My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(8)

Sophie started. She and her partner, Giles Carter, were happily trouncing Mr. Whitley and Mr. Fraser in a game of whist. Whist was not only perfectly acceptable for a lady to play, it was an easy game to win when one paid attention and didn’t drink too much. Mr. Whitley wasn’t paying enough attention, and Mr. Fraser was on his third glass of madeira. Lord Philip Lindeville’s delighted greeting interrupted a winning streak of six tricks.

“What a pleasure to encounter you here.” He gave her a neat little bow.

“And you, sir.” She smiled and inclined her head. Her friends’ teasing about Lord Philip wasn’t all wrong; he was one of her frequent companions. He was charming and amusing even though he was a little too sure of his own charm. Sophie had meant what she said when she called him trouble—-as a suitor.

“Won’t you play a turn with me?” He grinned and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I vowed not to come tonight, but the chance of seeing you again was too tempting.”

“I wouldn’t want to tempt any man to break his vows,” she said with a teasing smile.

He laughed. “It was a foolish vow! Come, you shall probably beat me, and that will be my penance.”

“Oh, but we’re playing here,” she tried to point out, but Lord Philip had already exchanged a glance with his friend Mr. Whitley.

That gentleman promptly pushed back his chair. “Time for me to retire. You’ve routed me thoroughly, ma’am.” He bowed, and Mr. Fraser followed suit. Mr. Carter, her partner, hesitated, but Sophie knew when Philip was determined and would not be thwarted.

She tamped down her irritation and laid down her cards. “Mr. Carter, I hope you will play with me again. I do believe we are an indomitable team at whist.” As hoped, his face eased and he even wished her luck as Lord Philip tugged her away.

“I was engaged in a game,” she reproached him as he tucked her hand around his arm. “Patience is a virtue, my lord.”

Philip grinned. “No wonder I haven’t any! I only came to speak to Dashwood, but then caught sight of you and utterly forgot my mission there.”

“Should I be flattered?” The only reason to see Mr. Dashwood, the Vega Club owner, was to vouch for a new member or to see to a gambling debt—-a large one. Twice Sophie had had the good fortune to be on the winning end of a wager significant enough that Mr. Dashwood had stepped in to oversee payment. Somehow she doubted Philip would have been so easily distracted if he’d come to collect winnings.

He looked down at her. His dark hair fell in romantic waves over his forehead, and a rakish smile tilted his mouth. “Yes. You should be very flattered. Tell me you are, and I shall be flattered as well.”

He was so handsome and charming, it was a pity she would have to discourage his increasingly obvious interest. She pressed his arm. “Flattery is lightly given and so easily repaid.”

“Not lightly given,” he returned. “And please do repay it.”

She laughed. “I see you’re feeling lucky tonight. Shall it be hazard, then?” Hazard was quick. A few games and she would shed him, no matter what he said or did. Lord Philip had been growing too attentive of late.

It was unfortunate, that; unknown to almost everyone in the world, she was keeping an eye out for a husband, and it would have been very convenient if he’d been acceptable. Georgiana, for one, would have been so proud of her for snaring a duke’s brother.

But as much as she liked him, Lord Philip Lindeville was most assuredly not cut out to be a husband—-at least not hers. During her three years in London, Sophie had honed some very specific matrimonial requirements, and Philip barely met any. He was charming, but reckless; he was good--natured, but cocksure; he was almost sinfully attractive, from his wavy dark hair to his tall, lean form, but he was far too aware of that fact, as was every other woman in town. And even worse, what made him so appealing as a partner at Vega’s—-his utter indifference to losing money—-was the very thing that made him utterly unacceptable as a husband. Sophie had no desire to marry a man who would gamble away their future. So despite his impeccable connections and unmistakable interest in her, she would have to turn him off.

Giles Carter followed them to the hazard table. She gave him a rueful glance as Philip called for dice. Mr. Carter was much more in line with her object. He was at least a dozen years older than she, but possessed of his own independent income. Philip, she knew, was largely dependent on an allowance from his brother, an income he thought insufficient for a bachelor, let alone a married man. Mr. Carter knew when to quit the tables, although of late he had played longer than was prudent . . . at least with her. Sophie hoped that was a good sign. He always lost with excellent grace, and seemed almost chagrined when he won. Mr. Carter would make an excellent husband, being neither cruel nor miserly nor ugly.

However, any hope of that would be irreparably scotched if she allowed Philip to tempt her across the line of respectability. Sophie knew she was clinging to the edge of it now, and she was determined not to slip off. She wasn’t above flirting with gentlemen while she won their money, but never to the point of letting them think she wanted an affair.

“What shall we play for?” Philip held out the dice, his dark eyes gleaming at her.

“A guinea per round?”

He pulled a disappointed face as he dropped a handful of markers on the table, belying his claim that he’d only come to speak to Dashwood. “Oh. Money.”