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

by Caroline Linden

  Her gaze drifted to the window, wondering if Jack had reached his house yet. He’d spoken of it in such stark terms, even though it was sure to be one of the finest homes in London. She rested her hand against the windowpane. Where was Ware House? He’d never said and she had no idea. Just one more sign that he was gone from her life forever.

  By the time she wrote brief, vague replies to her friends assuring them she was well and would tell them all at their next tea, her bath was ready. Sophie stepped into the tub and submerged herself to her shoulders. Part of her didn’t want to wash away Jack’s touch, but she made herself do it. It was a lark, she told herself as she scrubbed, an affair that ought not to have happened in the first place. The best thing she could do now was to tuck it deep into her heart and leave it there forever.

  She slid a little deeper into the water, tipping back her head onto the rim of the tub. It was impossible not to think of the large tub at Alwyn House—­the generous bathing tub in the duchess’s chamber. Next to Jack’s She closed her eyes and let herself drift back to that first evening, when she’d been wet, irate, and ready to vent her temper on the arrogant, obstinate duke. A smile touched her lips as she pictured what she must have looked like to him when she stormed into the library, wearing nothing but his own silk and velvet banyan. It was the most luxurious thing she’d ever worn.

  That banyan should have told her, above anything else, that he wasn’t what she expected. It was too decadent, too indulgent. And the way his eyes ignited when he saw her wearing it should have told her he was a man of deep passion, just waiting to be tapped.

  Even more, he’d seen right through her. Sophie lived by her wits, and it was rare that someone left her speechless, but Jack did. Even while he was stealing glances at her bare legs, he was still able to pick her apart and dig right to the heart of her secrets. He saw through her facade and spelled out virtually every bit of her Grand Plan, even if he never knew how right he was.

  The smile slipped from her face at the thought of her plan, her precisely detailed plan to achieve respectability and security. Last night she hadn’t spent a moment thinking of it. In fact, for a few hours this morning she had let the treacherous thought cross her mind that perhaps she wouldn’t need that plan, that perhaps she’d found something worth more than ten thousand pounds and an amiable gentleman. When Jack said he wanted to see her again, she’d thought . . . even hoped . . .

  That was nonsense, of course. A duke would have to be mad to marry a woman like her—­and indeed, he’d only proposed an affair, with a discreet little house where they could meet until he tired of her. No matter how much she wanted him, that was something Sophie dared not risk. Creating and preserving her reputation had taken diligent effort and care. Losing it would be accomplished in the blink of an eye, and once it was gone, she would never get it back. She passed herself off as a widow in society, but if anyone dug too deeply, they would discover there had never been a Mr. Campbell, only a Miss Graham who somehow became a widow on the mail coach between Bath and London. They might discover that her only legacy was three hundred pounds left to her by Lady Fox, and that the four thousand pounds she had carefully accrued and invested in government consuls had been won from society gentlemen at hazard and whist.

  Even though she sensed Jack would be generous, perhaps extravagantly so, to her if she became his mistress, it would only last as long as he wanted her. A mistress had no claim on her protector. Even worse, sooner or later he would marry someone else, a proper duchess, and then she would lose him entirely. Sophie refused to flirt with a married man, let alone carry on an affair with one.

  She’d told him the truth: there was no other choice for her. Now that she was back in London, she must not only resume the plan, she must redouble her efforts, to make up for the setback it had suffered.

  And that meant going back to Vega’s, facing the same people who had last seen her being swept out the door in Jack’s arm after that outrageous wager. Facing Philip, who would be angry—­and Giles Carter, who might well be disgusted. With a gusty sigh she slid down, letting the water wash over her head.

  By the time the carriage reached Ware House, Jack had replayed the entire morning in his head several times, with the end result being that his mood was black and surly when he strode through the tall carved doors, held open by servants in spotless livery. His gaze fell on a maid, innocently going about her duties, and he scowled. Her plain dark blue dress was a match for the one Sophie had worn the first day at Alwyn House, and again last night when he made love to her on the sofa.

