One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(3)

What he needed was love, and time to heal. Time spent far from Town, and close to home and family—what remained of both. Here in London, Jack was surrounded by temptation, constantly pressured to keep pace with his spendthrift peers. At Briarbank, he would surely return to his good-humored self. Young William would come on his break from school. Michael would still be at sea, of course, but Laurent and Winifred would join them, at least for a week or two.

And Amelia would be the perfect hostess. Just as Mama had always been. She would fill every room with great vases of snapdragons, arrange theatricals and parlor games, serve braised pheasant with blackberry glaze.

She would make everyone happy, by sheer force of will. Or bribery, if she must.

“I’ve a crown and three shillings here,” she said, extracting the coins from the pouch, “and six pounds more saved at home.” Saved, scrimped, scraped together, one penny at a time. “It’s yours, all of it—but you must promise me August at Briarbank.”

Jack tsked. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Who? Who didn’t tell me what?”

“Laurent. We’re not opening the cottage this summer. It was just settled this week. We’re letting it out.”

“Letting it out?” Amelia felt as though all the blood had been let from her veins. Suddenly dizzy, she clutched her brother’s arm. “Briarbank, let out? To strangers?”

“Well, not to strangers. We’ve put the word around at the clubs and expect inquiries from several good families. It’s a plum holiday cottage, you know.”

“Yes,” she bit out. “Yes, I do know. It’s so ideal, the d’Orsay family has summered there for centuries. Centuries, Jack. Why would we dream of leasing it out?”

“Haven’t we outgrown the pall-mall and tea biscuits routine? It’s dull as tombs out there. Halfway to Ireland, for God’s sake.”

“Dull? What on earth can you mean? You used to live for summers there, angling on the river and—” Comprehension struck, numbing her to the toes. “Oh, no.” She dug her fingers into his arm. “How much did you lose? How much do you owe?”

His eyes told her he’d resigned all pretense. “Four hundred pounds.”

“Four hundred! To whom?”

“To Morland.”

“The Duke of Midni—” Amelia bit off the absurd nickname. She refused to puff the man’s notoriety further. “But he’s not even arrived yet. How did you manage to lose four hundred pounds to him, when he’s not even here?”

“Not tonight. Days ago now. That’s why I must leave. He’ll be here any moment, and I can’t face him until I’ve made good on the debt.”

Amelia could only stare at him.

“Don’t look at me like that, I can’t bear it. I was holding my own until Faraday put his token in play. That’s what brought Morland to the table, drove the betting sky-high. He’s out to gather all ten, you know.”

“All ten of what? All ten tokens?”

“Yes, of course. The tokens are everything.” Jack made an expansive gesture. “Come now, you can’t be so out of circulation as that. It’s only the most elite gentlemen’s club in London.”

When she only blinked at him, he prompted, “Harcliffe. Osiris. One stud horse, ten brass tokens. You’ve heard of the club, I know you have.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You seem to be telling me you’ve wagered our ancestral home against a brass token. And lost.”

“I was in for hundreds already; I couldn’t back down. And my cards … Amelia, I swear to you, they were unbeatable cards.”

“Except that they weren’t.”

He gave a fatalistic shrug. “What’s done is done. If I had some other means of raising the funds, I would. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but there’s always next year.”

“Yes, but—” But next year was a whole year away. God only knew what trouble would find Jack in the meantime. “There must be another way. Ask Laurent for the money.”

“You know he can’t give it.”

Of course he was right. Their eldest brother had married prudently, almost sacrificially. The family had been desperate for funds at the time, and Winifred had come with bags of money from her mining-magnate father. The trouble was, the bags of money came cinched tightly with strings, and only Laurent’s father-in-law could loosen them. The old man would never authorize the use of four hundred pounds to pay off a gaming debt.

“I have to leave before Morland arrives,” he said. “You understand.”

Jack unlooped the reticule from her limp wrist, and she did not fight him as he shook the coins into his palm. Yes, she understood. Even if nothing remained of their fortune, the d’Orsays would cling to their pride.

“Have you at least learned your lesson now?” she said quietly.

He vaulted the low terrace rail. Rattling the coins in his palm, he backed away into the garden. “You know me, Amelia. I never was any good with lessons. I just copied my slate from Hugh’s.”

As she watched her brother disappear into the shadows, Amelia hugged her arms across her chest.

What cruel turn of events was this? Briarbank, rented for the summer! All the happiness stored up in those cobbled floors and rustic hearths and bundles of lavender hanging from the rafters—wasted on strangers. All her elaborate menus and planned excursions, for naught. Without that cottage, the d’Orsay family had no true center. Her brother had nowhere to recover from his grief.