She stood up and gave both Rebecca and Thomas a hug, Thomas squeezing her a little tighter than usual as he whispered words of consolation in her ear.
“Thank you,” she said, and left her friends to get home, fighting back tears.
Grayson stepped from the sidewalk and crossed the street, careful not to stomp in the mud along the way. A late night rain had flooded the streets, making them nearly impassable for some of the carriages and coaches. While he would have rather traveled by coach to the Baron’s house for an official visit to pay a call to the man, he preferred not to have his distinctive carriage seen and therefore decided to walk the short distance to the man’s house. It mattered not, he supposed, for it gave him time to think about what he was going to say. The Baron was a prideful man, and the last thing Grayson wanted was to bruise that pride any more than he had already. He would strike up some kind of bargain, maybe by word of mouth that they had engaged in another card game, and the Baron had won back most of what was lost. Harrison could be the witness, and they could stage it perhaps in White’s as well, giving it credibility. Yes, that would work. Armed with a plan, Grayson crossed over the last block to the Baron’s house, noting a lone female ahead that looked suspiciously like his dancing partner, the very reason he had had little peace of mind since. Their eyes locked, and he watched as she charged over to him. “Good day,” he responded as she reached him. “I was just on my way to see your father.”
“How dare you!” she accused, causing him to take a few steps back. Her blue eyes flashed with anger, her face was mottled red. “How dare you just . . . just ruin a man like you did! Do you not have any morals, Your Grace? Is life that meaningless to you?”
“I assume you are referencing your father’s untimely luck last evening?” he asked politely, holding his stance lest he give in to his desire to drag her around the corner and kiss her. She was stunningly beautiful when infuriated, so much so that he felt the stirring of lust in his groin, so powerful that Grayson wondered exactly what she would do in return if he pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers at that moment.
“Untimely luck?” she scoffed. “Is that what you are calling your, your . . . horrendous trick you pulled on my father?”
Grayson frowned. “I pulled no such trick on your father, Miss Bramick. Ask anyone who was there. All of my hands were the luck of the draw, as were his.”
“Nevertheless, you should have stopped him,” she pressed on, hands on hips. “You should not have let him lose so much.” Her voice cracked and she grit her teeth to keep from saying more, or worse yet, from crying in his presence.
Grayson chuckled, realizing why she was so upset. After all, hadn’t she had an empty dance card the other night? Why else would an unpopular debutante want to confront a Duke other than her only chance of being married had disappeared in the span of an hour or two? “You mean lose your dowry, Miss Bramick.”
Her eyes widened, and he felt oddly disappointed that she was so concerned about winning a man’s hand with earthly possessions. Did she not recognize that she had bowled him over with one dance? Hell, he did not even know how much she was worth nor did he care.
“I, this is concerning much more than my dowry,” she stammered.
“Is it now?” he said, wanting to hear the words from her mouth so that he would be proven right. “I remember the struggles you were having until I asked you to dance. Just think of what would happen if the ton knew you were penniless now?”
Hurt flickered in her eyes, and Grayson flinched, ashamed of himself and wanting to take his words back. A dance card was no way to judge a woman, and it was a low blow on his part. Besides, he was about to fix it all for her, just as soon as he spoke with the Baron.
“Y-you are no different than the lot of them,” she finally said, her voice lethally soft. “I thought . . . matters not what I thought, does it? Not now that you have shown your true colors, Your Grace. You care not a whit about anyone but yourself, do you?”
Grayson had never been so offended in all of his days, especially not by a woman. She thought him petty and selfish? She did not know him at all and that bruised his ego deeply.
Well, he was about to show her what he could be like. “You know, there is a way out of this,” he said softly, his voice as sharp as steel. “I will give you your dowry back, my lady.” He paused for effect, seeing a flicker of interest in her eyes. “You only need to give me one night. One night in my bed.”