  “Mr. Percy awaits you in the study, Your Grace,” intoned Browne, his butler.

  “Does he?” Grimly Jack stripped off his coat. Let Percy wait. “Have my horse brought around at once. I want a bath prepared when I return.”

  Browne blinked, a shocking lapse of form for him. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Has my brother been here?”

  “He is with Her Grace right now.”

  Jack’s steps paused, but only for a moment. So Philip was here now, before noon, with their mother. No doubt they would both want an explanation of where he’d been these last few days, albeit for very different reasons. Percy, Jack knew, had returned to London without any real knowledge. Wilson had hurried him out of Alwyn House while he and Sophie were exploring the attics. He thought of the promise he had made to Sophie, that their stolen interlude would remain a secret, and he strode on toward his dressing room. Keep it secret, when she was all he could think of. Not see her again, when she was the only person he wanted to see. A long pounding ride was what he needed right now, to pummel some of the tension from his muscles.

  His mother intercepted him on his way out. “There you are, dear. I was beginning to wonder if you’d taken ill, you’ve been away so long.”

  “Not at all, Mother.” He bowed briefly. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m about to go for a ride.”

  Her dark eyes widened. She had Philip’s knack of conveying deep indignation almost without effort. “Out? When you’ve just returned home after almost a week? You’re behaving very oddly.”

  “Am I?” He took his hat from Browne and tugged on his gloves. “It doesn’t feel odd.” Going back to his study and closeting himself with Percy again would feel odd, which was why he was going for a ride instead.

  Her brows went up in astonishment. “Ware! You mustn’t sport with me. I heard there was a scene at that club. It was most unseemly.”

  So much for Dashwood’s pledge of secrecy, Jack thought. Which—­damn it—­meant Sophie was right to worry about her reputation.

  “How could you do such a thing?” his mother added in a tone of mild distaste.

  “You begged me to go,” he reminded her.

  She blinked. “For Philip’s sake! I never—­”

  “Philip played a part in that scene, as you call it. I trust you’ve scolded him already for breaking his word and returning to the tables at the Vega Club the very same day he promised you he would avoid them for a month.”

  Her mouth fell open. It occurred to Jack that he hadn’t called out her unequal treatment of him and his brother since they were boys. “But—­But Jack . . .”

  His shoulders stiffened. She generally called him by his title, and had since the day his father died. Using his name was how she escalated her attack.

  She stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. “Of course Philip should rectify his behavior. He has been quite remorseful, as you would know if you hadn’t disappeared without a word. I was very worried.”

  He stepped away from her touch and spread his arms. “As you can see, I am home, hearty and hale. And now I’m going riding.”

  “But dear, it’s not merely my feelings you should consider. Lady Stowe and Lucinda called while you were away—­”

  From the corner of his eye he could see the footman leading his horse. Nero pranced from side to side, resti
ve and ready to run. Good. Jack intended to let him run to Hampstead and back. “I trust they are well. My horse is waiting, Mother. Good day.”

  “But—­but Ware! We must speak about Philip!”

  Jack threw up one hand in farewell as he went down the steps. He was done speaking about Philip for now. He took the reins from the footman and swung into the saddle, tipping his hat to his mother, who was so overset she had followed him to the door, her eyes wide and her hand at her bosom. Without another word he rode off, fully aware that his mother was gaping at him in shock.

  He wondered if Philip were lurking somewhere in the house, waiting to hear how the duchess’s intercession had gone. That was his usual course of action: enlist their mother to plead his case, usually by telling her a highly selective version of the truth. The duchess, who was always quick to trust Philip, was indomitable, and Jack usually acceded to her demands simply to save himself the frustration of being scolded and nagged, since she never gave in without achieving some part of her goal.

  Sophie had tried to persuade him too, but he’d never felt browbeaten. She might tease him about something, but she didn’t demand.

