One Dance with a Duke (Stud Club #1)(77)

“I don’t give a damn what Julian Bellamy thinks.”

“Perhaps not. But others do. When he talks, the ton listens. And public suspicion like that is hard to live down. Your pretty little ward there”—Jack’s chin jerked toward Claudia’s exit route—“might suffer for it. As would my sister.”

“Well, if you’re so concerned for Amelia, you have the evidence to exonerate me right there in your hand. Julian Bellamy thinks I killed Leo to get that token. Obviously, I don’t have it.”

“No, you don’t.” Jack flipped the coin into the air and caught it in his hand. “I do.”

Amelia’s heart plummeted. Of course. He needed money. Though his debt to Spencer was dispatched, he must have landed himself in worse straits now, and he hoped to buy his way clear with that token.

“Oh, Jack,” she said, coming forward. “Just tell us what trouble you’re in. There’s no need to extort assistance from the duke. As you say, we are all family now. We can find some way out of your scrape, surely.”

“He’s not getting a penny from me,” Spencer bit out.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Morland,” Jack said. “I’m not a blackmailer. Now that would be low, even for me. Besides, the Stud Club tokens”—he tossed the coin and caught it again—“can’t be bought or sold. Everyone knows that.”

“You want me to play you for it,” Spencer said.

Jack nodded.

“By God, you truly are an idiot. A prideful, stubborn idiot.” He shrugged. “But if you insist … In my library, then.”

He walked swiftly from the room, with Jack following after him. Amelia stood there for a moment, stunned. Then she picked up her skirts and gave chase.

“Jack,” she said, catching her brother by the sleeve halfway down the corridor. “What is it? Are you in debt again?”

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “I have access to funds now … We’ll find some other way. You’ll never win against the duke.”

“You don’t know that.” He shook off her grip and kept walking. “It’s a game of chance,” he said dryly. “That’s what makes it so very exciting.”

Chance had nothing to do with it. Not against Spencer.

Abandoning all hope of reasoning with her brother, Amelia charged forward and overtook her husband. At least he had a logical mind, if not compassion. She pulled up short, stopping him in front of the library entrance.

“Please,” she whispered through her teeth. “Please. Don’t.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Amelia.”

“Of course it does. We both know Jack has no chance to win against you. And he’s clearly in trouble with someone. If he leaves here defeated and upset, he’ll only dig himself deeper still.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“No, it’s mine. And if you …” Her voice trailed off, leaving the remainder of the sentence unspoken and obvious. If you care for me at all, you won’t do this.

“For God’s sake, Amelia.” Jack stepped between them. “This is men’s business. Stop meddling in my life, for once.”

Before Amelia could even begin to respond—Jack wasn’t there anymore. He was on the carpet, moaning in pain, and Spencer was shaking out his fist.

“You—” She clapped a hand to her cheek and gaped at Spencer. “You hit him!”

“Yes. But not half as hard as I wanted to.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Damn it, d’Orsay. That was barely a punch. Pick yourself up. It’s embarrassing.”

A stunned Jack struggled to his feet, rubbing his mouth.

“Now apologize.”

“Sorry,” he muttered through rapidly swelling lips.

“Not to me, you jackass. To Amelia.”

Staring at the spot of blood on fingertip, Jack swore incoherently, then mumbled, “Solly, Ameeya.”

Spencer flung open the library door. “Now let’s finish this.”

It took all of twenty minutes.

Amelia waited in the corridor, arms crossed over her chest, pacing in time to the hall clock’s ominous ticks. Dread welled inside her with each passing minute. Surely Spencer could have beaten her brother in the first round, had he wished to. Perhaps he was toying with Jack, the way he’d toyed with her. Drawing him further into the game, building false confidence … and of course, Jack would not know when to walk away.

Finally, the door swung open, and Jack emerged. Amelia flew to him, scanning his expression for clues to his state of mind. “Will you be all right?” she asked. No need to ask whether he’d won or lost.

He stared vacantly at the wainscoting, rubbing his neck with one hand. An impressive bruise bloomed across the left side of his jaw. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will become of me now. I thought …” He blew out his breath slowly, then turned and gave her a defeated half-smile. “I wish you better luck than mine, Amelia. I fear you’ll need it, married to that man.”

He kissed her cheek, then strode off down the long, carpeted passageway.

“Wait,” she called after him. “You’re not leaving already?”