His upper lip curled, arrogant confidence in his calculating visage. “And so it was.” Smiling, he turned over his hand. Groans and gasps rose at the sight of his cards, which were all in the trump suit. Chuckling, he reached again for the winnings’ pool.
“Hold there, my lord, if you would,” Claire remarked in her deliberately low voice. “I haven’t shown you my cards yet.” Nonchalantly, she flipped them over to reveal not only trumps, but the jack of clubs.
“By Jove, the lad’s got Pam,” one of the gentlemen watching exclaimed. “Imagine him having the one card in the deck that beats them all.”
A loud cheer erupted inside the gaming salon, along with several groans from Moregrave’s backers. Leo and Lawrence let out whoops and grins, slapping their hands on the table in jubilation. Automatically, the corners of Edward’s lips began to turn up. Then he cast a fresh glance at Claire and felt the urge vanish, as he caught sight of her shorn hair and masculine attire.
Across the table, Moregrave’s cheeks were flushed red, his eyes black and angry as a pair of enraged beetles. Edward could tell that the other man wanted to protest his loss, but the game had been fair—or at least as fair as any game played with Moregrave. Nevertheless, Moregrave reached again toward the stakes to take his portion of the last trick, as was often permitted in games of loo.
But Claire stopped him. “Per our amendment to the rules, my lord, which we all agreed to at the start of the game, this was a winner-take-all contest. No dividing the pool.”
He drew back as if stung, his hand shaking for a moment before he tossed down the coins with a disdainful flip of his wrist. Two gold guineas bounced across the baize and onto the floor.
“And that sort of behaviour shows a marked lack of good sportsmanship,” Claire reprimanded in a cool tone. “You may carry a nobleman’s title, but you are no gentleman, sir.”
A sudden hush fell over the room. Instinctively, Edward moved closer to Claire, wondering if she had any idea the magnitude of the insult she’d just issued. Then again, judging by her actions of late, she likely did.
Moregrave’s cheeks grew even more mottled. “I’ll have your liver, man! Name your seconds,” he bellowed. “I demand satisfaction!”
“Satisfaction?” Claire retorted. “If anyone is entitled to satisfaction, I should think it’s myself and my friends for putting up with your insolent manner. However, I shall forgive the entire matter, if you will but go away.” Giving him a dismissive stare, she began gathering her winnings as though nothing at all had occurred.
Moregrave sputtered, his eyes rolling in his head as if he were contemplating murder. Edward moved to intercede. Before he could, however, Claire spoke again.
“Besides,” she said, glancing up as she scooped the coins into a leather pouch. “It is utterly impossible for me to meet you on the field of honour. Not only is duelling illegal by order of the Prince Regent himself, but you see, I am a—”
“Don’t!” Edward ordered, realizing exactly what was about to come out of her mouth.
“—woman,” she finished, an impudent gleam twinkling in her eyes.
Moregrave stared, along with everyone else, as a new hush fell. The twins groaned in unison, while Edward clenched his hands at his sides to keep from strangling her himself.
“A what!” Moregrave demanded.
“You heard me,” she said. “I am a lady.”
“By damn you are.”
“I’ll thank you not to swear.”
“Hah!” Moregrave shot back. “I’ll swear if I want, especially in front of a brazen piece like you.”
“Watch what you say, Moregrave,” Edward bit out between clenched teeth. “Or else you’ll be facing me come dawn.”
Some of the colour drained out of Moregrave’s cheeks at Edward’s threat. Generally Edward didn’t hold with duelling, but he’d met a couple of men on the field of honour in his time. He’d bested both—one at swords, the other at pistols—leaving each man so badly wounded he’d had to be carried off the green. His opponents had each lived to tell the tale, and since then, men didn’t challenge him—not unless they were prepared to face injury, or death.
“Good Lord,” someone called. “It’s Lady Claire.”
“Claire the Dare, you mean?” asked another.
Murmurs rose in the air.
