Anthony was just finishing his morning shave to the sound of roosters and whinnying horses when a creak of the mattress indicated that Miss Devon had awakened as well.

“Good morning, my love,” he called out as he rinsed his straight razor in a small basin. “You’ll be appalled to know this chaise longue isn’t fit for a pig to sleep upon. I never quite got used to my legs dangling off the end, and my neck is so stiff I won’t be able to turn my head to the left for days.”

“Why would a pig stay in a bedchamber?” She swung her legs off the mattress and rubbed her face. “And what ungodly hour is it?”

“Six,” he answered brightly.

“Six?” She groaned in dismay. “I would’ve thought a prodigal rake might be counted upon to sleep until at least ten.”

“And that is what you get for assuming all prodigal rakes act in precisely the same way. Let that be a lesson to you.” He shook a finger at her.

She fell back against the mattress with a moan. “Why on earth are you awake?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” he said. “Did you miss the part about my legs dangling into the abyss all night or the bit about my neck bones being fused at an odd angle? The next time we share a room, I’m taking the bed.”

“Then where do I sleep?” she asked tartly.

“Also the bed.” He turned back to the looking glass to dry his face. “Do try to pay attention.”

“Do try to stop dreaming.” Although she was still lying back with her eyes facing the tester, a telltale smile played at the edges of her lips.

Pleasure warmed him. He slipped his razor into his valise and curled his fingers about the handle. “I’m afraid I’m utterly presentable, and cannot prolong my morning toilette for a moment without putting shame to Brummell himself. If you like, however, I could stay just long enough to accompany you to breakfast?”

“To my chagrin, I would like that very much.” She sat up, her expression now serious. “But I’ve dallied longer than I should, and must be off immediately.”

He bowed and picked up his valise. “Perhaps I’ll see you one day in London?”

She shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s the last place we’d cross paths. Perhaps we’ll see each other again someday in Scotland.” A smile tugged at her lips. “So far, you’ve been my favorite husband.”

“So far?” he teased, echoing her earlier mock outrage. “Shall you replace me so easily?”

She grinned back at him. “You needn’t be jealous. We’ll always have… where are we again?”

“The Kitty and Cock Inn,” Anthony replied, straight-faced. If he were to be honest, he’d chosen the inn largely because of its name.

“The Kitty and Cock Inn. Has there ever been a more romantic posting house?” She clutched her hands to her heart as if tempted to swoon. “Good luck at the gaming tables, Mr. Fairfax. May fortune be with you.”

“It already is. Farewell, my lady.” He strode out of the chamber and into the corridor, and shut the door smartly behind him before he could do anything so foolish as dare to kiss her goodbye.

If she had let him, he might not have wished to stop.

What if she would not have wished to stop, either?

Anthony hurried toward the stairs before he could continue this line of thought. Much as he liked Miss Devon, a man as penniless as he was in no position to take on an idle flirtation. He couldn’t afford a wife, much less a mistress.

That the innkeeper had believed the claim was testament to just how far he was from home.

He shook his head as he entered the stairwell. Thank God no one who knew him would ever believe the rumors, should gossip about their Scottish encounter ever reach London. The last thing he needed was to embroil himself in a compromise, no matter how much he’d liked Miss Devon.

If he’d had the blunt, he would have loved to have at least been able to treat her to grander accommodation. A luxurious suite of her own. Which she would perhaps invite him to share…

Enough mooning. He rolled his shoulders. He had games to play and money to win. Someone would surely seed him a shilling, and by this time tonight his troubles might be nearly over.

He strode out into the corridor. His stomach rumbled. Unlike last night, at this hour few guests milled about the inn’s common areas. But the kitchen would undoubtedly be open. And his temporary wife had already paid for the day’s meals.

A pang of self-loathing made his muscles tense. He should be the one paying for meals. A better gentleman would’ve had the blunt to hire Miss Devon a maid, rather than resort to doing the honors himself. Hadn’t he sworn to never again pick up an iron?

Anthony’s shoulders sagged. How he wished he hadn’t been blown up at Point Non Plus. Money was happiness. When he was flush, life was perfect. He could make all his friends and family happy. Buy them anything they wished. Be wanted. When times were tight, the only doors that opened to him were those of the debtors’ prison.

He pushed the negative thoughts away as he set down his valise by the entrance to the dining room.

Enough. His luck always managed to turn around. No matter how dire things became, if he believed in himself and kept wagering ever higher, fortune eventually found him. Had he not recovered from similar losses dozens of times before?

Today would be more profitable. He would even have breakfast! More importantly, he’d spent the entire night in the presence of Lady Fortune herself. How could he possibly lose?

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Fairfax,” came a rough voice from behind his shoulder.

Anthony whirled about.