The slap came out of nowhere. One second he was thinking of all that he could do with her if she were to accept his rather elicit offer, the next his cheek was stinging from the assault of her hand against it.
Grayson watched as she walked away, her stride angry. The words had just tumbled out of his mouth. He did not know what had gotten into him, other than wanting to bruise her as she had done to him, while at the same time desiring her more than any woman he had ever desired. A night with Louisa Bramick would no doubt prove to be a wondrous night indeed if she loved like she angered.
He turned away then, the original intent of his visit now gone with that slap. There would be no way he would attempt to speak to the Baron now. He was better off waiting until her wrath blew over before he approached the Baron.
Louisa stalked up the front steps and nearly slammed the door to the house, remembering to gently close it at the last moment since her father was still in his chambers sleeping. Her original intent had been to confront the Duke and confront him she had. Her palm still stung from the slap, but it had been well worth it. Never in her life had she been propositioned as he had done just a few moments before and, despite the warm feeling that had spread in her chest when she had first seen him on the street before he had spoken those filthy words to her, Louisa felt defiled that he would sink so low as to make such a scandalous suggestion. Or that he would think so little of her and assume that she might even take him up on the offer.
She climbed the steps to her room and sank onto her bed, her hands still trembling from the encounter. She had hoped the Duke would have been a fair and partial man, but that was not the case. If nothing else, he had just proven to her that they were all alike — the upper crust of society. They cared nothing for the lower rungs, only looking out for themselves when necessary. She had acted out inappropriately, but she didn’t care. Her father had told her last evening of how dire the situation was going to be if he could not get any of what he lost back. They would be on the verge of becoming destitute and forced out onto the street. It was a terrifying thought. Her father was a good man but she had failed at saving him from himself.
Lying back on her bed, Louisa stared up at the ceiling. There had to be a way to get them out of this mess, a way that didn’t involve going to the Duke for help. It was clear to her that he wasn’t the type to lend a hand to those in need anyway.
Chapter 6
Grayson and Harrison climbed the steps to the plain looking building, hurrying to get out of the drenching rain that had seemed to come out of nowhere. Just inside the foyer, they both handed off their coats and hats, shaking the rain from the rest of their clothing. Every week they descended upon the small club known for its anonymity and the excellent port that was served. Here a man could enjoy every type of game in varying degrees of table allowances, but for the most part, the club catered to the higher clientele of the ton.
Grayson made his way into one of the rooms and looked in at the table to survey the opponents before he chose to sit down. In one chair Thomas, the Earl of Simmons’ son, sat scowling at his cards. One of these days the Duke would have to teach Thomas to retain an impassive expression on his face while he gambled. Next to Thomas sat a boy that did not look old enough to be there, his hat still atop his head. The pile of coins on the table before him was impressive enough though, so obviously, the young lad had enough to be seated at the table. Edmund, the second son of the Baron of Chichester, was next over from the young lad and his meager pile of coins betrayed his bad luck thus far tonight. An e
mpty chair was next to Edmund which the Duke considered filling, and the last seat between the empty one and Thomas was occupied by a wealthy, but untitled, landowner whose name the Duke could not recall.
Grayson walked over to the drink cart as he considered his competition for the evening, pouring himself a healthy dose of the fine brandy that was always present.
“Montrose.”
Grayson turned to find Thomas had joined him, reaching for the brandy decanter and refilling the empty glass he had carried up from the table. He had folded from the most recent deal and the remaining three men were bidding each other higher, none appearing willing to give up the generous kitty.
“Thomas,” the Duke acknowledged the Earl’s son who was a few years his junior and well-known at the gambling tables. He had played against him a time or two, not a bad player, but could be a bit impetuous. “Say, what is the name of the gentleman to your left?”
“Chalmers.” Thomas took a sip of his brandy as he and the Duke gazed over at the intense players. “He is squire of the largest estate in the county.”
“Yes, I recognized him but could not recall his name.” The Duke’s interest peaked as the stakes were growing larger with each bid. “And the youngster? He does not look old enough to be here.”
