No Good Duke Goes Unpunished (The Rules of Scoundrels #3)(112)

She smiled. “You think I do not know that? Need I remind you that I learned about temptation from a very skilled teacher?”

Now was not the time to think of their lessons. He resisted the flash of skin and sighed at the words. “I think you could not have prepared for it. I think that, short of burning this place to the ground, there is no amount of coordinated planning that could convince five hundred gaming addicts to leave their winning tables.” He turned back to Knight, registering the old man’s movement. Closer. “And I think I’m through with this conversation. You will return home with Temple, and you will marry tomorrow, and you will live the life you deserve.”

“I don’t want it,” she said.

“You don’t have a choice,” he replied. “This is the last thing I will give you. And it is the only thing I will ever ask of you.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking!”

“I know exactly what I’m asking.”

I’m asking you to walk away before I find I can no longer bear to be without you.

He feared it might be too late, as it was.

“Leave, Pippa.” The words were a plea, coming on a wave of panic he did not care for. This woman had shattered his control, and he hated it. Lie. “I shall fix this.”

She shook her head. “You once promised that when we wagered at my tables, we would play by my rules.”

He wanted to shake her. “These are not your tables!”

She smiled. “But they are my rules, nonetheless.” She turned to Temple. “Your Grace? Would you do the honors?”

Temple lifted a finger to his thrice-broken nose and brushed the tip. From a hazard table nearby, a loud, innocent voice piped up, “My word! That’s a great deal of winnings!” Castleton. Stupid, simple Castleton was in on the plan . . . had they all gone mad?

Cross looked to Temple, who smirked and shrugged one shoulder. “The lady made the arrangements.”

“The lady deserves a sound thrashing.”

Pippa wasn’t watching him. “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t, but that was beside the point.

Castleton was chattering again. “I hear that Knight doesn’t usually keep much cash on hand, though. I hope he’s enough to cash me out!”

There was a pause at the table as his words sunk in, then a mad dash for each man to collect his notes and winnings and rush to the cash cages. Within seconds, the shouts echoed through the room.

“Knight can’t cover the wins!”

“Cash out now, before it’s too late!”

“Don’t be left with blank notes!”

“You’ll lose everything if you don’t hurry!”

And like that, the tables were empty . . . they were all headed to the cash cages, where two startled bankers hesitated, not knowing how to proceed.

She’d thought of an exit. He should have expected it, of course. Should have known that Philippa Marbury would wage war like she did everything else . . . brilliantly. Eyes wide, he looked first to Pippa, then to Temple, who smirked, folded his arms, and said nothing.

It was remarkable.

She’d done it.

She was remarkable.

Cross caught Knight’s gaze, wide with shock before it slid to Pippa and narrowed in recognition, then fury.

But the club owner could not act on that anger . . . as he was too close to losing everything he’d built. He took to a tabletop once more, calling out affably, “Gents! Gents! This is Knight’s! We ain’t no haphazard organization! We’re well able to pay our debts! Get back to the tables! Play some more!”

His big grin was sinfully tempting.

There was a pause as the sheep turned to their shepherd, and for one moment, Cross thought the desire to win would run the tables.

Until Castleton saved them all, the earl’s clear, disarming voice rising above the crowd once more. “I’d just as soon have this money now, Knight . . . then I know you’re good for it!”

And the press toward the cages began anew, men shouting and pushing until it was close to a riot.

Knight wouldn’t be able to cover these winnings. They’d paupered him.

Pippa had paupered him.

Because she loved Cross.

Because she cared for his future.

His future, which was bleak indeed without her.

He could not linger on the thought, however, as they were jostled by a wall of gamers pressing toward the cages furiously, desperate for their money. Pippa was carried several feet by the wave of bodies. He reached for her, trying to catch her hand and pull her back, her fingers slipping through his as she fell, swallowed up by the furious crowd.

“Pippa!” he yelled, tossing himself into the fray, pulling men from the place where he had last seen her, tossing them aside until he found her, curled into a ball, hands around her head, a heavy boot connecting with her stomach.

He roared his anger, grasping her unwitting attacker by the collar and planting his fist in the man’s face once, twice, before Temple caught up with him. “Let me have him,” Temple said. “You see to your lady.”

Your lady.

She was his.

Would ever be.

He turned the man over to Temple without a second glance, crouching to uncover Pippa’s face, where one lens of her spectacles had been smashed and a wicked red streak had already bloomed high on one cheek. Suppressing his rage, he stroked his fingers carefully across the place where she’d clearly received a blow. “Can you move?”