“By Jove, you’re right,” interjected a third man. “And what did you call yourself, my lady? Mr Densmar? Thought it a deuced odd name, but now I see how clever it is. Densmar, Marsden! Must say Clybourne, you’ve taken a firecracker in hand with Lady Claire.”
All eyes turned toward Edward, waiting to see how he was going to react. But Edward had himself firmly in control now and wasn’t about to let on how he actually felt.
He smiled. “Indeed, she is a firecracker and a lighted one at that. Or are you a loaded pistol, my dear?” he added, slipping his hand around her arm again.
Gentlemen laughed and shook their heads, tension easing from the room. There would be plenty of time later, Edward knew, for all of them to act shocked and disapproving. For now, however, they were highly entertained.
Everyone, that is, except Moregrave.
As the excitement died down, gentlemen began to move away. As they did, Moregrave met Edward’s gaze. “I shall be speaking to the membership committee about this, Clybourne. Bringing a woman into the club is an explicit violation. I’m going to ask them to have you removed.”
“You can try,” Edward replied with silky menace. “If you do, however, I will, of course, be forced to mention your penchant for predatory gaming. I don’t believe that’s permitted in the rules either.”
Moregrave bristled with unconcealed fury. “You may be safe, since you own half the country.” Flinging out a hand, he gestured toward the twins. “But these two aren’t, especially since they’re the ones who smuggled her in here. Their lordships are merely guests and they won’t be setting foot over the club’s doorstep again if I have any say in the matter.”
Leo and Lawrence opened their mouths to protest, but Edward shut them up with a look. Then he turned back to Moregrave. “I shall deal with my brothers in my own way, my lord. If I were you, however, I would think twice about what you say and to whom. Opening Pandora’s box can be a dangerous thing, you know. Speaking out on this particular subject is an act you may come to regret.” Edward’s tone left it clear that he would make sure Moregrave did exactly that.
Knowing himself outmanoeuvred, Moregrave shot Edward another seething glare, then turned on his heel and stalked from the room.
“Of all the deuced rotters—” Leo began, once the other man had gone.
“Not a word out of you,” Edward stated, cutting him off. “Not from any of you. Gather up your belongings, we’re leaving.”
The twins gave doleful nods.
Claire, on the other hand, leaned toward the table. “The rest of my winnings,” she explained, tugging against his grip.
“Leave them,” he growled.
“I am not leaving them. That’s my money—and the twins’.”
His gaze met and locked with hers. “Fine. Retrieve it, then we’re going home.”
Looking suddenly less defiant, she nodded and did as she was told.
Chapter 17
The silence inside the coach on the drive home was how Claire imagined the inside of a coffin must sound—oppressive and all but impenetrable. And the atmosphere between her and the Byron men wasn’t a whole lot better.
Rather than sit next to Edward, Claire had opted to squeeze in between the twins. But now that the coach was under way, she realized that they offered scant protection, since they were in just as much trouble as she. Angled in opposite corners, Leo and Lawrence sat with their arms crossed and shoulders hunched. As for Edward, he’d arranged himself in the middle of the seat opposite, so that whenever she happened to glance up, she was forced to encounter his flinty-eyed glare.
Which was why she did the only reasonable thing she could and stared
at her clasped hands and the toes of her black leather shoes. Thankfully, the journey wasn’t a long one. Then again, once they arrived at Clybourne House, she fully expected Edward’s self-imposed restraint to disappear. Despite his seemingly relaxed posture, she could tell he was seething inside. His jaw was set, his lips compressed into a hard line that she’d never seen him wear before. Of all her transgressions, this one appeared to have made a real impact.
Maybe the impact?
Would he blister her with a tirade, then order her home? Her heart beat madly at the idea, as she contemplated the confrontation to come.
