Candice Hern by Once a Scoundrel Page B

self-assurance oozed from every pore. He was exceedingly proud of himself. A broad smiled was plastered on his face as he sat across from her, altogether too comfortably ensconced in Nick’s chair, one leg crossed casually over the other.
    “And so you shall have an essay published in the Cabinet . Congratulations. I suppose now you will be wanting an intriguing pseudonym?”
    “Not at all,” he said. “I am the modest sort, you see. I am perfectly happy to allow it be attached to your own handle, Arbiter Literaria.”
    “It’s not entirely my own personal pseudonym, if you must know, but a general one many of us use for literary reviews.”
    “Ah. And here I thought I had discovered the distinctly elegant and eloquent voice of Miss Parrish in the Arbiter.”
    “Well, it is mostly me, in fact,” she said, ridiculously pleased at his flattery.
    Fool. He was obviously a practiced flatterer and seducer. She had plenty of experience with that type and should know better than to succumb to his easy charm.
    “But others have used it from time to time,” she continued. “As you will do now, apparently.”
    “By all means. I wrote only this one essay and will write no more. It is certainly not how I prefer to spend my time.” A gleam of wicked amusement lit his gray eyes. “I will leave such matters to you ladies.”
    Edwina had forgotten that he still thought the Cabinet was written solely by a group of ladies, as it had been once upon a time. But now many others were involved. The Busybody was written by Simon Westover, Augusta Historica’s essays werewritten by Nicholas, and other men within their particular circle of friends, including Samuel Coleridge, contributed from time to time under the guise of various pseudonyms. Other women, too. Women like Helen Maria Williams and Mary Hays and others whose sometimes radical politics generated much debate and public rebuke. Edwina had never dared let Uncle Victor know about the new contributors to the Cabinet or he would have felt the need to see what other changes Edwina had made. It would have been disastrous if he had asked to closely examine the account books.
    At least she did not have to worry about Anthony in that regard. He had put his signature to the wager in that little red book, with the promise not to interfere with her management. Edwina supposed his gambler’s code of honor would keep him away from the business records.
    But not away from her. He showed up on her doorstep altogether too often.
    “There is, however, one other small matter we have yet to discuss,” he said.
    “You wish to collect on your wager.”
    “That’s what I like about you, Eddie. You always get straight to the point.”
    He rose from his chair. She stood and moved around to the front of the desk. Anthony walked across the room and gestured for her to precede him through the door.
    When she made no move to leave the room butsimply leaned against the desk, he raised his eyebrows and said, “I believe we agreed that I could view the Minerva?”
    “Yes, we did.”
    “Well, then, let us go see her.”
    “But there is no need to leave this room to do so.”
    He glared at her for a moment, then stepped back into the study. “I hate to disagree with a lady,” he said, “but I am quite certain our agreement was that I would be allowed to see the Minerva in your…well, in the place where you keep it.”
    “Oh, I don’t think so. Perhaps you should read the terms again to refresh your memory.”
    Anthony glowered at her, but then dug into his coat and pulled out the betting book. “‘If he wins, he is allowed to see the Roman head of Minerva in its usual place of display.’ There you are.”
    “And here you are, sir. Here is the Minerva.” She pointed to the desk.
    He stepped closer and looked about, a wary frown furrowing his brow, then shook his head. “Where? I do not see her.”
    “She is right here, where she always is, in her ‘usual place of display’ for all the