“He’s holding?”

“Just so.”

“Unusual, a soldier of independent means. But not a rake?”

“Not so I’ve heard. And I am not so devoted a father that I believe my girls likely to attract a man for any other reason. They’re plain, solid creatures, good souls, but not... well... you know.”

Preshea followed his meaning. “How came this Ruthven by his fortune?”

The duke grimaced. “Wise on his investments. Something in transportation.”

“He undertook to trade in technology?”

“Yes, what matters this?”

Lord Akeldama remained silent, his bright eyes flashing between them as Preshea conducted her interrogation.

“A made man of modern sensibilities, and you don’t see him as a threat? Dearest duke, you do need my help. A man like that should make you nervous – such men tend to upset careful arrangements. They know too well their own minds, you see? It’s most aggravating.”

“You’re disposed to believe he’ll endanger your endeavors on my daughter’s behalf?”

“Not to worry, I can handle Captain Ruthven.”

That same night, in not quite as nice a part of London…

The club was louder than usual, the voices smoked by expensive cigars and pickled in cheap brandy. Captain Gavin Ruthven felt no inclination to drink or gamble, so he stood and watched a party of werewolves make fools of themselves over whist.

Werewolves were horrible whist players.

Jack found him holding up the wall.

“So, you’re truly coming to this house party with me tomorrow, old sport?”

“Said I would, did I na?”

“Yes, but I know what you’re like. And I really like this gel, Ruthven. Topping filly. As round and comfortable an armful as a…” He floundered. “…perfectly boiled egg.”

“You sound like a pining gyte from some yellow novel.”

“Well, she is! Not that I’ve had her in my arms, mind you.” Jack pouted. “For she is very fine stock. Duke of Snodgrove’s eldest.”

“Oh, aye.” There was a deal of satisfaction in Gavin’s tone.

Jack only smiled wider. “You know I don’t have your resources, nor the brains to make much of what little I got.”

In truth, Jack hadn’t the brains to roast a chestnut without assistance, but Gavin let him blether on.

“I require a wife to take me in hand.”

Gavin’s mind went a little wild at that statement, although he was tolerably certain Jack was not implying anything. Gavin himself preferred a lady to take him in hand. In the bedroom, mind you, not outside of it.

“Where did you meet this paragon?”

“Yonks ago. Brilliantly, we have a family connection. Our fathers went to Oxford together. Before mine went, you know, totty. So, daddy duke couldn’t be too off-putting. But then, worst luck, it was grouse season.”

“As it is every year.”

“Then partridge season. Then fox-hunting season. And now it’s been a werewolf’s age and I’m pining away for lack of her.”

“A veritable skeleton.”

“Ruthven, you cad! Can’t you see I’m perishing? It’s been months.”

“Remarkable.”

“Tragic, rather.”

“Nay, lad, remarkable in that you remain constant. In truth, I never knew you could be in love for more than two weeks together.”

“Well” —Jack give him a cheeky look— “she is quite wealthy.”

“Surely, the duke willna condone your suit.”

Jack lost his grin. “He’s as kind a father as he is a politician, known to permit love matches. One of his sons is recently engaged to an actress.”

“An actress who began life as an honest gentlewoman. I read about it in the papers.”

“Well, he can hardly object to me, can he?”

“He fairly can. You haven’t fippence. How will you keep a wife?”

“Exactly why I require one with money!”

Gavin, weak in the face of obtuseness, forbore to mention that perhaps the Duke of Snodgrove’s generosity of spirit did not extend to gangrels in pursuit of his daughters.

Jack looked at him with the dead-ferret expression he always got when arrested by some revelation. “Wait a moment there, Ruthven, old pip.”

“Aye?”

“Shouldn’t you be leaving off the moniker of captain, now you’ve tossed up your colors? Not sporting, what?”

Gavin had no idea where that question came from. He’d resigned months back and seen Jack regularly since. Best not to inquire: Jack’s thoughts sprang from a well so deep and dry that to ask after their origin was akin to dropping a pebble in a mine shaft and waiting to hear it strike bottom.

“Fair point, but I prefer Captain Ruthven.” Mr Ruthven was my father. “It gives me an air of authority.”

Jack huffed. “Like you need it, great hulking brute.”

“And you, such a wee thing.”

Jack guffawed.

They were neither of them small men. In fact, stood together, they were of a height. However, no one ever thought of Jack as particularly tall, while everyone knew Gavin to be a veritable giant.

This was due to Jack’s nature – all quick movements and a tendency to slouch that resulted in a boyishly unthreatening aspect. Gavin, on the other hand, took after his ancestors. Ancestors who, his ma joked, when the oxen dropped in harness, would take up the plow and pull it themselves. Where Jack was lanky, Gavin was all muscle. He thought of himself as a gentle giant who must perpetually be reminded of how ill he fitted into the civilized world. A great deal of his stiffness had developed before becoming a soldier. When he first got his height, all knees and elbows, he’d learned that the average drawing room was designed with no other intent than his continued embarrassment.