  God. Sophie. Had she made it home safely? He ought to have followed her, to be sure of it. Instantly Jack reconsidered that; if he knew where she lived, he wasn’t sure he could keep away from her. Of course it wouldn’t be difficult to find out—­his footman had discovered her direction in order to deliver a message to her maid after their wager—­which meant he must resolutely not try. It had been only an hour since he said goodbye to her, and already he wanted to break his promise and sweep her back to Alwyn House, damn the scandal.

  How was he ever to survive the rest of his life without her?

  Chapter 15

  The last place Sophie wanted to go that night was to Vega’s, but at eight o’clock she walked up the steps.

  “Welcome, Mrs. Campbell,” said Forbes, the manager, as he helped her out of her cloak. “I trust you’re well this evening.”

  If he were as curious as everyone else would be to know what had happened between her and Jack—­not Jack, the duke, she reminded herself—­Forbes didn’t show it. She gave him a bright smile. “Thank you, I am.”

  He sent the cloak off with a footman. “Mr. Dashwood would like to have a word at your convenience.”

  “Oh?” Sophie tensed, then made herself relax. She’d never fool anyone if she twitched like a startled mouse every time someone spoke to her. “I am free at the moment, if he will speak to me now.”

  “This way,” he said, and led her to Mr. Dashwood’s office. It took real effort to keep her muscles from knotting; what was Mr. Dashwood going to say? Forbes had obviously been instructed to bring her in immediately. Had she breached some rule and was about to have her membership revoked? She had been to Mr. Dashwood’s office only three times: when she applied for membership, and the two very happy occasions when she’d won wagers large enough that the owner had overseen payment.

  Although, after her time with Jack, Sophie began to suspect that it was more likely her sex and not the size of the wager that had brought Mr. Dashwood into those matters. She had won two hundred seventy pounds from Sir Edward Tisdale, and then almost five hundred pounds from a very drunk viscount who stared at her bosom more than at his cards. Someone confided to her later that the viscount claimed she’d dressed indecently to distract him. Sophie hadn’t felt the slightest twinge of guilt over it. Her gowns were no different from any other fashionable lady’s, and if a man allowed himself to be that dazzled by a hint of female flesh, he ought to restrict his gambling to male company. Both men paid, though rather grudgingly in the case of the viscount. Mr. Dashwood had made sure of it.

  Sadly, she was not in possession of a winning marker this evening.

  Forbes knocked at the last door. “Mrs. Campbell, sir,” he called, then nodded in apparent response to a reply. He stepped back, opening the door wide for her. “Mr. Dashwood will see you, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Forbes,” she murmured, pressing her hands flat against her skirt to steady them. Lifting her chin, she walked into the office.

  Mr. Dashwood was on his feet, coming around his desk. “Mrs. Campbell. How good to see you back at Vega’s.”

  “Yes,” she said with a smile, as she dipped a shallow curtsy. She had practiced that gracious, unperturbed expression until it came effortlessly, but tonight it was difficult to hold. “It is good to be back.”

  He tilted his head, giving her a sharp look. Everything about Dashwood was sharp: his mind, his features, his ambition. He was a ruthless shark in gentleman’s clothes. “You caused a commotion when you left the other evening.”

  Sophie drew a quick breath and clasped her hands. She’d known this was coming. “I am sorry for that—­”

  “No doubt,” he said, cutting her off. “That’s not the sort of wager I want in my club.”

  Her face heated. “Nor is it the sort of wager I delight in making. His Grace insisted, as you heard—­”

  “But you agreed.” Dashwood folded his arms and leaned one hip against his desk. His piercing gaze was almost physically uncomfortable to endure, and he wasn’t letting her put out any of her practiced excuses.

  “I did,” she conceded in a low voice. “It was a mistake.”

  “I hope you won’t make the same mistake again. If that’s the sort of wager you’re after . . .” He shrugged. “There are plenty of places to make them. But not at the Vega Club.”

  Sophie’s breath rasped in her throat. Her spine was as stiff as an iron spike, and her face was surely three shades of scarlet. “Nor do I. It—­it was a momentary madness, certainly on my part and, I believe, on His Grace’s. It was not a serious bet—­I had never met His Grace before that night. I suspect he only proposed such a wager to prevent me from playing hazard with his brother, Lord Philip. I believe there had been some unpleasantness over a debt that caused tension between them, and the wager was made in a moment of anger.”