She couldn’t claim to regret her actions. Still, she was heartily sorry that she’d ended up involving the twins, even if their help had been essential to her plan. When she’d thought up the idea of sneaking into Brooks’s Club, she hadn’t really considered what a damaging impact the escapade might have on Leo and Lawrence. After all, who could have predicted that the three of them would end up playing cards with the despicable Lord Moregrave? Or that he would challenge her, then threaten them and Edward afterward?
An apology rose to her lips, but she held back, knowing this wasn’t the moment to ask the twins’ pardon. Later when they could be in private, and Edward wasn’t sitting two feet away, she would tell them how sorry she was for getting them in trouble.
Soon the coach pulled to a stop and the door was opened by a waiting footman. The servant gave her a long stare, eyes wide as he watched her descend from the vehicle. As for Croft, he greeted them all with his usual composed aplomb as they filed past into the house. Although Claire felt certain he recognized her in her male garb, he gave no outward indication. Nor did he make mention of the fact that until a few moments ago, the entire staff had assumed she was asleep in her bedchamber. What a great bushel of gossip they would have to share in the servants’ hall tonight!
As soon as all of them were inside, Edward rounded on the twins. “You two, upstairs to your rooms,” he ordered. “I shall deal with you later. And you are not to go out, not even if your trousers catch fire and the only water is in a bucket across the square. Do I make myself clear?”
The pair of them grumbled.
“What was that? I didn’t quite hear?” Edward demanded.
“Yes, Ned. Quite clear, Ned,” each of them answered in respectful tones. Clearly downcast, they made their way up the staircase and along the corridor to their bedrooms, neither one of them saying a word. Claire moved to follow.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” Edward asked, low and clipped.
“Upstairs. To change.”
His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over her. “You can change later. Or don’t you enjoy playing dress-up anymore, Mr Densmar?”
Forcing down the urge to gulp, she drew a deep breath and straightened her shoulders.
A muscle contracted in his jaw at her silent defiance. Fixing her with a hard stare, he gestured along the hallway. “My study. Now!”
Marching before him, she led the way.
Once inside, she half expected him to slam the door closed behind them, but he shut it with a quiet click that was all the more intimidating for its level of control. But then Edward was always in control, even when he was angry—just as Mallory had once pointed out.
And he was angry, his eyes glittering with a frosty blue tint that reminded her of the icy sheen on a frozen winter lake. But she was prepared for his displeasure, she told herself. Let him do his worst. After all, that was what she was counting on.
Striding across to his wide desk, he leaned a hip against the edge and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Well? What have you to say for yourself, Lady Claire?”
After a pause, she shrugged. “Very little actually. I believe the day speaks for itself.”
He glowered. “Quite right. It does. Beginning with your very convincing performance this morning at the breakfast table. I had no notion what a consummate actress you could be. But then I don’t suppose it bothers you to have lied with such bald-faced ease to Cousin Wilhelmina and Mallory, not to mention myself.”
She thrust her hands into the pockets of her borrowed trousers. “Of course it does and I owe them both a huge apology, and you as well, Your Grace. I never like to deceive people. But under the circumstances, it could not be helped.”
“Oh, could it not? Of all the incredible stunts to have pulled, this is without question the most egregious. Have you any idea the extent of the scandal you’ve caused? Every tongue in London will be wagging come nightfall, and likely across half of England by tomorrow!”
“I thought you didn’t mind scandal,” she said. “What was it you said? That I’d have to do a great deal better than a few extra dances to make you take notice.”
He growled under his breath. “Oh, you’ve definitely got my attention. In case you didn’t notice, you’ve had it these past few weeks while you’ve flitted from one peccadillo to another. But this time you’ve gone too far.”
“Why? Because I dressed up like a man and went to your club?”
“No, because you involved others in your scheme, and worse, you’ve made an enemy of a very ugly-tempered man. By God, what were you thinking playing cards with a brute like Moregrave?”
“He sat down at our table and there was nothing we could do to prevent him. Besides, I had no idea what sort of villain he is, nor did the twins. At least not until the game began and then it was too late to withdraw.”
