Nov 8, 2022
Hart stared into Robin’s face. “Why are you staying? Why haven’t you gone?”
“That was an argument. This is a crisis. When we’ve dealt with the crisis, we’ll go back to the argument.”
The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
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Hart stared into Robin’s face. “Why are you staying? Why haven’t you gone?”
“That was an argument. This is a crisis. When we’ve dealt with the crisis, we’ll go back to the argument.”
The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
Robin sat and listened to music for several hours, and was disappointed to learn that only forty minutes had passed on the clock.
K.J. Charles, The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting
“What’s your name?”
“Sorry?”
“Your first name. I can hardly do this for a month without knowing your name.”
“Oh. Robin.”
“Well, Robin, I— Wait, what? Robin Loxleigh?”
“That’s me.”
“The devil it is. You and your sister are Robin and Marianne Loxleigh, of Nottingham?”
Loxleigh’s mouth curved. “Ah, you noticed.”
“I’m surprised everyone hasn’t. Are those your real names?”
“Oh, what’s in a name? What do I call you?”
“Hart.”
“Do you mind Sir John? Appropriately used, of course.”
“Call me what you want.” Hart was still reeling from the absurdity of it. He’d grown up on tales of Robin of Locksley, Maid Marion, and the Sheriff of Nottingham. “Stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?”
“I wouldn’t say stealing. But Marianne and I are definitely the poor, so...”
“Good God.” He started laughing. “Good God, you’ve a nerve. Are you always like this?”
Loxleigh—Robin—shrugged, grinning. Hart shook his head.
- The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
Marianne put her elbows on the table, and her noble and lofty forehead in her hands. “Let me try to make this clear to you, Rob. Granted, I didn’t want Hartlebury telling people you don’t pay your debts. Granted, you have dealt with that issue with remarkable expediency. But—and I dare say I should have spelled this out—I didn’t mean that he should be able to tell people you molly for money instead.”
“There’s no need to be rude.”
Marianne gave a strangled scream. She was definitely taking this with less than her usual aplomb.
“You wanted a month,” Robin told her. “You have one, and more, because I think Hartlebury will play fair. He doesn’t give a damn for Tachbrook; he only cares about Alice.”
“And about getting his hands on your arse.”
“Well, I do have a fine arse.”
“Rob.” She looked up. “I can’t ask you to do this. Not for me, not for a month.”
“You didn’t ask me. He didn’t ask me. Nobody had to ask me because it was my idea. God’s sake, why wouldn’t I want to?” He recalled the way Hart had said, Shouldn’t you pay me?, the sudden humour that lit his grim-set features and told Robin that his gamble had paid off. “Really, those thighs, I’m sure I’ve mentioned them. And we agreed I can’t possibly pursue another heiress this Season, so I need something to do that isn’t drifting around endless tedious events.”
“Something to do,” she repeated. “Have you not heard of watercolours?”
Robin sighed. “Marnie, it’s not hostile. He didn’t force me into this. It’s more like—we wanted to fuck, and now we can, do you see? It was already there. The money is just his excuse.”
“What’s yours?”
Robin fluttered his eyelashes. “Brotherly love, of course.”
- The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
Hartlebury sat silently, his eyes on Robin’s face.
It was staggeringly uncomfortable. The hostility was a palpable thing, and Robin could feel his cheeks heating. He set himself to ignore it and speak pleasantly to Alice, trying to ease her evident discomfort. It was almost a relief when Hartlebury said, “A word in private with you, Loxleigh.”
They went into a study, the desk littered with papers. Hartlebury took the chair without offering Robin one, leaving him standing in front of the desk like a boy in the headmaster’s presence. The devil with that. He spotted a chair against a wall and carried it over, putting it at the side of the desk rather than in front of it. “May I sit?”
Hartlebury looked like he wanted to say no, but waved his hand irritably. Robin seated himself, crossing his legs.
- The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
“Enough speechifying,” Hartlebury snapped. “I know what I saw, and I know what you are.”
“You know nothing. You have invented an untruth because you believe I am a fortune hunter. I don’t know how I can persuade you that I am nothing of the kind; I can only tell you that Miss Fenwick’s wealth may be common knowledge in London, but I am not from here and nobody mentioned it to me. And I’ll tell you something else—”
“Is it possible to stop you? You should be on the stage, with this gift for the dramatic monologue.”
Utter prick.
- The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
Hartlebury was notoriously rag-mannered, with his brusque unwillingness to trouble with social niceties, but even given that, he’d radiated hostility. Robin had done his best to charm, but everything he’d tried had bounced off the man’s armour. He just hoped that was because Hartlebury was protective of Alice, rather than what he really feared, which was that he’d spotted Robin fuzzing the cards.
He didn’t want to consider that possibility. He hadn’t even mentioned it to Marianne, in the hope that if he didn’t voice it, it wouldn’t be true. Not talking about things was almost the same as them not having happened, a principle that had served Robin well for years. And surely if Hartlebury had seen he’d have spoken up at the time, exposed Robin in the act. Surely.
- The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles
Marianne smiled at Robin, and murmured, “There’s a man following us.”
“You or me?”
“Me, you fool. If I talk to him, you could try for his pocketbook.”
Robin prodded the rounded arm that lay through his in a playful manner. “Don’t tempt me.”
“We’ve got exactly three pounds and sevenpence left. And he’s annoying me.”
“Doing what?”
“Existing.”
- The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting by K.J. Charles