Thomas glanced back to the table before answering. Edmund had folded his hand and the stake was now between Chalmers and the young lad. “Viscount Wembly’s son, Noah, my guest this evening, your Grace,” Thomas answered the Duke’s inquiry. “Old enough, alright, we were at Eton together.”
At that moment, Chalmers let out a groan and the young Noah swept up the sizable winnings without so much of a change of expression.
With a new hand about to be dealt, Grayson placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder to guide him back to the table and take their seats. “Shall we?” Thomas carried the brandy bottle to the table with them so they could top up their glasses between games.
The two men sat in the vacant chairs and Grayson quickly assessed the competition, nodding a polite greeting at each player while the dealer took his place.
Grayson easily won the first two hands, adding the small pile of coins to his own. Anytime he won a hand was a good thing, but he was not above getting out of the game when the game was going well for him. Gambling was far from some sort of crutch or addiction for him. Gambling was a way to pass the time, an entertainment, a challenge that stimulated his mind and kept him occupied for a few hours.
The next few hands went poorly for the Duke, all of the money being swept up by Thomas’ former classmate and Edmund, who had turned his luck around since the Duke joined the table. Chalmers stood after a short while, stretched his back and said, “That’s all for me tonight, gentlemen. It appears that tonight belongs to the sons of peers.” They all chuckled politely as Chalmers nodded to each man before leaving the table.
Noah won the next kitty, a large one thanks to the Duke’s substantial wager on the strength of what he thought was an unbeatable hand. Grayson watched his hands closely as he scooped up his winnings, noting that the Etonian wore a set of gloves. What was his story? He was an odd one, that was for sure. Was he hiding cards in those gloves, performing some sleight of hand. Grayson could not detect any fraud in his play but would continue to watch closely.
Thomas was equally struggling to win a hand, frowning every time the cards were dealt. Grayson vowed to caution the Earl’s son about how transparent his expressions were and that he would never be successful if the competition could read every hand by the look on his face. But not tonight. Another hand or two and the Duke would retire for the evening.
“Move aside man! I have money, tons of it!” A slurred voice rang from the doorway, causing a commotion.
Grayson looked up to see the man in question being stopped by one of the valets in attendance. “Lord Grimsey, perhaps you should go home,” he pleaded.
“Home? I have but one place I would like to be and that is seated at that table there,” the Baron replied, pointing with his cane. “Ah, Montrose, fleecing someone else out of their estate tonight?”
“I’m merely playing the game, Baron,” Grayson replied, laying down his hand.
“Ha, we all know how you play,” he pushed back, maneuvering his way into the room despite the valet’s attempts to hold him back. Grayson watched as the Baron sat in the chair that had been vacated by Chalmers earlier, the stench of alcohol wafting in the air. “Are you attempting to win all of young Simmons’ money as well?”
“Baron,” Thomas acknowledged with a nod. “How fare you this evening?”
“I fare well,” the Baron said, belching loudly as he sat his cane next to him and banged on the table with his hands. “Deal the cards, man. I am only here to observe. Maybe I shall see Thomas here take the Duke down a notch or two.”
Thomas glanced at the dealer with a slight shrug and tilt of his head, silently asking the dealer to continue and overlook the Baron’s presence.
The dealer nodded and dealt the cards to the remaining players as Grayson surveyed the Baron with a sidelong glance. The man was obviously intoxicated, the ruddiness of his cheeks standing out against his pale, sweaty skin. He wondered what his daughter would say if she could see him, an old man who was trying to drink his problems away instead of finding an outlet to right them. No doubt, she would attempt to lay blame on Grayson once more if she knew they were keeping the same company.
“Now, I would have won that hand!” the Baron said loudly as the kitty went to Noah once again, who hurriedly swept the coins toward him, shoving the notes in his pocket.
