The spinster and the wastrel Read Free

was strictly necessary for his personal comfort. Against one wall, an armoire squatted, so small that not even half of Sir Gerard's wardrobe would fit into it. He would have to replace it Actually, he intended to replace all of the furniture, preferring the more delicate lines now in style.
    Yet, his plans took money. He gave a muffled oath. He had none. The furniture might not even be his to change. Everything depended upon what the entail included. Indeed, the brandy he now held in his hand was probably not his, since it was not likely to be included in the entail. All of it belonged to that woman.
    When he had noticed her studying him, he had assumed her to be one of his uncle's pensioners who worried about her future. His smile had meant to reassure her. but she had turned away. From shyness he had thought! Intrigued by the youth of this "charity case," he had intended to become better acquainted after the reading of the will.
    Well, his eyes had been opened. She was no poor pensioner, but an adventuress. She stole his money, but she would not keep it. She probably would have taken his title, too, if she could have.
    Like his uncle, she apparently judged him of little account. Someone she could rob with impunity. His uncle had named him a wastrel and worthless, but this time he would prove the insults wrong.
    At last he was the fifth Baronet Westcourt. He would get the money back and take his rightful place at the head of society. A man others respected.
    With a proud sneer, he toasted himself and drank some of the brandy. It burned going down his throat, although

    the vintage was a good one. He could not fault his uncle's concern for his personal comfort.
    A knock sounded on the door, and he growled, "Come in."
    Robert Linton ambled in. His closest friend had accompanied him on the trip from London to support him through the bereavement process. Average in height, Linton wore his brown hair in a simple fashion and dressed in black mourning clothes as a sign of respect—respect Sir Gerard no longer felt his uncle deserved. He saw the concern in Linton's hazel eyes and turned away to conceal his own emotions. The brandy sloshing in his glass betrayed his shaking hands. The precipice of social disaster loomed too close.
    "Care for a drink?" Sir Gerard asked, indicating the decanter on the table. "After hearing that will, I needed one."
    Linton nodded his agreement as he poured himself a glass. After sipping it, he asked, "What are you going to do now?"
    "I have to break the will. I must get that money."
    His friend compressed his lips. "It will not be easy."
    "Do I have a choice?"
    Linton knew the true state of his circumstances. "Breaking a will takes time," he said. "You do not have much of it."
    "I know." Sir Gerard swirled his brandy. "My gambling debts must be settled soon, or else every door in London will be closed against me. I will be an outcast. I could not bear that." Recalling Linton's financial problems, he cast an apologetic glance at him. "I regret I cannot help you out of your difficulties as I had planned."
    The other man shrugged. "No matter. The moneylender will just have to be patient a bit longer."

    Sir Gerard frowned. Linton had introduced him to that same money-lender where he borrowed a sum that now seemed to be a staggering amount. "I dislike the interest mounting up while he waits. I did not expect to have to pay him very much when I gave him my note."
    "Perhaps you celebrated your elevation to the title a little too soon."
    Sir Gerard cast his friend a sour look. "As I recall, you were right there alongside me."
    A reminiscent smile flitted across Linton's face. "It was certainly dashed good fun. Who knew what evil your uncle had plotted? To give you the title, but not the means to support it." He shook his head in disbelief.
    Sir Gerard strolled over to the fire and leaned against the mantel. "Perhaps it was not all my uncle's fault. Perhaps an adventuress lurks beneath the facade of a