“That’s the problem. My aunt didn’t learn of my uncle’s gambling proclivities until they were married and he nearly put them in the poorhouse. My father had to step in and clear their debts. So, how may a woman tell whether a man is a rogue or a gambler before she marries him?”

Kit thought back to his own parents. His father had wooed their wealthy mother quickly, pressing her to marry him with false promises and bogus credentials. She hadn’t known the truth until it was too late, and then tried to “fix” him.

But Franklin Ward had been unfixable. He was a terrible gambler and cruel husband, concerned with having control of his wife’s money and mind, and to hell with anyone who got in his way. The entire family had paid the price for that bastard’s greed, emotionally and financially, but especially Kit’s mother, who grew ill and withered away for years. Sad and heartbroken, she was a shell of her former self, becoming a woman with her future stripped away and a husband who deserted her. But no matter how hard Kit pushed, she had refused to divorce Franklin.

“I don’t know,” he told Alice with a shrug. “I would advise not to rush into a marriage, that you should get to know him first. Do a little digging. Ask his friends, his staff. Habits are hard to break. If he has any that are hard to live with up front, they’ll only get worse as the marriage drags on.”

“Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel?”

“Precisely.”

She picked at the embroidery on the comforter. “Nellie said a scoundrel is not an easy undertaking, that he must be broken first.”

Kit chuckled, leaned back in the chair and put his feet up on the edge of Alice’s mattress. “She is not wrong, though I’m not certain how she arrived at that conclusion.”

“Experience?”

“I do not doubt it.”

He reached for his glass of wine and was surprised to see how quickly the night was passing. He’d already been here twenty minutes. When had he last spent this much time fully clothed with a woman in a bedroom late at night? Not that he didn’t wish to see Alice naked—he definitely, absolutely did—but he liked just being with her, too. Talking about bees and scoundrels, drinking wine and laughing together. It felt . . . nice.

Alice made it easy to be with her. He could relax, not worry about whether he was impressive or smart enough. Whether he possessed enough ambition or wealth. She accepted him, yet challenged him when it was required.

And he really liked kissing her.

Another olive bounced off his shoulder. “Are we going to play or not?” she asked.

Smirking, he pointed at the floor. “I am not picking that one up. Enjoy explaining its presence to your mother.”

“Kit!” she hissed. “You must pick it up.”