Lady Putney stood before her dressing table. Encased in yards and yards of ruffled silk that would have suited a far younger woman, she turned her perfumed and powdered cheek for his kiss. “Ah, my dearest Rupert! What took you so long?”

“Hello, Mother,” Rupert said, ignoring her invitation for an embrace. “Why the hell did you send for me?”

She frowned. “Perhaps I just wished to see you, my last remaining son.”

“Playing it a bit deep, aren’t you, madam?”

“You are just like your father. Not a sensitive nerve in your body.”

Rupert stifled an impatient sigh. “Come, Mother, what do you want? I happened to be in deep pursuit of a certain ladybird when I got your missive, and I’m anxious to return to London.”

“I don’t know why I let you speak to me that way. You are unkind.”

“You didn’t raise me to be kind. You raised me to be wealthy, frivolous, dashing, and a complete wastrel. All the things James was not.”

“Leave your brother out of this. He is dead now and nothing we can do will ever bring him back.”

“As if you’d want to. As if anyone would want to.” Rupert perched on the edge of her dressing table and lifted a gold-topped bottle. “Spare me the histrionics. I’m not in the mood.”

She snatched the bottle from his hand, her blue eyes blazing. “Are you in the mood for starvation, then? For complete ruin?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we are a feather away from losing everything we own.”

Rupert frowned. “How can that be? Father left—”

“Your father didn’t know the first thing about money. I was the one who made all our investments. Had it been up to him, you’d never have your horses, nor that high-perch phaeton you were so hot to purchase, much less those pretty clothes you demand.”

Rupert had few illusions about who and what he was. “My blood is no worse than yours, Mother. We are both whores.”

Her lips thinned. “Don’t talk to me that way, Rupert. I am your mother.”

“But not my guardian. Father knew you too well to allow such a thing. He left his friend Mr. Mills to see to it that I was taken care of.”

She smiled then, tightly and without humor. “Mr. Mills will do as I tell him.”

Rupert’s heart chilled. “Explain yourself.”

A simper crossed her round face. “Let’s just say that Mr. Mills and I have come to an understanding.”

“Did you prostitute yourself to that little worm, as well?”

“Don’t press me, Rupert. I cannot converse with you when you are towering over me. Sit.”

Seething inwardly, Rupert sank into a chair by the fire. “Well?” he asked rudely.

“There is no nice way to put this, Rupert, so I’ll just say it bluntly—we have no more money.”

“But I get my allowance in a sennight and—”

“There will be no more allowances.”

“Good God. What’s happened?”

“Last year was not kind to us. I had the opportunity to recoup some of our losses and I took it. It was risky, but I thought…” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t pay off and we are lost.”