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

by Caroline Linden

  She thought of the pencil drawing at Alwyn House, of a young Philip laughing in the tree. It was difficult to fight back the urge to defend Jack, to say that he still had that adventurous, caring side, and that he would prefer to be close to his brother rather than constantly at odds. “Why not, do you think?”

  “Because he’s the bloody duke, obviously.” Philip’s eyes flashed. “Too important to come out to the theater or a boxing match. Too noble to play cards or do anything sporting. He’s become a raging bore—­well, until that night, clearly, when he seemed pleased enough to toss aside all his vaunted dignity and decorum.”

  “Not all of us are carefree, with an income and the freedom to do as we please.” Philip shot her a sharp look. Sophie smiled artlessly. “I mean you’re very fortunate you haven’t the responsibility for a dukedom. It must be . . . demanding. I only know about running my small household. There must be so much more to an estate.”

  “There is.” Philip gave a gusty sigh and leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I know there is. And you’re right, I am fortunate not to be the duke, for I’m no good at being responsible.” A devilish smile played at his mouth. “I’m terribly good at being adventurous, though.”

  She laughed. “Well do I know it! Although I suggest you try being less daring at the tables.”

  “You too?” He eased a bit closer on the sofa, stretching out his legs. “Someone told me the other day I ought to improve my play at cards. Have you any advice? You seem to do quite well.”

  “Hmm.” She tilted her head as if in thought. “I suggest you avoid hazard. It’s the devil’s game.” He laughed. “The rest is practice. Study the rules, learn the odds of each play, and keep your mind on the cards or the dice—­not on flirting with your opponent,” she finished with a speaking look.

  He laughed again. “Well, it didn’t help me.” He shot her a sideways look. “It never would have, would it?”

  She hesitated. He didn’t mean at hazard. “No. Not with me.”

  “Did that happen before or after my brother swept you away?” He asked it simply, directly, without suspicion.

  “Before,” she said lightly. “Long before. You’re far too adventurous and daring for me, you know. I fear I’m really a dreadful bore at heart, as well.”

  Philip looked at her. Suddenly she realized he knew, somehow, about her and Jack. “You’re nothing like him, Sophie.”

  Her face burned. “Like who?” she tried to ask innocently, but Philip’s expression had changed. He leaned back on the sofa and gave her a weary look.

  “I know there’s something between you and Ware. He gave himself away the other night, when I told him he ought to leave you be.”

  Sophie said nothing. She couldn’t speak.

  “I understand why you want it kept quiet,” Philip went on. “And I don’t begrudge you taking up with him, by the by. You’re certainly not the first to spot a chance and try for it. But you’ve got a kind heart and a sensible head, and . . . well, I care about you, even if you won’t flirt with me and win my money anymore. Trying to capture Ware’s heart is a fool’s game.”

  She wanted to slap his face for saying such things about Jack. But what do you know? she reminded herself. This was why she’d sought him out. “Good heavens, Philip, you make me sound like a hunter and your brother my prey.”

  He snorted. “More than one woman has felt that way about him! He’s so damned aloof, and women find that infuriatingly appealing . . . But Ware hasn’t got a heart anymore. He fell in love years ago—­wildly, exuberantly, you’d never know it was the same man—­and the girl jilted him. She ran off with a war hero or some such fellow, and he never got over it.”

  Years ago, she wanted to repeat. If Jack still nursed a broken heart, he never showed her any sign of it. “Surely a duke must marry, to have an heir.” She shouldn’t have started this conversation. Philip was in a mood to talk, but he wasn’t helping her, and was only making things worse. Jack had never mentioned another love.

  “Oh, he’ll marry,” replied Philip with a snort. “But for duty, not for frivolous reasons.”

  Frivolous reasons like love. Her hands shook until she squeezed them together in her lap. “I heard a rumor,” she said, her voice as careless as possible. “About him and Lady Lucinda Afton. That they’ve been engaged for some time.” The words were like ashes in her mouth, but she had to know . . .

