'You wouldn't let it happen to you.' A look of begrudging admiration shaped Hugh's features. 'You're not the first man to have let a woman make a fool of him and bring him close to ruin.' A moment later he was once more contemplating his appearance, long patrician fingers dusting an immaculate broad shoulder encased in charcoal superfine. 'Don't be so damned melodramatic.' Alex Black-thorne's lack of sympathy held a hint of amusement. 'If I end in the Fleet my mother will have a fit, and Toby.' the mention of his older brother caused his mouth to twist in a grimace '.no doubt Toby will demand a dawn appointment on Clapham Common because I've sullied the family name.' Only needs one of 'em to start the ball rolling and my desk will be groaning under the weight of writs.' His glum face again sought the support of his hands. If I don't offer to pay Whittiker soon, the odious skinflint will dun me. Hugh Kendrick huffed in indignation, lolling back in his seat with a sulky expression.

Having efficiently folded the gazette, his lordship tossed it on to a wing chair. Viscount Blackthorne adjusted his neckcloth with nimble fingers but, when his friend continued frowning at the newsprint spread on the table, he turned impatiently from his ref lection to whip the offending paper out from under the fellow's elbows.

He leaned forwards, resting his chin in his cupped hands, absorbed in his reading. The weary censure had been directed at a gentleman who gave no more response than to deepen the furrow in his brow.

A Date with Dishonor by Mary Brendan