The Misguided Matchmaker Read Free Page A

looked as if he
would be more at home on the deck of one of his ships than in his present
surroundings. His deeply tanned face had the look of old leather, his salt and
pepper hair was unfashionably long, and his black topcoat, while superbly cut,
looked as if he’d slept in it. He surveyed them with frank curiosity. “Which
one’s the earl and which the bastard?” he asked in a booming voice.
    Tristan
saw Garth stiffen in anger. “I am Tristan Thibault,” he said quickly. Harcourt
was obviously an insufferable boor, but he held all the aces in this particular
game; to rile him now would be sheer stupidity.
    “Castlereagh’s
favorite spy, or so my sources tell me.” Harcourt’s shrewd eyes held an odd
look akin to respect. “Thought you were in Vienna.”
    “Your
‘sources’ are behind times, sir. I hope you haven’t overpaid them. I’ve been
back in England these three days.”
    To
Tristan’s surprise, Harcourt threw back his leonine head and roared with
laughter. “Insolent pup. But you’re right. My high-priced informants will find
their pay packets a bit thin this quarter.”
    His
attention turned to Garth. “And what have you to say, my lord? Or do you let
your brother do your talking for you?”
    Garth
pulled himself up to his full height, which was still a head shorter than
Tristan and shorter yet than the giant cit. “I speak for myself, sir, when I
have something to say. At the moment, you have me at a disadvantage, all things
considered.”
    Harcourt
tapped a stack of papers on his desk with the tip of his index finger. “A
considerable disadvantage, I’d say. But sit down and we’ll talk about it.” He
indicated two chairs and promptly seated himself behind his desk. “No use
trying to wrap it up pretty. Your father was the sorriest excuse for a man as
ever God created. The only thing worse than a drunk and a womanizer is a card
cheat—and he was all three. Left you in the suds, he did, and that’s a fact.”
    Tristan
exchanged a telling look with Garth at this cit’s audacity, but there was no
disputing the truth of his words.
    Harcourt
leaned across the desk. “Don’t suppose you have any idea how you’re going to
take care of your mother and sister, not to mention the poor souls starving to
death in those broken-down tenants’ cottages on your estates.
    The
shocked silence in the small room was as thick and cold as a London fog.
    “Just
as I thought,” Harcourt said, as if by remaining mute, Garth had as much as
admitted he had no idea how to solve his financial problems himself. The big
man sat back in his chair, a satisfied look on his weathered face. “Very well,
my lord. Here’s my proposition, plain and simple. I’ll cancel out the mountain
of debts you inherited and advance you enough blunt to put your estates on a
paying basis…providing you agree to two things.
    Tristan
met Garth’s look of astonishment with one of his own. They had discussed a
dozen possible outcomes to this meeting during their long brandy-soaked night;
an offer to put the Earl of Rand’s affairs in order was not one of them. As
one, they turned to face the man behind the desk. “What two things?” they asked
in unison.
    “First,
my lord, I want you’re promise you’ll work at restoring your estates
yourself—not simply turn the task over to a bailiff. I’ve no use for a man,
titled or not, who’s afraid of work.”
    Garth
swallowed hard, obviously choking on the pride he was forced to swallow. “I
shall devote every waking hour to bringing things about if we come to an
agreement.” He swallowed again. “My interests are of a more sober mien than
those of my father.”
    “Not
right off you won’t,” Harcourt declared. “I’ve a more important piece of work
needs doing on the Continent and it just occurred to me you’re the very one to
do it, since my sources tell me you know France better than most Frenchies.” He
raised a hand to forestall Tristan’s objections. “It won’t