  Philip glanced at her, his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “You heard that? Well, well. He promised our father on his deathbed that he would take care of her forever. As I said, duty. One feels a bit of sympathy for Lucinda, but she’ll make it her own, being a duchess. She’s a clever girl, and as a child she always knew her mind.”

  And just like that, he robbed her of breath. Sophie swayed in her seat and had to clutch the cushion to keep her balance. She raised her stricken gaze to Philip, who was watching her with all-­too-­knowing eyes. “Are you certain?”

  “My mother says they’ll be wed by the end of this year,” he said. “Lucinda’s mother wanted her to have a Season first.”

  She’s only eighteen, echoed Georgiana’s voice in her head. “Does he love her?” she asked, clutching at straws.

  “Lucinda?” Philip looked surprised. “I doubt it. The men in my family—­the heirs, anyway—­make prudent marriages, Sophie. Always have, probably always will.” He gave her a sympathetic glance. “That never stopped any of them from having plenty of mistresses and lovers on the side, but when they marry, it’s for power and for money. I would have warned you earlier, if I’d been allowed to speak to you. I suppose I see now why he forbade me doing that.”

  Her heart was pounding erratically, and her head felt light and dizzy. She might be ill. Jack had said as much to her—­the Dukes of Ware don’t marry for love—­but then he’d said she was everything he wanted in his wife. He’d asked her to marry him. Who was wrong? Georgiana, who had seen Jack laughing arm in arm with Lady Lucinda? Philip, who knew things about his brother and his family she couldn’t possibly know? Or Sophie, who had broken her own rules time after time—­making love to Jack, carrying on with their affair after they returned to London, losing her heart to him, even falling for his shocking proposal of marriage?

  “Thank you, Philip,” she said unsteadily. “It has been illuminating.”

  “Sophie.” He caught her hand as she rose. “I know I behaved like a nodcock earlier—­jealousy of Ware for having had you to himself, even if not by your choice.” He tried to smile but stopped as she stared at him, probably looking like wild-­eyed Ophelia in her madness. “I apologize, and swear to you it won’t happen again. Can we be friends once more?”

  She tugged free of his hold. “Perhaps.” No, she wanted to cry—­not when his face would always remind her of Jack’s. “Pardon me—­” She turned and hurried away, barely keeping her expression composed. She slipped into the first empty room she came to, closing the door behind her and sagging against it.

  The air burned in her lungs. Oh God. Had she really been such a fool? Had she really thought her luck had changed so dramatically? From counting cards and playing for guineas to being the Duchess of Ware? “Idiot,” she whispered to herself. She should have known when Jack—­Ware—­kept looking at her bare legs that first night at Alwyn House. It hadn’t been love or marriage on his mind. Lady Fox had warned her about that: when a man wants a woman he shouldn’t have, he becomes a dangerous creature, she’d said.

  But Sophie, foolishly, fell for everything because she’d wanted him. And for those few glorious days, she’d thought he was hers.

  She swiped the back of her hand across her burning eyes. No tears. She’d made mistakes before, and had to pick herself up and dust off her pride; she would recover from this, too. It would hurt, much worse than the time she’d miscalculated her odds and lost four hundred pounds in one night. Much, much worse than when her
one previous lover broke with her. At least he’d never proposed, only gave her a very handsome diamond bracelet as a parting gift. She’d sold it for two hundred fifty pounds, a plump addition to her nest egg.

  So it would hurt, and her heart might never recover fully, but she would carry on. She had no choice. Perhaps she’d take a holiday to visit Makepeace Manor, as her uncle had offered. Her few memories of it were dark and grim, but this time she might be able to recover some bit of her father and his childhood, before he’d thrown it all away for love . . .

  As a girl she’d thought her parents’ story was beautifully romantic. Now she realized how truly lucky they had been. Papa loved her mother just as much as ever when she lost her voice to a persistent cough and could no longer sing. Mama loved him even when he was unable to win enough at the card tables to support them. Their love had survived heartbreak and hardship and endured to their dying days, and Sophie had somehow thought all love could do the same.

