“Melcham?” Jack tapped a fingernail against his ale mug. “So Gurnard’s very likely up to his eyebrows in debt.”

Harry nodded. “Very possibly over his head. And if Melcham holds his vowels, as seems very likely, his future doesn’t look promising.”

“Who’s Melcham?” Toby asked.

“Melcham,” Jack said, “is quite a character. His father was a gamester-ran through the family fortune, quite a considerable one as it happened, then died, leaving his son nothing but debts. The present earl, however, is cut from a different cloth than that used to fashion his sire. He set out to regain his fortune by winning it back from those who had won it from his father. Them and their kind, which is to say the sharps who prey on the susceptible. And he wins. Virtually always.”

“The sharps can’t resist the challenge,” Harry added. “They line up to be fleeced, knowing Melcham’s now worth a not-so-small fortune. The catch is that he’s also won a lot of powerful friends-and paying one’s debts is mandatory.”

“In other words,” Jack summed up, straightening in his chair, “Gurnard is in a lot of trouble. And once the news gets out, he’ll no longer be the sort of escort wise mamas view with equanimity.”

“But not yet,” Harry said. “The news hasn’t hit the clubs. That was privileged information, courtesy of some friends in the Guards.”

Jack nodded. “All right. So Gurnard has decided that the most sensible way to get himself out of the hole he has nearly buried himself in is to marry an heiress-a very wealthy heiress.”

“Clarissa?” asked Toby.

“So it appears.” Jack’s expression was as grim as Harry’s. “And time is not on his side. He’ll have to secure his heiress before his pressing concerns become public knowledge.” Jack turned to Toby. “Exactly how did he want this meeting arranged?”

Toby had started to repeat the directions Gurnard had been at pains to impress upon him when the door opened and Ned walked in. Toby broke off in midsentence. Ned’s amiable smile faded as he took in Toby’s expression and Harry’s grim face. He looked at Jack.

Jack smiled, a predatory glint in his eye. “What did Jackson say today?”

Drawing a chair up to the table, Ned dropped into it. “I have to work on my right hook. The left jab’s coming along well enough.” Ever since Jack had introduced him to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Saloon, Ned had been taking lessons, having uncovered a real aptitude for the sport. His eyes slid around the table once more.

“Excellent.” Jack’s gaze was distant, as if viewing some invisible vista. Then he abruptly refocused on Ned. “Strangely, I believe we may have found a use for your newly discovered talents.”

“Oh?” Jack’s smile was making Ned uneasy.

The smile grew broader. “You want to consolidate your position in Clarissa’s affections, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Ned admitted, somewhat cautiously.

“Well, I’m pleased to announce that a situation has arisen which calls for a knight-errant to rescue a fair damsel from the unwanted attentions of a dastardly knave. And as the fair damsel is Clarissa, I suspect you had better polish up your armour.”

“What!”

It took another ten minutes to explain all to Ned’s satisfaction and by then Jack had been sidetracked. “You told all this to Sophie?” he asked, fixing Toby with a disbelieving stare.

Toby looked guilty. “I couldn’t avoid it-she threatened to speak to Mama.”

Jack looked disgusted. “Meddlesome female,” he growled, and he didn’t mean Lucilla.

“I pointed out that we needn’t worry until the gala. If Papa returns before that, there’ll be no reason for Sophie to worry at all.”

Jack nodded. “Well, don’t tell her anything more. We can take care of it-and the fewer complications the better.”

Toby nodded, entirely in agreement.

“But how, exactly, are we to take care of it?” Ned’s expression was grimly determined.

Succinctly, assisted by helpful suggestions from his inventive brother, Jack laid their campaign before them.

By the time he’d finished, even Ned was smiling.

“ARGH!” Jack stretched his arms above his head, then relaxed into his chair. “At last I think I see the light.”

Harry grinned. “Think Ned can pull it off?”

The brothers were once more alone, Ned and Toby having taken themselves off with some vague intention of keeping a watchful eye on Clarissa during her afternoon’s promenade in the Park.

“Think?” Jack replied. “I know it! This performance should land Clarissa firmly in his arms, relieving Sophie of further anxiety on the point and myself of the charge of overseeing that youthful romance once and for all.”

“Has it been such a burden?” Harry drained his tankard.

“Not a burden, precisely. But it hurts to watch one of us succumb so young.”

Harry chuckled. “Well, at least neither of us fell young, and I don’t think you need worry about Gerald.”

“Thank God. At least I have the excuse of being the head of the family-it’s expected, after all.”

