Page 8 of Marriage Most Scandalous
“Exactly. What more do we need than a place to sleep and eat while we’re here? We don’t stay here for very long.”
“But this place has such potential!” “It’s a bloody ruins, John,” Sebastian said dryly. “Let’s leave it that way.”
John sighed. He’d hoped to bring Sebastian out of the ennui he’d fallen into since leaving Austria by giving him something to do besides brood. Unfortunately, Sebastian fell into a dark mood whenever England came up in a conversation, which had occurred too frequently during their stay in Felburg. Word had been left with Maurice about three new job possibilities, but Sebastian had yet to inquire about them.
John went back to work in his conservatory behind the ruins. It was midafternoon when Sebastian wandered out, a glass of brandy in hand. A bad sign, that brandy. The brooding was getting worse.
“Tell me, John, is it luck that has followed me all these years, or merely coincidence?” Sebastian asked, his tone somewhat bored.
“In what regard, sir?”
“My career, of course. I can count on both hands the number of times I probably should have died, or at the very least been maimed for life, yet I’ve received no more than a nick or two, despite the numerous times weapons have been turned on me. And these jobs I take, no matter how bizarre or seemingly impossible, I always manage to accomplish, and usually with minimal effort. So your honest opinion, is it luck or amazing coincidence?”
“You’ve neglected to include skill in the choices,” John pointed out.
Sebastian snorted. “I’m no more skilled than the next man. I wield a pistol well enough—”
“With exceptional aim,” John added.
Sebastian waved that aside as inconsequential, continuing, “Hold my own in a fight—”
John cut in again. “Have you ever looked at the unlucky man’s face after your fist has been there?”
“These are not remarkable talents, John,” Sebastian said with a tinge of annoyance. “And quite unrelated, as it happens.”
John frowned thoughtfully before he asked, “What brought on this bout of introspection?”
“I risked four pistols being fired at me, at close range, no less, to get my hands on that blasted duke back in Austria. The odds were that at least one of those guards would have been quick enough to fire before I reached my target. My phenomenal luck has lasted eleven years. I’m beginning to feel uneasy about it. It’s bound to turn soon, don’t you think? A man can’t go on being lucky indefinitely.”
“Are you thinking of retiring?” John asked. “You certainly don’t need to continue in this line of work. Time to start a family perhaps?”
“A family?” Sebastian scowled darkly. “No. I wouldn’t wish myself on my worst enemy. But I was thinking of putting it to the test.”
“What?”
“This extraordinary luck of mine.”
Good God, the brooding had gone too far this time, John realized with alarm. He knew that a part of Sebastian had a death wish. He’d had it since they’d departed England. And nothing in all these years had occurred to alter his belief that he should have died instead of his friend Giles. Honor hadn’t been satisfied that day at The Dueling Rock, it had failed miserably.
“How do you plan to test your luck?” John asked worriedly.
Before Sebastian could respond, Maurice showed up to announce, “You have a visitor, Monsieur. A lady. You want I should show her to the kitchen?”
It was said with a snicker. The caretaker thought it was hilarious that a man as rich and renowned as The Raven was living out of a kitchen.
Sebastian didn’t even notice Maurice’s tone, or he chose not to. “A lady?” he said. “Or one of those tavern wenches trying once again to win their bet? You called them ladies, too, as I recall.”
Maurice flushed. John managed to hide a smile. The day the three tavern lovelies had shown up had been rather entertaining. They’d had a wager going, on which one of them could entice Sebastian to sample their wares. Sebastian would have been accommodating—all three were rather pretty—but none had won that day because they’d ended up fighting over him, literally.
Quite a few repairs had had to be made to the kitchen after they’d departed. And the wager was now as renowned as The Raven was, at least to the locals, since the women had continued their fight after they’d returned to the tavern. It wasn’t just a three-way bet now. Half the town, or more by now, had placed wagers as well.
“This one, she dresses like a lady,” Maurice assured. “And she is as English as you.”
John groaned. Maurice could be wrong. The woman might not be English at all. But it didn’t matter. Sebastian’s former homeland had been mentioned and now his brooding would only get worse. He would send her away without even finding out why she was there.
Predictably, Sebastian snarled. “Tell her the kitchen is closed and will remain closed—to her.”
Looking puzzled, Maurice turned to John. “Monsieur?”