  Papa, she thought hopelessly, I wish you had warned me how terrible love can be.

  Jack arrived at Vega’s later than usual, but in a buoyant mood.

  He had a special license in his pocket. It had taken a few hours to procure, but he’d assumed his most ducal demeanor and sent clerks scurrying until he got it.

  He had a ring in his pocket as well, a flawless ruby set in a golden band; he liked Sophie in red.

  The main reason for his tardy arrival was his mother, who had alternately scolded, wept, and pleaded with him to change his mind. Lady Stowe had broken the news to her earlier, no doubt in a hysterical letter, but Jack still had to weather the storm of her disappointment. When the brunt of it had past, he told her he was unable to marry Lady Lucinda for two reasons: first, that Lucinda didn’t want him, and second, that he wanted someone else.

  “Lucinda will see reason,” she cried, trailing after him as he went down the stairs.

  “She wants to go to Egypt.” He grinned at the memory of her enthusiasm.

  The duchess looked blank. “Egypt? Don’t be ridiculous. Of course she doesn’t. What sort of idea is that for a young lady? She will stay right here in England and do her duty.”

  Jack, ready to leave for Vega’s, slid his arms into his coat as Browne held it up. “Her duty does not include wedding me.”

  “But your duty is to wed her!”

  “No,” he said firmly. “It is not.” She opened her mouth to argue, and Jack held up one hand. “I vowed to Father that I would see that she was cared for. I have done that—­she and her mother have always had a comfortable home, a well-­stocked larder, the latest fashions. But she is grown now, with thoughts and ideas of her own, and she does not want to marry someone as old and boring as I.”

  “She is still a girl and will heed her mother’s guidance!”

  “No, she is a young woman who deserves a chance to choose her own husband.” He gave his mother a quelling look. “That is the end of the matter.”

  The duchess’s mouth pinched, and she closed her eyes for a moment. “You’re being hasty and rash, and it’s not like you, Ware. Throwing over Lucinda for a common cardsharp!” She nodded even as he shot her a dark glance. “Of course I heard about that foolish wager—­of course I know you went off to Alwyn with her, and of course I know you’re still seeing her. You’ve been quite unlike yourself lately, and I have no illusions why. Men are the most predictable creatures on earth when it comes to their baser needs. But to bring that woman into this house would shame your father, your grandfather, and every other ancestor who knew his duty and treated marriage with the gravity it deserves.”

  He took his hat and gloves from Browne. “Good evening, Mother.”

  “You cannot ask me to receive that woman,” she pleaded. “A woman of no name, no connections, no character!”

  “That woman has a name, I don’t care about connections, and she has more fortitude and character than half of society put together.” He set the hat on his head as a footman swept open the door. “And if you don’t wish to receive her, have Percy take a new house for you. I expect to bring my bride home within a fortnight.” He ignored her gasp of shock and went out, down the steps and into the carriage waiting for him. He cast a glance at the opposite corner and remembered Sophie, indignant and flustered, badgering him from that seat. His pulse leaped and a slow smile crossed his face at the thought of what he’d do the next time he had her in the carriage with him.

  He strode through the door of Vega’s, hardly stopping to leave his coat and hat. Where was she? Tonight he didn’t care a fig for the promise Dashwood had extracted. After tonight, the only gossip that might accrue to Sophie’s name would be about her new place in society, as his wife. After tonight, Dashwood could ban him from Vega’s for life, and Jack wouldn’t give a damn.

  A brisk patrol of the club didn’t reveal Sophie, though. He frowned when he reached the main salon again, wondering if she’d stayed home this evening. He’d sent his carriage away, but he could hail a hackney, as he usually did when headed to Sophie’s house . . .

  “Here I am.” His brother stepped in front of him, arms open wide.

  “I’m not looking for you.”

  “No?” Philip affected surprise. “Was that not your sole purpose in joining the Vega Club?”

  Jack was beginning to envy Sophie her lack of family. “Philip, I am not in the mood for this.”

