My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(22)

He gave her a jaundiced look. She hadn’t looked wary at all in Vega’s, blowing kisses to the dice in Philip’s hand.

“I do,” she insisted. “Contrary to what you may think, I don’t want to beggar anyone, and I don’t like watching my friends run themselves into ruin. I consider him a friend, but he’s become a bit overbearing lately. If you had simply drawn me aside and asked my help in getting him away from the gaming tables, I would have happily given it.” A trace of a mischievous smile touched her lips, and Jack’s stomach contracted involuntarily. “For far less than five thousand pounds, even.”

She was tweaking him. “Philip fancies far more than friendship from you,” he replied, repaying the jab.

Her face froze for a moment. But not in surprise; she knew Philip wanted her. He couldn’t tell whether she was pleased or not by that fact, though. It hit Jack that she was very good at hiding her feelings and emotions.

But then in a flash she turned into a cooing society miss. Her eyes widened and a simpering smile crossed her lips. “Does he?” she said in a wondering tone. “Good heavens. I’ve never discovered a gentleman had warm feelings for me through his brother.” She gave him a breathless hopeful look. “Is he madly in love? Should I prepare myself for a proposal of marriage? Shall we soon be brother and sister, Your Grace?”

God no. Jack barely kept his seat at the thought of his woman as this sister--in--law. She would run Philip in circles and he . . . he would end up in an early grave, watching her with his brother. “You’d be a fool to accept him, if he were to propose. He has no fortune of his own, and he wastes his income at the hazard tables.”

She laughed merrily. Jack smiled before he could help it. “Your face! Did you think I meant it?” She shook her head, still smiling. “Of course I would never accept Philip, for matrimony or other entanglements. He’d make a terrible husband and I—-”

“Yes?” he prodded when she stopped short.

She licked her lips. “I know he’s far above my touch,” she finished lightly. “The brother of the Duke of Ware! I would never dream of setting my cap at such an eligible gentleman.”

That was not what she’d been about to say. Jack leaned forward to set down his glass, and used the chance to shift in his chair so he could see her better. “Some women would seize their chance to land such an eligible gentleman.”

“Would they?” She smiled artlessly and raised one shoulder. “I suppose I’m not like most women.”

Yes . . . but why not? What was it about her that teased him and lured him, even when he knew he should be disapproving and disdainful? He had to clear his head about her. He had to clear his head of her. “I can see that,” he said evenly. “You gamble and freely admit you like to win, but then you say you don’t want to beggar anyone. A true gamester wouldn’t care. That makes me think you’re playing a different game. When I suggested Philip might want more than merely your company, though, you went to great lengths not just to deny it, but to mock the very idea. Too great, in my opinion—-it was not a novel thought to you.

“It could be you’re not prowling the gaming hells of London in search of a wealthy protector and find the thought offensive or demeaning, but you didn’t fly into outrage when I said it. You know he wants to bed you, and anyone watching how you flirted with him this evening would assume you are encouraging him. You’ve thought about what he would be like as a lover or even as a husband, yet claim to have rejected him on both counts. That leads me to suspect you are in fact playing for more than a few guineas at the hazard table, but Philip simply isn’t a plump enough target for you.” He tilted his head to one side. “Am I wrong?”

She had sat up straighter during his speech, returning her feet to the floor. Now she was staring at him, her lips parted, her eyes dark. “Put a lot of thought into it, have you?”

“Not much,” he returned. “I’d never heard of you before tonight.” He couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to the dressing gown. It gaped open a little, revealing a tantalizing hint of bosom. His blood surged no matter how he tried to quell it. “But I recognize your kind.”

For a moment he thought he’d finally rattled her. Her eyes flashed and she inhaled unevenly, but again she recovered. “Of course you would think so.” Her smile this time was forced. “Good night, Your Grace.” She rose and sank into a flawless curtsy, and the velvet banyan slipped open a little more. Now he could see the shadow between her breasts.

His mouth dried up. Nothing. She wore nothing beneath it. Mrs. Campbell regally flipped the hem of the banyan out of her way—-her legs were bare all the way up, curse it all—-stepped into the slippers and walked out of the room without another glance at him.

And even though Jack suspected he’d scored a direct hit with his last remark, all he could think about was her bare feet.





Chapter 7




Jack stood at the window in the breakfast room the following morning, coffee cup in hand, watching the rain continue to pound down on the garden outside.

It had been raining, off and on, for the better part of a week in Chiswick, Wilson had informed him. Closed up in his London house, Jack hadn’t really noticed. He went out from time to time, but as a general rule the world came to him, bowing and scraping and always wanting something. If the weather was fine, he rode in the morning, but he was only now realizing he hadn’t done that in a few days. It must have been because of rain.