My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(59)

It might have been from a different Philip. I have been a fool, he wrote. Through trying too hard to be your friend I have lost your favor, and now feel lost without your company. Say you forgive me, dearest Sophie, and we shall be as we ever were—-for now. You must know I care for you, but I am prevented from even speaking to you by one who has neither of our interests at heart. No one shall ever keep my thoughts from dwelling on you. Ever your servant, P. Lindeville

One who has neither of our interests at heart . . . Heart suddenly leaping, she edged closer to the vingt--un doorway. It was relatively early still, but several tables were full. After a moment she picked out Philip, his dark gaze moody as he tossed aside a card and motioned for another. But behind him . . .

Stood Jack.

He wore his more forbidding ducal expression, his sensual mouth flat, but he was here. And Philip hadn’t dared approach her.

Her heart swelled until she gave a little gasp. Jack hated gambling, despised Vega’s, and yet here he was. And it could only be for her. For a moment she couldn’t keep herself from gazing at him, wishing she could cross the room and thank him—-acknowledge him—-throw herself into his arms and see him smile down at her before he kissed her—-

“I heard the Duke of Ware had applied to become a member, but I didn’t expect to see him here,” remarked Giles Carter beside her.

Sophie hadn’t even heard him approach, and almost jumped out of her skin at his voice. It was a blessing in disguise, for it gave her a chance to cover her lovesick gazing at Jack. “Has he?”

“Apparently it was granted on the spot.” Carter gave a humorless huff. “Privilege of a dukedom, I suppose.”

She managed to smile wryly. “Then he’ll be here regularly?”

“No doubt.” Mr. Carter turned probing eyes to her. “Does it distress you, or please you?”

She froze in apprehension. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you and he had a very public scene, which ended with him sweeping you into his carriage. And neither of you was seen for several days afterward.”

“I was home,” she said carefully. “Ill in bed. I told you.”

He nodded. “You did. And I believed you. But just now . . .”

“What?” she asked sharply. “What are you suggesting, sir?”

He held up one hand. “Only that his presence here again might be an unforeseen opportunity to you.”

No. It was an unforeseen torment, a reminder of what she could never have. And no one must ever know that she even dreamed of it, let alone that once he had been hers. She forced her shoulders to relax. “An opportunity to humiliate myself again?” She shook her head. “I have learned that lesson the hard way, thank you.”

He was silent for a moment. “Women are mysterious creatures to me,” he said at last. “I have three sisters and four nieces, and I never can guess what any of them are thinking. The slightest things become tragedies worthy of Shakespeare, whilst weighty matters are brushed aside as piffle. When I met you, I thought you were nothing like them. Sensible and intelligent, I thought to myself, a woman with whom a man can be at ease instead of constantly on guard.”

She should be falling over herself to reassure him she was like that. She should be pleased to hear he had regarded her with such esteem, and doing everything possible to restore that esteem. After all, three weeks ago she’d put Giles Carter on top of her list of possible husbands. He was a gentleman, and she was a gentleman’s daughter with four thousand pounds. He didn’t know that last bit, but she’d been very careful to project an image of a woman with some money of her own. There was a very real possibility that Mr. Carter would marry her.

Jack never would.

Sophie knew this; she’d known all along. Not only was it utterly unthinkable for a duke to marry a woman who gambled for her living, Jack himself had said and done nothing to suggest otherwise. He’d told her directly that dukes, especially Dukes of Ware, didn’t marry for affection. He might still want her—-and wicked woman that she was, Sophie felt an irrational burst of longing at the knowledge that he did—-but only as his lover. At best, as his mistress. She was every kind of fool to want him anyway, even without accounting for her goal of marrying a respectable gentleman who could give her the security and family she craved.

With some effort she hardened her heart to her visceral reaction to the sight of Jack. The time for being foolish had ended the moment they drove through the gates of Alwyn House on the way back to London. “I fear you are about to say your feelings have changed on that,” she murmured.

“I am no longer as certain as I once was,” Mr. Carter acknowledged. “Not because of the scene at the hazard table—-I was witness to it all, you remember, and I know the duke was provoking and rude. Any man would have drawn his cork, and I don’t know many who could have resisted his goading challenge. But since you’ve returned to Vega’s . . .” He paused. “You’re not quite the same,” was his final conclusion.

It was stupid to lie. “No,” she agreed softly. “I suppose not.”

He gave a lopsided smile. “Then the only question is how you’ve changed. It might give a woman ideas, gambling with a duke. It’s not so different from a young lady scheming to dance with one, I suppose. Who knows what might result, once a man’s attention is snared, and dukes—-even the Duke of Ware—-are men of flesh and blood like the rest of us.”