of the gowns and accessories, an admirable talent and something she was quite good at. She often created lavish costumes and gowns for her mother and sisters.
Unfortunately, the daughter of the Duke of Averell would have little opportunity to practice such a trade.
“Do you want to review last night’s receipts while you’re here?”
Tony nodded.
Leo stood and brought over a stack of markers, placing the sheaf of papers on the table between them. Taking a ledger, he took notes on each patron’s marker as Tony shuffled through the stack. Leo wrote down whose membership should be terminated, which gentlemen Elysium would continue to extend credit to or what assets the establishment would accept as payment. Horses, houses, carriages. Cufflinks were popular. Hatpins. Brooches. Once Leo had accepted the services of a mistress as payment.
“Winthrop.” His brother snorted.
“Winthrop?” Tony recalled the waddling lord who had hunted the delicious Miss Lainscott with such determination at Lady Dobson’s ball. It had been a fluke that Tony had even attended and reacquainted himself with Miss Lainscott, though he’d never forgotten meeting her at Gray Covington. The delicate pianist had made an indelible impression on him. He shifted in his seat as a sharp throb of arousal shot between his thighs at the mere thought of Miss Margaret Lainscott.
“He wants an extension on his account.”
Tony shook his head. “Has he any way to secure such credit?”
“Winthrop claims he’ll be marrying soon, and his future bride is an heiress.”
Miss Lainscott was an heiress. Tin. “Did he mention the girl’s name?”
“Refused to give it to me. Claims I won’t know her, but he said she’s rich as Croesus. Bragged about bagging her and then shipping her off to one of his estates so he wouldn’t have to deal with her.” Leo shook his head. “Poor girl.”
Tony’s fingers tightened around his glass of scotch. It appeared Miss Lainscott’s instincts had been spot on. “But he failed to give you a name? Sounds as if the marriage is not assured.”
“No. I suppose after disparaging her in such a way he became fearful I’d inform the unlucky heiress of his intentions.” Leo gave a soft chuckle. “He’s a buffoon and a poor gambler. I’m sure he’ll run through any fortune she has in a fortnight.”
Tony took another sip of scotch. He liked Miss Lainscott, probably more than she would wish him to, and had been toying with a way to see her again, though Tony knew he shouldn’t. But he felt oddly protective of her, in addition to wanting to bed her. Besides, he disliked Winthrop; the man was an overindulged windbag determined to fritter away what was left in the family coffers on gambling and mistresses.
“Maybe you should give him a small extension,” Tony replied to his brother. Miss Lainscott had asked him for help in securing another, less repulsive suitor. Truthfully, he’d been a little put out she hadn’t considered Tony to be suitable, only Carstairs. Not that it mattered. Tony’s intentions toward the delectable Miss Lainscott were anything but honorable and most definitely wouldn’t result in marriage.
He’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her, ridiculously pretending to be a timid little mouse and fading into the tapestries at Gray Covington. When she’d practically made love to the damn piano while performing for the guests, Welles had nearly snuck into her room at the house party and ravished her.
The dull ache between his thighs had become a persistent throbbing.
“The color of your waistcoat is a bit much so early in the day,” Tony said to Leo, determined to distract himself from thoughts of Miss Lainscott. The cut of his trousers wasn’t very forgiving.
“Bugger off, Tony.” Leo’s lip curled. “I like a bit of color; it’s better than dressing as if I’m about to attend a funeral.” He nodded to Tony’s perfectly tailored suit of indigo. “You look like an undertaker.”
“There’s always a widow who needs consoling at a funeral. Though I suppose you sniff out widows whether at a funeral or not,” Tony said pointedly. His brother was easily baited.
“Don’t,” Leo warned. “I’m fulfilling a promise to her late husband. Nothing more.”
Tony tipped the scotch back to his lips and drained the glass. “Of course you are. You’re a paragon of virtue. Honorable to the core. It’s one of the first things one realizes about you.”
Leo scowled. His fingers drummed against the crystal in his hand as if he was considering throwing the glass at Tony’s head. “I’ve work to do. You can see yourself out.”