Edmund grabbed the Baron’s upper arm and tried to lift him from the chair. “Come on, Lord Grimsey, allow me to get you a drink before you head home.”
The Baron peered at him, a frown on his face. “Are you trying to rid yourself of me, young man? Do you not think I belong here? I was winning hands against your father at this very table before you were born!”
“You have nothing to wager, my lord,” Edmund said gently, not wishing to embarrass the Baron. “Come on and leave the chaps to their play.”
The Baron glowered at him before looking at Grayson, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, I have something to wager alright and would have more if that scoundrel would not have taken it all from me.”
“I won it fairly,” Grayson responded evenly, tired of being portrayed as the one in the wrong. He hadn’t forced the Baron’s hand in any way. “Go home, old man, and spend some time with your daughter.”
“I want one hand,” the Baron continued, his face now red with rage and anger. “One hand with Montrose.”
“You have nothing to wager,” Grayson answered, sliding his notes back into his pocket having lost the taste for the game. He pushed back his chair and started to rise.
“Baron,” Thomas started to interject before the Baron waved a dismissive hand in his direction.
“I will give you anything,” the Baron said, unheeded that the rest of the room was silently urging for him to go home. “I still have my entailed land and title. It must be worth something. Name your price. If I win, though, you will restore all that you have taken from me.”
Grayson thought for a moment before responding. This time he was not being impulsive, nor did he anticipate the Baron would accept his wager. He only hoped to incite the Baron to leave the room. “Your daughter,” he said quietly. “I want your daughter. One night.”
Every eyebrow in the room raised.
Chapter 7
Louisa fought the urge to clap her hand over her mouth, biting her lip in an effort to keep quiet. For the past hour, she had won a fair share of her father’s money back, both from the Duke as well as several of the other arrogant upper class men of society. The self-satisfaction in knowing she was taking their money made her feel quite good indeed.
His cash had been diminished with each hand, and Louisa hoped it would just be a matter of time before he would toss the title to the estate that didn’t mean a whit to him into the kitty. Tha
t was until her father made an unwelcome appearance. At first, she thought he would recognize her, wearing an ill-fitting evening jacket she borrowed from his cupboard to conceal her form and encasing her hands in gloves so that those in attendance would not see their delicate features. The mustache attached to her upper lip was constantly tickling her nose, and she kept her gaze down to not meet her father’s eyes lest her own give her away.
But he did not recognize her in his drunken state, his attention focused on the man across the table from her, the man her father believed had stolen their lives. She had explained her crazy idea to Thomas, knowing that he was the only one who could get her into the private game and help her try to take the Duke down.
Louisa, ’tis a far-fetched idea, he had said, his eyes widening with mischief. But I dare say I would enjoy seeing you take Montrose down a peg or two. So, with the help of both Thomas and Rebecca, there she was, engaged in this audacious plan pretending to be Thomas’ school mate from Eton.
“You’re mad,” the Baron replied with a laugh. “My daughter? You want me to wager my daughter into your filthy hands?”
The Duke didn’t flinch, the look on his face telling the table that he was indeed not jesting in the slightest. Louisa was both surprised and hurt that her father had not punched the younger man immediately, despite his higher title, for suggesting such an indecent proposal. Did the Duke think so little of her virtue to even hint at such a dalliance for the second time in as many days?
“Not her virtue,” the Baron grumbled finally as if to concede to the idea. “Her hand in marriage. That is my offer.”
Louisa nearly fell out of her chair, the thought that her father would actually wager her in a card game with the Duke appalled her. He was attempting to pawn her future, all for the chance to get back his holdings. And the Duke! He was the lowest of the low to have suggested an illicit liaison with her as a wager. At least this mad wager would be derailed now, since Louisa was certain that the Duke would never agree to her father’s proposal. Why, she should unmask herself right now to shame the both of them, and embarrass the Duke by revealing that he was being beaten at the gaming tables by a woman.
The Duke's Gamble Page 3