“It’s never too late to withdraw and you should have made your excuses.”
“But he was into us for five hundred pounds by then. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of walking away with all that money.”
“That’s exactly what you should have done. Stood up and left. And the pot I saw had a great deal more than five hundred pounds in it, closer to five thousand.”
“Actually, I believe the pool was more in the realm of ten to fifteen thousand pounds during that final hand, since I’d put in a rather hefty IOU.”
His eyebrows shot high. “You gave him vowels! And what on earth would you have done if you’d lost? How would you have paid him?”
She lifted her gaze to the ceiling, noticing what lovely moulding and cornice work had been done in the room, before looking back. “I rather imagined you could pay.”
“Me!” His eyes narrowed in clear speculation. “Well, of course. I’m sure that was part of your plan to provoke me. So what went wrong? Or did you just get lucky at the wrong time?”
“Getting that high card was pure luck, but otherwise, I was in complete control of the game. Believe me, when you grow up in the country, you learn to play cards or else die of boredom. My sisters and I spent countless evenings playing whist and loo, and I’m quite skilled at both. Obviously we never played for stakes, but the principles are the same.”
“So why didn’t you lose to Moregrave?”
She hesitated before admitting the truth. “Because he is utterly contemptible and I couldn’t bring myself to let him win, not even so much as a penny. Besides, the twins would have been devastated, since most of the original stake was theirs. I didn’t think it was right to lose their money.”
“Oh, you didn’t, did you? But it was fine to lose mine?”
“Well, yes, considering how rich you are.”
He stared, then barked out a harsh laugh. “By God, you’re an outrageous baggage, do you know that?”
And too outrageous to be a duchess, she waited for him to say. Too outrageous to be his duchess.
Instead, a heavy silence lengthened between them.
“Do you know,” he mused aloud in an abrupt change of subject, “I’ve decided what I’m going to do with the twins. They’ll be sent home to Braebourne first thing tomorrow, where they’re to remain until their next term begins at university.”
“No! You can’t,” she protested. “They love London and the Season. Leo and Lawrence only went along with this scheme because I dared them into it. It wasn’t their idea, so don’t la
y the blame at their doorstep. This was my doing.”
“And they are old enough to know better. If they didn’t want to take their lumps, they shouldn’t have jumped into the fray.”
“But—”
“As for you now, that is the more difficult quandary,” he continued, resuming his speculation. “The Ton is already well-used to your ungoverned antics, so perhaps this Brooks’s debacle shall pass over as nothing more than a nine-day wonder. Then again, repercussions of the scandal could carry on throughout the remainder of the Season. A few hostesses may withdraw their patronage, and I rather doubt you’ll be welcome at Almack’s, at least not for the rest of this year.”
He tilted his head, studying her with an expression that made her shift her feet like some naughty schoolgirl, despite her current masculine mode of dress. “I know that most men would pack you off somewhere too,” he continued. “Or else ignore their duty and send you back to your parents. But that isn’t possible. I gave my word, and I am nothing if not a man of my word. You may have these fanciful notions that we can break off this engagement and that everything will go back to the way it was before. But that choice ended the day you accepted my offer.
“You may not realize it yet,” he said, “but we’re as good as married already in the eyes of Society. Has it never occurred to you why you’ve been given so much freedom and why the Ton is so willing to cast a benign eye on your escapades rather than condemn you? It’s because you are The Clybourne Bride, my bride, whether you wear a wedding ring yet or not.”
“No,” she retorted, air rushing from her lungs.
“And as such, you are my responsibility.”
“I don’t want to be your responsibility—”
“And it’s up to me to see to your welfare and to regulate your conduct.”
Her chest grew tight. “You don’t own me, not yet, Your Grace.”
The gaze he turned on her was penetrating and implacable. “But I do, Claire. You just need to accept that fact and stop all this nonsense.”
Temper burned like fire in her veins. “Never!”
At The Duke's Pleasure Page 21