“Rationalize it any way you want, brother mine; I know the truth.”

Jack’s blue eyes met Harry’s green ones across the width of the table. Their gazes locked, then Jack sighed. “Well, at least with Ned safely settled, I’ll be able to give my full attention to a certain golden head. And with Horatio Webb’s help, I’ll conquer her stubbornness.”

“Let me be the first to wish you happy.”

Jack glanced at Harry and realized his brother was serious. He smiled. “Why thank you, brother mine.”

“And I’ll give you a warning, too.”

“Oh?”

“The news is out.”

Jack grimaced. “Are you sure?”

“Put it this way.” Harry set his tankard down. “I was at Lady Bromford’s affair last night, and lo and behold, Lady Argyle made a play for me. Not a blush in sight, what’s more. She had her daughter in tow, a chit just out of the schoolroom.” Harry wrinkled his nose. “Her ladyship was as clinging as Medusa. Totally unaccountable, unless she’d heard rather more than a whisper of our affairs.”

“And if she’s heard, others will, too.” Jack grimaced even more.

“Which means it won’t be long before we’re the toast of the tea parties. If I were you, I’d secure your golden head with all speed. An announcement in the Gazette should just be enough to buy your escape. As for myself, I’ve decided to run for cover.”

Jack grinned. “I did wonder over your sudden penchant for the lush green fields.”

“In the circumstances, Newmarket looks considerably safer than London.” Harry’s grin was crooked as he rose. “Given the danger, I feel confident I’ll find enough in the country to keep me amused for the rest of the Season.”

Jack shook his head. “You won’t be able to run forever, you know.”

Harry raised an arrogant brow. “Love,” he declared, “is not about to catch me.” With a last, long look, he turned to the door. His hand on the knob, he paused to look back, his grin distinctly wry. “Good luck. Just don’t get so distracted by the excitement at the gala that you forget to keep your back covered. Until your golden head says yes, you’re no safer than I.”

Jack had raised his hand in farewell; now he groaned. “God help me! Just when I thought I was home and hosed.”

HARRY’S DIRE PREDICTION was confirmed that evening at Lady Summerville’s ball. Jack bowed gracefully over her ladyship’s hand, disturbingly aware of the relish in her gimlet gaze. Luckily her duties prohibited her from pursuing him immediately, but her promise to look him up later left little doubt that his news was out. Fully alert, Jack artfully avoided two ostriched-plumed matrons, as imposing as battleships, waiting to ambush him just yards from the ballroom steps. He was congratulating himself on his escape when he walked straight into Lady Middleton’s clutches.

“My dear Mr. Lester! I declare, Middleton and I have not seen much of you this year.”

Biting back the retort that, if he had had his eyes about him, her ladyship would have seen even less of him, Jack bowed resignedly. On straightening, he was subjected to the scrutiny of her ladyship’s protuberant eyes, grotesquely magnified by lorgnettes deployed like gunsights. “Indeed, ma’am, I fear I have been greatly occupied thus far this Season.”

“Well! I hope you’re not going to be too occupied to attend my niece’s coming-out ball. She’s a sweet thing and will make some gentleman an unexceptionable wife. Your Aunt Harriet was particularly fond of her, y’know.” This last was accompanied by a pointed glance. Jack looked politely impressed. Her ladyship nodded, apparently satisfied. “Middleton and I will expect you.”

With a snap, she shut her lorgnettes and used them to tap him on the sleeve.

Choosing to interpret this as a dismissal, Jack bowed and slid into the crowd. It was, indeed, as Harry had foreseen; despite his efforts to make his intentions crystal clear, he was not yet safe. Doubtless, nothing less than the announcement of his betrothal would convince the matchmaking mamas that he had passed beyond their reach. Yet another good reason to add to the increasingly impressive tally indicating that the speedy curtailment of Miss Sophia Winterton’s Season was a highly desirable goal.

Looking about him, he spotted his quarry, elegant as ever in a gown of pale green figured silk, her curls glowing warmly in the candlelight. His height was both advantage and disadvantage, allowing him to scan the crowds but making him far too conspicuous a target. By dint of some rapid tacking by way of evasive action, he gained Sophie’s side without further difficulty.

As always, his appearance coincided with a thinning of the ranks about her. Sophie no longer noticed. She gave him her hand and a warmly welcoming smile. “Good evening, Mr. Lester.”

“Actually,” Jack said, straightening and scanning their surroundings. “It probably isn’t.”