  Dashwood cocked one brow skeptically. “A harsh punishment for you. Not so harsh for Lord Philip.”

  She blinked rapidly. “As you can see, it was not fulfilled.”

  Something like sympathy drifted over his face for a moment. “You’ve not been here since then.”

  “I was indisposed,” she said. Colleen had told two people she was ill in bed, which was as good a story as any. Her hands were gripped together so tightly, she couldn’t feel her fingertips. “I struck a bargain with His Grace. In exchange for my promise not to wager with Lord Philip again, he took me home.” That was true, even if it left out mention of the fact that it happened only this morning. “I took a chill in the rain that night, and was confined to bed for a few days.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Rumors are slippery beasts, madam, hard to cage and even harder to put down. I suggest you avoid His Grace so as not to provide succor to any beastly rumors.”

  “I assure you, sir, I have no intention of doing anything remotely similar ever again.” But her heart was hammering wildly.

  “Very good, Mrs. Campbell,” he replied after a moment. “See that you don’t—­not here, at any rate.”

  “Of course not,” she said through dry lips. And then, because she couldn’t let a single instance of suspicion go unchallenged, she added, “I trust your code of conduct for members will cover this.”

  He knew what she meant: the embargo on speaking of what happened at Vega’s. “It does, and I will enforce it to the best of my ability.” He gave her a speaking look. “I am not God, Mrs. Campbell. If the truth is at odds with rumor, you would be wise to promote the truth at every opportunity.”

  She bowed her head in acknowledgment of the warning. “I shall.”

  Mr. Dashwood went behind his desk again. “One more thing, Mrs. Campbell. Your account.”

  “Yes?” Her stomach threatened to revolt. What was wrong
with her account?

  The club owner gave her a long look. “You won over six hundred pounds from the Duke of Ware. I did as he directed and credited it to your account. If you’ll sign here, I’ll make the funds available.” He pushed a slim account book across the desk surface and held out a pen.

  Sophie let out her breath. “Of course,” she murmured, dashing her signature across the page. Six hundred pounds. It was a fortune, more than she’d ever won before, and it left her cold. What would Jack think when he had to pay it? Would he even notice?

  Her head felt hot and fuzzy as she left the office and followed Forbes back to the main salons of the club. She was walking on thin ice already, and now it felt like it was cracking beneath her feet. She flexed her shoulders, trying to relieve some of the strain in them, and a dull ache shot up her neck toward the base of her skull. This evening was already very trying, and she hadn’t even entered the club.

  There was a brief hush when she strolled into the salon. No one stared openly, but she caught a few veiled glances of rabid curiosity. Graciously she nodded to the people she knew, repeating over and over in her mind that she must behave exactly as she normally did. Most people returned her nod, some with speculative looks that only increased her tension.

  She started when someone spoke at her shoulder. “Good evening, Mrs. Campbell.”

  “Mr. Carter!” Her laugh was almost a gasp of relief. “How delightful to see you again.”

  “Yes, it has been a few days.” He bowed, but his expression was unreadable.

  She summoned an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately, I was unwell. A chill from the rain. I was quite miserable and am so sorry I was unable to receive you when you called.”

  “Your maid seemed rather nervous when I called.”

  “Was she?” Sophie affected mild surprise. “I can’t imagine why. Perhaps it was your handsome face, sir.” She smiled.

  He studied her for a moment; he wanted to believe her. Sophie couldn’t bear it. He was a decent man. She liked him, and now she had to lie to him. She dropped her gaze and squeezed her hands together. “No, you must know the full reason why I stayed away. I—­I was mortified by how I behaved that night. I lost my temper and allowed myself to be goaded into things I ought not to have done. That kept me from returning to Vega’s before tonight.” She looked up at him. “I hope you can understand, and forgive me.”