool! I could not make you earl if I wished, even if you do hold my life in your hands.”
    Cribbage smiled coldly.