  “Oh.” His brother perked up. “Fancy a hand of cards, then? Fraser and Whitley would surely make up a table with us.”

  “No doubt,” he said dryly. Fergus Fraser never had two shillings to rub together, and Angus Whitley was Philip’s most useless friend. “Perhaps another time. I’m looking for someone.”

  “Who?” Philip fell in step beside him when he started to walk away. “I can help you locate him.”

  Jack gave him a narrow-­eyed look. “Why are you so accommodating this evening?”

  “A renewed spirit of brotherly love.”

  “No, really, why?” Jack moved past the hazard table. No gleam of mahogany hair caught his eye.

  “Perhaps I’m keeping an eye on you tonight.”

  “What?” He could barely attend to what Philip said. Was she really not here? Surely she would have mentioned it last night, if she planned to stay home.

  “To keep you from any awkward situations with people who don’t desire your company.”

  He looked at his brother, perplexed, and finally took in Philip’s expression. “What are you talking about?”

  Philip’s gaze darted left, then right, and he lowered his voice. “Sophie knows about Lucinda.”

  “What?” A nearby table looked around at his sharp exclamation. Jack also lowered his voice. “There’s nothing to know!”

  Philip threw up his hands in protest. “She asked me. Whoever told her you were going to marry Lucinda, it was not I.”

  “And did you deny it?” he whispered harshly. “I am not engaged to Lucinda, I never was, and if you told her I am—­God help me, Philip—­”

  His brother put down his hands. “Deny it? When my own mother said it was true? Ware, everyone believes you’ve been promised to Lucinda for years—­”

  With a curse, Jack turned and stalked off. Philip dogged his heels, seeming to understand that their conversation was too public. As soon as they reached a quieter spot, Jack whirled on his brother. “I told you that was idle rumor, no matter what Mother wished,” he said between his teeth. “The mythical engagement was cooked up by her and Lady Stowe. No one even asked Lucinda her opinion, which turns out to be that she’d much rather traipse off to ancient Egypt than marry a dull old man such as I.”

  Philip grinned in delight. “She said that? I always liked Lucinda.”

  “And I’ll happily send you to Egypt, never to return, if you told Sophie I was marrying another woman.” Jack glared at him. “I’m in love with her, damn you. S
he said she loves me, too. If you have ruined this for me, Philip, if you have broken her heart by telling her rubbish . . . as God is my witness, you shall never draw another farthing from Ware, nor be welcome on any property I own.”

  “Love?” His brother goggled at him. “You—­in love?”

  He stared at his brother, who had once looked up to him and trusted him, even when they were lads and Jack told him tall tales and scary stories. It was like a different person in front of him, someone who believed him capable of seducing one woman with false promises while betrothed to another woman. Someone who believed him incapable of any deeper feeling than distaste for large gaming debts. His own brother.

  He swore under his breath. This was a waste of time, scolding Philip when he should be looking for Sophie and assuring her it was all false, that the only truth between them was what he had told her last night: that he loved her and wanted to marry her. Sophie was all that mattered to him, not his mother’s disapproval and not his brother’s dislike. “Never mind.” He brushed past his brother, but Philip caught his arm.

  “Ware. Jack.”

  He paused, glaring icily at the hand on his sleeve. Philip released him and edged back a step. “I didn’t know.”

  “How could you, when you were sulking that I’d spoiled your bid to make her your mistress?”

  His brother flushed at his scathing derision. “For what it’s worth, I actually do care for her. When you carted her off, I’d no idea what you meant to do, and I worried for her.”

  Jack gave him a look of pure disdain. “You have an odd way of demonstrating your affection and concern.”

  “I might say the same,” retorted Philip. Jack jerked, and his brother took another step backward. “Do you really love her?”

  “Desperately.” He hesitated. “I asked her to marry me.”

  Philip exhaled. “I suppose she said yes.” Jack nodded once, unable to speak. His brother seemed to wilt for a moment, then he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. “Since we’re both miserable at this, I guess we had better work together. One of us might as well be happy. Come, I’ll help you find her.”