My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(20)

It was much easier to sort those thoughts out now that Sophie Campbell wasn’t in the room.

First, and most important, he had done what needed to be done. Philip needed a shock to his system. It hadn’t been the most deft or diplomatic maneuver, Jack admitted, but one could never let that prevent seizing an opportunity when it arose.

He rotated his glass and studied the firelight on the amber brandy. The key element of any strategy was always to know what someone else wanted. Philip had demonstrated that what he wanted, even more than the thrill of gambling, was Mrs. Campbell. The way he’d touched her and comforted her made that plain. Short of following him like a nursemaid, it would be impossible to keep Philip from wagering everywhere, which made this the only option with any significance. Jack didn’t fool himself it would cure his brother entirely of his bad habits, but it would make a strong impression on him.

As for Mrs. Campbell herself . . . What business did a young and attractive woman have gambling every night at Vega’s? There were two likely answers, neither of them flattering. The first was that she was there for the same reason Philip and his mates were, to fritter away a fortune, either her own or someone else’s, in pursuit of idle entertainment. Jack felt no regret about his actions whatsoever if this were her motive. He didn’t care if she were the richest heiress in Britain; gambling was reckless and wasteful.

The second possibility was that she was looking for something other than the thrill of winning. It hadn’t escaped his notice that while women might be admitted to Vega’s, not many there were as beautiful or as vivacious as she. Every man in the club had noticed her, in her scarlet dress with that lone tormenting loose curl of dark hair. She could be playing for higher stakes than money. If her intent was to attract Philip as her wealthy lover, Jack would put an emphatic end to that fantasy. A woman like that could bleed a man dry even faster than the hazard table could.

And if by some remote chance he was wrong, he could simply pay her the five thousand pounds after all. That was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

The door opened behind him, and he sipped his brandy, girding himself for a confrontation. He was not accustomed to apologizing for his actions. In this case, he didn’t even regret them. Had she been hideous or elderly, he would have acted just as decisively to keep her from ruining his brother—-not, perhaps, in the exact same manner, but just as forcefully. The fact that she was young and attractive only made her more dangerous.

“I do hope you’ve made a better plan for getting back to London than you made for getting here.” She came around his chair toward the fire, and Jack almost dropped his drink as he got a look at her.

Her hair tumbled down her back in loose waves, shining like polished mahogany in the firelight. But it was her clothing that threatened to strike him dumb. The long blue velvet dressing gown brushed the floor as she walked, and the sleeves had been folded back to expose her hands. She’d wrapped the belt around herself twice, emphasizing the slimness of her waist . . . and how beautifully curved the rest of her was. It was the most intimate of undress, even before his stunned brain registered one obvious point.

“That’s my dressing gown,” he said.

She gave him a saucy look and twitched the too--long banyan around her legs. “It’s all they could find for me to wear. The housemaid nearest my size recently gave notice. The clothing of the other housemaids is too small, Mrs. Gibbon’s is far too large, and that left this.” She swept one hand over the velvet, lingering on the fabric. Jack’s eyes tracked her fingers, imagining the feel of the velvet . . . and the flesh beneath it. “Everything I have to wear is soaked and quite likely ruined, thanks to your lunatic desire to kidnap me from London in the middle of a torrential rainstorm.”

“I did not kidnap you.” He poured more brandy down his throat, trying not to look at her bare ankle, visible below the hem. Was the rest of her bare under the banyan? It was not helping his concentration.

“You didn’t let me go home, as I wished.” She dropped onto the settee opposite him, and the gown parted, showing one slim leg, naked to the knee. Thankfully she tugged the dressing gown over it before she caught him looking.

Staring, actually. Did they really not have a single item of female clothing in the house?

Insanity seemed to be riddling his brain. What the devil was he thinking, to drag this woman to Alwyn House? He’d never survive a week alone with her. She’d be the death of him, one way or the other.

“What is your plan?” she asked directly. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Philip,” he said, grasping the thread with relief. “He broke his word to me, and there must be consequences.”

“Why didn’t you drag Philip away with you?”

Because he hadn’t wanted to spend a day, let alone a week with Philip. He tried to squelch the thought. “That would do nothing. He would sulk and glower, then go right back to the tables.”

“As opposed to this, where you left him to gamble without even that minor interruption,” she said gravely. “I see your reasoning.”

He took another swallow of brandy. His reasoning made less and less sense even to him. Was she wearing anything under the banyan? “If you didn’t want to be part of it, you ought to have walked away instead of rushing to his defense.”

She blew out a breath. “Yes, I really ought to have. But as you said, I was seduced by greed. The prospect of winning five thousand pounds in one stroke was too tempting to resist.”