Two burly, hulking ruffians with cold eyes and scarred faces had him cornered with his back to a wall. One of the men had mean fists and bloodshot eyes. The other had a hard smile and pockmarks covering his face.

“What can I do for you gentlemen?” Anthony asked as if their presence incited no concern whatsoever. Charm, he reminded himself. ’Twas the one currency he couldn’t lose at a gaming table. “Care to join me for eggs and kippers?”

“Care to pay your vowels?” snarled the one covered in pockmarks.

Anthony forced a carefree grin. His IOUs had been legendary but scattered until the owner of a vice parlor had purchased them. Previously, Anthony and the tempestuous Maxwell Gideon had been friends. He was unsurprised to learn now they were not. That was how money worked. Or rather, the lack thereof.

“Tell Gideon I’ll have part of it tonight. I’ve an appointment at the tables and I—”

“Won’t tell him nothing.” Pockmarks cracked his knuckles. “You’ll give us the goods directly, or we hogtie you straight to Marshalsea.”

Anthony swallowed. Gideon didn’t just possess Anthony’s IOUs. To keep what was left of their friendship—and to buy more time—Anthony had signed an actual contract promising to repay the debt. A promise he had yet to keep, despite his continual efforts. The sums were no longer mere debts of honor, but legally actionable. A chill shivered down his spine.

There was no money to give. Once he was locked in debtors’ prison, he would never be set free.

His shoulders straightened in determination. He needed to try a different tack. Appeal to the ruffians’ logic.

“If I rot in Marshalsea, how will Gideon ever get his blunt?” he asked.

“From your wife,” Pockmarks replied instantly.

“My what?” Anthony almost burst out laughing. “Gideon knows I don’t have a wife.”

“Of course you do.” Pockmarks smirked. “We heard you say so.”

Everyone did, by the sound of it. Anthony shook his head, his smile fading. A niggle of worry slid down his spine. He had meant to disperse the crowd, not cause more trouble. “I swear it meant nothing. Just a bit of playacting. We aren’t married.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” The other ruffian’s smile showed broken teeth. “This is Scotland. Once you say it, it’s true.”

“You mean… legally?” Anthony stammered in disbelief at such an absurd practice. His stomach bottomed in dread.

God’s teeth. He’d known Scots law allowed for irregular marriages, but one would think they’d at least require a priest or a few witnesses. His blood ran cold. There had been plenty of witnesses. If saying he was married made it true, there would be no way to deny it. And now Miss Devon was caught in Anthony’s mess.

“Can I annul just by saying so, too?” Desperation clawed through him. “I am no longer married. She is not my wife. Leave her out of this.”

“You can’t undo anything without involving the courts.” Pockmarks stepped closer.

Broken Tooth licked his lips. “Did you consummate?”

“No,” Anthony blurted in relief, never so happy to have behaved like a gentleman.

“Doesn’t matter.” Broken Tooth smirked. “She’s yours.”

Pockmarks flexed his fingers. “Which means them jewels she was wearing… are ours.”

No. Anthony’s heart raced in horror. He could not let his past debts involve Miss Devon, much less strip her of her possessions. She was innocent. This disaster was Anthony’s, and his alone.

But was it, legally? His breath grew shallow. By marriage, anything a wife possessed became her husband’s property. And anything Anthony possessed… belonged to Maxwell Gideon. His blood chilled.

The ruffians were right. Either he surrendered items he had no business touching, or these blackguards had every right to drag him bodily to prison. At the very least, he needed time to undo his inadvertent marriage.

“I need three months,” he said as authoritatively as he could. These ruffians might be hired muscle for a gaming hell, but Anthony moved in society. Perhaps their class difference could buy him a little time. “Her jewelry isn’t worth a fraction of what I owe. In three months, I’ll hand Gideon the entirety. In person.”

“You don’t get three months.” Broken Tooth crossed his arms over his large chest.

“Two,” Anthony suggested quickly. “With an extra five percent for yourselves. I promise.”

Broken Teeth exchanged a glance with his partner. “We’ll give you a fortnight.”

Pockmarks flicked a speck of dust from Anthony’s waistcoat. “And not a minute more.”

His breath hitched in panic. Impossible. Two weeks wasn’t long enough to win back enough funds to repay all his debts. His limbs shook. “Then no bonus for you. It can’t be done. I need to pay in installments. I need time. Ten percent a fortnight from now, then ten percent every week until the debt is paid in full.”

“No installments,” Pockmarks snarled. “We’ve already given you time. If you don’t want gaol fever, you’ll settle your debts two weeks from today.”

“And if you don’t pay in full…” Broken Tooth’s smile was terrifying. “You’ll hand over everything you and your wife own, and still go to prison.”

“Don’t forget…” Pockmarks tipped his hat. “We’ll be watching.”