My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(90)

But crawling into her bed would only remind her more of Jack, and how he had held her there and whispered that he loved her. She would only think of how his big body felt lying beside her, moving above her, and it would only make her misery more profound.

The cure was to do something to keep her mind off him. When Sophie walked out of that small private room, her heart was in pieces but her resolve was back in place. She took a glass of wine from a waiter and surveyed the room before setting her sights on Anthony Hamilton, sitting by himself with a snifter in one hand.

Mr. Hamilton was one of the more notorious gentlemen in society. He was heir to an earl, but refused to use his courtesy title. Rumor had connected his name with half the ladies of the ton, and it was a mystery to all why he hadn’t been called out over any of those affairs. He was enigmatic and reserved, the sort of man everyone seemed to talk about but no one spoke to.

But most important for Sophie’s purposes, he gambled ruthlessly, and no amount was too dauntingly high for him. Her stomach fluttered as she made her way through the room toward him. She’d heard he had once wagered everything he owned, including the clothes on his back, at the hazard table—-and won. Normally she avoided playing with people who could tolerate that kind of risk, but tonight she needed something to distract her. She would either win a great deal, salving the open wound on her soul, or she would lose a great deal, and have something more important to worry about than handsome, lying dukes.

“Good evening, sir.” She swept a deep curtsy as Mr. Hamilton looked up, his dark brows lifted in surprise. He’d been watching the play at the nearby hazard table, a calculating look in his eyes.

Now he rose. “Good evening, Mrs. Campbell.” They’d never been introduced, and her stomach fluttered again that he knew who she was.

“I hope you will forgive my boldness,” she said with a bright smile, “but I was told you are by far the best piquet player in London.”

He smiled. “Flattery, ma’am? Or condemnation?”

She laughed. “Admiration! Is it true?”

“I cannot possibly answer that. I’ve not played with everyone else in London.” He cocked his head slightly. “I’ve not played against you.”

It was the opening she wanted. Her heart gave a hard thud of warning against her ribs. Sophie widened her smile and ignored it. “Perhaps you would care to remedy that?”

He seemed amused. His mouth curled into a reluctant smile that never touched his eyes. “What stakes?”

“Ten guineas a point.” Scoring in piquet could vary immensely. Sophie knew she was risking a thousand pounds, if not more.

However, piquet had been Papa’s favorite game. When he lost, it was at other tables. Sophie could play piquet since she was a child. It was a complicated game of strategy and skill, not merely luck of the draw, and it would require her full attention—-exactly what she desired. It also had the potential to pay a handsome reward.

Mr. Hamilton held out one hand. “After you, madam.”

She located a small table at the back of the room, sheltered from view by some of Vega’s famous palm plants. A servant brought a fresh deck of cards, and Sophie set aside her wine.

She won the cut and elected to deal first. She shuffled the cards several times, mindful of Papa’s opinion that the cards weren’t completely unordered until they had been shuffled repeatedly. Mr. Hamilton watched with a hint of his amused smile. She dealt the hand, and they settled in to play.

There were six hands played in a partie of piquet. After a bad beginning, she pulled almost even by the end of the fifth hand. She’d been right about him; playing against Mr. Hamilton required all her concentration. He played with the steeliest demeanor she had ever seen, despite lounging in his chair as if he hardly cared.

She was preparing to deal the final hand when a footman glided up to Mr. Hamilton, leaned down and murmured something to him. He looked startled, then rose from his seat. “Mrs. Campbell, my apologies. I must step away for a moment.”

“Of course.” She put down the deck. “Shall you return to finish the partie?”

He hesitated. “I believe so.” He smiled briefly. “I hope so.” He gave a little bow and walked away.

Sophie reached for her wine. She must either play much better in this final deal of the cards, or much worse. Her score hadn’t yet reached one hundred points, which meant her loss—-if she must lose—-would be less than if she played well enough to score one hundred but still lost. Sophie rarely played to lose, but sometimes it was the right tactic. She was contemplating her odds when Mr. Hamilton pulled out his chair.

“Good evening,” said the wrong voice.

She jerked upright in her chair. It was not Mr. Hamilton who had returned, but the man she’d spent all evening trying to forget. Perfectly attired in evening clothes, he was as blindingly handsome as ever. Her throat closed up as he smiled at her, so damnably, appealingly rueful, when she knew he was the worst sort of liar.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Jack added.

She swept one hand in a mock salute. “Here I am. What do you want?”

“To speak to you. Sophie—-”

“Don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t want to see you tonight, let alone speak to you.”

Jack paused. “You deserve to be angry.”