One Good Earl Deserves a Lover (The Rules of Scoundrels #2)(9)

She could remember, however, the hot embarrassment that came with the laughter at that country gathering as though it had happened yesterday. As though it had happened moments ago.

But what had actually happened moments ago seemed somehow worse than showing half of the Beau Monde one’s seven-year-old ankles. Being labeled the strangest Marbury from such a young age allowed for one to develop something of a thick skin. It took much more than snickers from behind fans to rouse Pippa’s embarrassment.

Apparently, it took a man refusing her request for ruination.

A very tall, clearly intelligent, obviously fascinating man.

She had done her best—laid out her proposal in detail, appealed to him as a man of science—and still, he’d refused.

She hadn’t considered that possibility.

She should have, of course. She should have recognized it the moment she stepped inside that glorious office—filled with all manner of interesting things—should have known that her offer would not intrigue him. Mr. Cross was obviously a man of knowledge and experience, and she was the fourth daughter of a double marquess, who could name all the bones in the human body and was therefore somewhat abnormal.

It mattered not a bit that she required a research associate and that she had a mere fourteen days—just 336 dwindling hours—to resolve all her questions regarding her future marriage.

He’d obviously completed plenty of his own experimentation and did not require a research associate.

Not even one who was willing to pay him.

Looking around the large, empty main room of the casino, she supposed she should not have been surprised by that either. After all, a man who owned a casino that dealt in the kind of finances accounted in the large, leather-bound ledger she’d discovered when she’d entered his office was not the kind of man who could be tempted by twenty-five pounds. Or fifty.

That, she should have considered.

It was a pity, really. He’d seemed altogether promising. The most promising option when she’d conceived of the plan, several nights earlier after reading the text of the ceremony to which she would be a party in two weeks’ time.

Carnal lust.

Procreation.

It was wrong, was it not, that a woman was made party to such things without any experience? Without even a sound explanation of the items in question? And that was before the priest even came to the bits relating to obedience and servitude.

It was all entirely unsettling.

Even more unsettling when she considered how disappointed she’d been that Mr. Cross had refused her.

She would have liked to have spent more time with his abacus.

Not just the abacus.

Pippa did not believe in lying, either to herself or to others. It was perfectly fine if those around her wanted to hide the truth, but she had found long ago that dishonesty only made for more work in the long run.

So, no, it was not only the abacus that intrigued her.

It was the man himself. When she’d arrived at the club, she’d expected to find the Cross of legend—handsome and clever and charming and able to strip the clothes from any female in his presence in a matter of seconds . . . without the use of his hands.

But she hadn’t found that man at all. There was no doubt he was clever, but there hadn’t been much charm at all in their interaction, and as for handsome—well, he was very tall, all long limbs and sharp angles, with a mop of finger-combed ginger hair that she would never have imagined he’d have. No, he wasn’t handsome. Not classically.

He was interesting. Which was much better.

Or worse, as the case may be.

He was clearly knowledgeable in the areas of physics and geography, and he was good with numbers—she would wager that the lack of scratch paper on his desk pointed to his ability to calculate the ledger in his head. Impressive, considering the sheer quantity of numbers held therein.

And he slept on the floor.

Half-nude.

That part was rather curious.

Pippa liked curious.

But apparently he did not. And that was critical.

She’d gone through a great deal of trouble concocting a plan, however, and she would not let the contrariness of one man—however fascinating—get in her way. She was in a gaming hell, after all. And gaming hells were purported to be filled with men. Surely there was another man who might be more amenable to her request. She was a scientist, and scientists were nothing if not adaptable.

Pippa would, therefore, adapt and do whatever it took to gain the understanding that she required to ensure that she was completely prepared on the evening of her marriage.

Her marriage.

She didn’t like to say it—she didn’t like to even think it—but the Earl of Castleton wasn’t exactly the most exciting of potential husbands. Oh, he was fair to look at and titled, which her mother appreciated. And he had a lovely estate.

But he wasn’t very smart. Even that was a generous way of putting it. He’d once asked her what part of the pig the sausage came from. She did not want to even consider what he believed the answer to be.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry him. He was no doubt her best option, dull or less than brilliant or otherwise. He knew he lacked intellectual prowess and seemed more than willing—eager, in fact—to have Pippa help him manage his estate and run his house. She was looking forward to it, having read a number of texts on crop rotation, modern irrigation, and animal husbandry.