Page 46 of A Scoundrel in the Making

“Wait a moment.” Abigail kept her gaze on Lady Elana. “I do not believe Lord Reade has asked me to marry him.”

“She is right.” Reade stood, and her stomach did a somersault when he grasped her arm and pulled her to her feet. Abigail stood face to face with him. “I have no money to speak of,” he said, then paused. “My brother is in trouble. Creditors…he made the mistake of gambling. But I cannot allow him and his family to lose their home. Once I have paid off his debts, we can marry. I cannot promise exactly when—”

“How much?” she said.

He frowned. “What?”

“How much does your brother owe?”

Understanding appeared in his gaze. “Abigail, I will not allow—”

“You will not allow your brother and his family to lose their home. How much?”

He released a breath and held her gaze. “Twenty thousand pounds.”

“I assume his properties generate revenue?” she said.

“Of course, but—”

“My father set aside fifteen thousand pounds for my dowry. My first husband received the money but, upon his death, I got it back. It is only fair that my second husband receive the same. I will advance the other five thousand pounds. That is, if my future husband does not consider my money his to do with as he pleases.”

“Abigail—”

“Does he?” she interrupted.

Reade kept his gaze locked with hers. “Nae.”

“Then it is settled.”

He grasped her hand. “But why?”

Abigail stared up at him. “For you to work so hard for your family, I assume they are good people.”

“Very good,” he replied.

She shrugged. “It is better to have good family to help than to have no family at all.” She arched a brow. “But you must promise to give up cards. I will not live in fear that my second husband will get shot in a gambling hell.”

“That is an easy promise,” he said. “I despise playing.”

She frowned. “But you are such a skilled player.”

“Strange, isn’t it?”

A nervous flutter of her stomach preceded her next and final demand. “I can live with marrying a scoundrel, but I must insist that you give up your rakish ways.”

Surprise shone in his eyes. “Abigail, haven’t you realized I’m no real scoundrel.” He stepped closer. “At least with no one but you.”

She blinked, then understanding dawned. She shifted her gaze to The Raven. “Well done, madam.”

Lady Elana laughed. “You can thank The Marriage Maker.”

“The—” Abigail snapped her gaze onto Sir Stirling. “You, sir?”

He smiled and nodded.

Reade’s low laugh drew her attention back to him. “It seems we are the victims of an elaborate matchmaking scheme,” he murmured.

“So it would seem.” Abigail lifted her eyes to his. “Why do you want to marry me—I do not mind if it is for my money.”

“For your money?” His eyes softened. “I recently learned that a man does not need two years to decide to marry the woman he loves.”

“Loves—Two years?” she said.

He pulled her close. “Aye.”

Before she could ask for an explanation, he kissed her.

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