Lord Fool to the Rescue Read Online Free

and stared at it as if he could read it from five paces away. Once, he even wandered nonchalantly about the room, around a large table and back toward the book, with every eye watching him. When he finally neared the book, Leland thought Redmond might bark like a guard dog, but he remained seated, the flexing of his jaw not the only sign of his emotion. Every now and then, something especially malevolent flashed behind his eyes. A pity the Prince never seemed to witness it, or he might be more inclined to allow Leland’s complaints to be heard.
    Lord Anonymous’s man looked, presumably, at whatever bid Redmond had entered and harrumphed before wandering back to the section of wall that he’d guarded for close to twenty minutes.
    Seven minutes of.
    Leland couldn’t take it. He leapt to his feet and strode to the ledger. No one else would have the audacity to look at the names and amounts recorded there. No one stopped him because so many believed he might be making a wager himself.
    Each and every man in Redmond’s group had written an amount or a humorous offer next to his name. They would not have dared offer “my best riding horse” to a member of the haute ton without being expected to be called out for it.
    Redmond had scribbled his name as he always did and written 50 pounds next to it. An insult. A walk around the fountain with the woman had been worth more.
    Next to the X, directly below Redmond’s scrawl, was written 500 pounds.
    Beneath that Redmond had written 510.
    “No gawking at the bids, Wescott. Either bid or move away.”
    Since the large gathering had hushed in order to hear the exchange, numerous voices were heard from the entry and all eyes turned as Gibson escorted four footmen into the room. He bowed and pardoned a path to the ledger. Leland moved just a bit to the side to give the men access.
    The first of the footmen stepped forward and took quick stock of the bids and added his own. Leland leaned forward.
    600 to a Lord M…something . Probably Montgomery. The old lecher was slowing in his doddering and could no longer catch his maids even if he could see them clearly enough.
    Thankfully, the next footman wrote a higher bid, 650 from an equally lecherous, but much younger Lord Stephenson. If he didn’t know the woman was safe from these men, Leland would definitely be bidding now to keep her from being exposed to Stephenson’s twisted ways. He’d kill her spirit within ten minutes and leave nothing but a shell for some low piece of nobility to scoop up and put in his pocket.
    The next man stepped forward with quaking hands, splattering ink all over the page before pausing beneath the last number. Apparently the lad had not been given leave to bid that high and he set the pen down—eventually—and stepped away. He stayed on, however, to report the winner if he could, no doubt, and tried to disappear into the dark corner.
    “May I?” Lord Montgomery’s footman asked of no one but stepped forward and entered a new bid of 700.
    Lord Stephenson’s man bid again, 750.
    The duke growled himself to his feet and pushed them all out of the way.
    “Ready to bid yet, Wescott? Perhaps the two of us could join sums and take her on together.”
    That was it. That was the jibe Redmond had been saving all night to get him to bid and thus win at least the smaller wager. Redmond would be out 100 pounds if Leland didn’t bid. When he’d thumbed through the books, there’d been no lack of takers.
    Leland wouldn’t bite, though, however tempting it was. After meeting Miss MacIntyre, there was no way he could allow her to be fed to such wolves. But she wouldn’t be, he reminded himself. She would be safely away, and come morning, Redmond would be 100 pounds poorer and remain among the most lecherous of London as he had before. Nothing would have changed. 100 pounds exchanged from one pocket to the next. Something that happened daily, if not hourly, there at White’s. Money never saw its way to the