The Problem with Seduction - By Emma Locke Page 0,11
desk in the corner was riddled with paperwork, estate books, and correspondence, work he’d apparently interrupted to hunt Con down and bring him to heel. Montborne’s desk was a stately monstrosity commanding the window, its immaculate condition established in those weeks per year when they had servants to see to such things. The rest of the year it collected dust, or if a drawer was opened at all, it was in a vain hope of finding forgotten pin money.
“Look,” Con tried again, “I know I’ve made a mess of things, but I don’t think marrying her is going to make amends. Why would she even agree? She’s completely independent and wealthier than all five of us put together. No woman in her right mind would marry a penniless fourth son, even if she were as pure as the driven snow. Especially not a woman who can pay for the best tutors and buy a comfortable little house and has already spurned the idea of marriage.”
“You know that last bit for a fact?” Tony asked with an earnestness no other man could have pulled off.
Con took a seat on one of the dark green sofas angled before the fireplace. Standing was beginning to make him feel defensive. He crossed his legs and settled his elbow on the arm of the chair, brandy in hand. “Are you suggesting she’s reformed? A reformed courtesan? Maybe she wants a husband and a houseful of little children?”
Tony regarded him with that smug superciliousness that made Con want to plant him a facer. “Maybe she’s never had a problem with marriage. Did you stop to think that maybe it wasn’t her fault she ended up in her situation in the first place?”
“No, I never thought that maybe one day she accidentally fell on a man’s—”
“You both misunderstood me,” Montborne intervened. “I wasn’t trying to say it’s ridiculous for Constantine to marry Elizabeth, whatever her history might be. I merely meant our young brother is the last of us I’d expect to own up and propose marriage to a woman just because he’d planted his seed in her. As in, ‘Con marry Elizabeth Spencer? I will eat my best stocking the day I witness him right one of his mistakes.’”
It wasn’t the full-fledged support Con was looking for, but at least Montborne wasn’t pressing him to marry a lightskirt he barely knew. He couldn’t help but be a little disappointed, though, to hear his brother declare him just the kind of man who walked away from his responsibilities. Especially when, in this instance, he’d actually managed to keep himself out of debtors’ prison, all by himself.
That had to be the worst defense imaginable. But he was drawing at straws. “Most men wouldn’t be expected to marry their mistress and raise their bastard as if he were a legitimate heir,” he tried. “Am I right?”
“No,” both of his brothers said together.
“You didn’t get some common whore with child,” Tony said. “You managed to find an earl’s daughter. So that’s one difference. Whether or not she was pure when you had her is beside the point. You made a mockery of our family by approaching Captain Finn in a crowded gaming hell and shaming him with his mistress’s infidelity while airing your own indiscretion. You thoroughly ruined her—don’t shake your head like her fallen state is any defense. How many men do you think want to take on a mistress who is both unfaithful and the mother of a small child? What you did to her was unconscionable, but that only scratches the surface. You ruined an innocent man’s life so that you could claim your son. How was he to be any wiser if you’d just kept your trap shut? It was the right thing to do if you were going to raise the boy yourself, but now you don’t even want your baby or the mother. What was your point, then, in destroying all of those lives?”
“You’re laying it on a bit thick,” Montborne said. “Con’s never been one to think through his actions. Do you really think he had a plan?”
The odd look came into Montborne’s eyes again. He turned away before Con could examine it more thoroughly.
“Don’t go easy on him just because you’ve enjoyed your own share of scandals,” Tony said.
“I always know what I’m doing.” Montborne didn’t take his gaze from the window. “I’d be happy to go through a catalog of my foibles later, but such an inventory would almost certainly require