My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)(93)

“Damnation,” said Jack under his breath. Face dark with disapproval, Mr. Dashwood was striding toward them, Forbes at his heels.

Sophie flushed as she recalled the stern warning Mr. Dashwood had given her. “We’re about to be scolded.”

“Not much,” returned Jack, his pace unchanged. They reached the hall, and he turned a look of ducal command on a wide--eyed Frank. “Fetch Mrs. Campbell’s cloak and my things.” The servant gulped and ran to do as ordered.

“Jack, Mr. Dashwood made me promise not to wager with you,” Sophie whispered. Jack still held her tight against him, almost as if he feared to let her go. Her heart swelled; he needn’t worry. She wasn’t leaving his side again, even if Mr. Dashwood threw her out and banished her for life.

“Did he? Thank God you ignored him.” Jack raised his voice as the club owner reached them. “Dashwood.”

“Your Grace.” The other man gave a short bow. “Might I have a word?”

“No,” said Jack. “I am leaving.”

Mr. Dashwood didn’t look pleased, but Jack’s cool, aristocratic tone brooked no argument. The owner’s gaze moved to Sophie, who knew her face must be four shades of pink. “Mrs. Campbell. I trust you’ve not forgotten our agreement.”

“No, sir. But I must assure you, I have not lost a wager with His Grace tonight—-”

“On the contrary. She’s won everything I have.” Jack finally released her to take her cloak from Frank and swing it around her shoulders. “You may strike my name from your rolls. You may also strike Mrs. Campbell’s name. If she wishes to remain a member, you shall have to enroll her under her new title, Duchess of Ware.”

That stopped Dashwood’s reply, whatever it was to have been. His face froze somewhere between grim disapproval and astonishment. Jack looked past him. “Forbes, I want a carriage. Now.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Without looking at his employer, Forbes bolted by them and out the door.

Sophie summoned a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Dashwood. I have been very pleased to be a member of your club. But I think . . .” She glanced up at Jack, whose expression softened as he gazed down at her. “I think I am through with wagering,” she finished. “I apologize for any uproar I may have caused.”

Mr. Dashwood had recovered his aplomb. “It looks as though you’ve played your cards exceptionally well, madam. I wish you joy.” With a wry glance, he turned and left, just as Forbes rushed back in to say a carriage was waiting. Frank handed Jack his hat and coat, and they went out the door of Vega’s—-perhaps for the last time, Sophie thought with a start. As a duchess, it would be unseemly for her to gamble, and she wouldn’t need the money. She would have to learn a great deal about her new life.

Jack helped her into the hackney and climbed in beside her, but the instant the carriage moved forward, he hauled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Much better,” he growled, pressing his lips to her neck.

“We’ll be scandalous,” she said on a sigh, tilting her head so he could do it again.

“We’ll be happy, which will bore the gossips into an early grave.” He untied her cloak and tugged it out of the way so he could slide his arm around her waist inside the garment.

“Jack.” She twisted to face him. “My uncle came to see me. The Ogre died, and my uncle wants to be cordial. He . . . He’s a lord—-Viscount Makepeace.”

He didn’t even blink at this revelation that she had aristocratic connections. “He shall be welcome, so long as he is cordial.”

“But—-don’t you see? I am not a nobody with no family now. I never would have said Makepeace’s name aloud while my grandfather was still living, but Uncle Henry—-well, he seems kind, like my father.”

Jack touched her lip with one finger. “Sophie. You misunderstood me. I don’t care if your family is royalty or itinerant cardplayers. I want you. I love you. Your uncle, and any other family and friends, are welcome in my house so long as you wish to invite them.”

“Itinerant cardplayers?” She rolled her eyes even as she smiled. “Society would never accept such a duchess.”

“Hang them all,” he said. “Have you a dress to be married in?”

“Well—-yes, but I ought to get a better one—-”

“I have the special license in my pocket.” He nodded at her gasp of astonishment. “I browbeat every clerk in Doctors’ Commons until they produced it. We only need a vicar and a church. Does tomorrow suit you?”

“Surely a duke doesn’t marry in such a hasty fashion!” She pushed back from him, just enough to see his face. “And you were presumed engaged to someone else just this morning.”

“Presumed,” he stressed. “Only by my mother, who was incorrect.”

“Still, you might have warned me,” she said in reproach. “I was going to beat you at piquet and win your money, just to repay the anguish I suffered when Philip told me about her. Why didn’t you tell me—-?”

“I knew I’d only win if you wanted me to.” He stopped her question with a kiss. “And you should never listen to anything Philip says, ever again. I promised to take care of Lucinda after her father died when she was a child. My mother decided I ought to marry her, not I.”