The Duke and the Lady in Red

by Lorraine Heath

  “If I win?”

  “Anything over what I give you is yours to keep.”

  “I don’t see how I can say no.”

  She couldn’t without reneging on their bargain. She was his tonight, however he wanted. He intended to make the most of it.

  “You swindled me,” Avendale said, sitting opposite her in the coach. “You can swindle them. Never let them know when you’ve drawn good cards—­or poor ones, for that matter. Keep your expression neutral, uncaring. You’ll make out like a highwayman.”

  She’d chosen the red because it was what he wanted her to wear. The necklace weighed heavy against her throat because it, too, was what he wanted. While she wished it otherwise, the truth was that she wished to please him. “I’d not expected dishonesty from you, Your Grace.”

  “The game we play tonight involves more than cards. It should be to your liking.”

  “It’s important that ­people not know the truth about me. I can’t afford inquiries being made, so how will you explain my presence?”

  “No explanation will be required. Besides I have no desire for them to know I fell for your ruse.”

  “Not completely. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

  He looked out the window. “It stings my pride to know you could have left so easily with so much unresolved between us.”

  “Not so easily, and certainly there would have been regret.”

  His gaze came to bear on her as though he could see through the shadows, through her clothing and straight into her soul. “Were the others easy to leave?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose I shall take some consolation in that. How many others were there?”

  “I told you last night that I will not discuss my past.”

  “Yet I am fascinated by what it might entail.”

  With a sigh, she looked out the window, refusing to be baited. He knew far too much, enough to see her imprisoned if he chose. She had to trust that when their time was done, he would not seek retribution through the courts, he would hold to his vow and let her go.

  The coach came to a stop. He stepped out before handing her down, and she discovered they were in the mews behind the Twin Dragons.

  “Ashamed to be seen with me?” she asked, bothered by the knowledge that her past would prevent her from ever having anything more than a tryst with a man of his position.

  “On the contrary, but it is the way we do it on nights such as this—­when we want the game to be very exclusive.”

  Inside, they climbed stairs and traversed darkened hallways until Avendale stopped outside a door and rapped several times in a manner that reminded her of a children’s lullaby.

  A tiny portal appeared in the door. “What’s the word?” a rough voice asked.

  “Feagan,” Avendale replied.

  The door opened and he led her inside. The room was shadowed, but she made out various sitting areas and tables that housed decanters.

  “Who’s Feagan?” she asked.

  “Some old blighter who taught the parents of those you are about to meet how to survive the streets.”

  “Sounds like a story,” she said.

  “Several of them, in fact.”

  With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her toward draperies, then pulled one aside and she walked into a brightly lit room where others had gathered.

  “Ah, there you are,” a dark-­haired man said. At his side was a woman with the most astonishing red hair. “We thought perhaps you’d changed your mind.”

  “Not when I have the chance to take your money,” Avendale said. “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Rosalind Sharpe. Rose, the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon.”

  Rose curtsied. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “We’ll see how you feel by the end of the night, once I’ve taken all your money,” the duchess said with a teasing smile.

  “Go easy on her, Grace.” Bringing her in more closely against his side as though he thought her in need of protection, he said. “You know Drake, of course.”

  She should have known Drake Darling would be here. “I’ve been enjoying your establishment.”

  He gave her a shrewd once-­over, leaving her with the impression that he could see far more than she wanted. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said.

  Avendale turned Rose’s attention to a tall gentleman. “The Marquess of Rexton.”

  Before she could curtsy, the marquess was carrying her hand to his lips, but the devil was dancing in his blue eyes, and she suspected he was having his fun at Avendale’s expense, because she felt the duke’s fingers jerk against her back. “It’s always a pleasure to have a beautiful woman join us.”

  “You are most kind to say so, my lord, but I own a mirror and know I am no beauty.”

  “I think your mirror is broken. Perhaps I’ll purchase you a new one.”

  She realized that with his flirtation, he no doubt understood her role in Avendale’s life. They probably all did.

  “She’s not in need of a mirror,” Avendale told him.

  “All ladies are in need of mirrors.” Rexton released his hold. He seemed pleasant enough but he didn’t draw her as Avendale did.

  “Finally, Viscount Langdon,” Avendale said.

  With eyes of pewter, Langdon smiled at her. “I never thought to meet a woman who could bring Avendale to heel.”

  “I’ve hardly brought him to heel.”

  “I suppose that remains to be seen.”

  “I wanted a game of cards,” Avendale barked, nearly making her jump. “We can go elsewhere if you gents are going to keep tittering on like gossipy spinsters.”

  “By all means, let’s play,” Rexton said.

  With Avendale at her side, Rose found herself sitting opposite the duchess, with the other gentlemen on either side of her. She was astounded by the obscene amount of money being brought out and exchanged for chips.

  “No cheating, Grace,” Avendale said.

  “Certainly not when we have a guest,” the duchess said, as though terribly offended he’d think otherwise.

  “Do you cheat?” Rose couldn’t help but ask her.

  The duchess smiled. “Of course.”

  “I only recently discovered my sister is quite skilled at it,” Rexton said, and only then did Rose see the similarities in their features.

  Her observation skills were slipping. Normally she would have noticed right off. She could blame it on Avendale for distracting her. Only a part of her was paying attention to her surroundings. The majority of her was paying attention to him. How could she explain all of this to Harry if she didn’t give it her unbridled attention?

  “I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out,” Darling said as he shuffled. Apparently his role was simply to dole out the cards, as he’d taken no chips.

  “I never expected such duplicity from one so sweet,” Rexton muttered.

  “My duplicity is what landed me Lovingdon,” she said, placing her hand over her husband’s. Smiling at her, he turned his palm up and threaded his fingers through hers.

  Avendale leaned closer to Rose and whispered, “They’re disgustingly in love. I’m in need of scotch. What would you like?”

  “I’ll have the same.” After he signaled a footman, she murmured, “I find them charming.”

  He scowled, but there was no heat behind it. She was quite flattered that he wanted to spend an evening with his friends with her in tow. Flattered and unnerved, surrounded by nobility, and yet they seemed not so different from her.

  “Do you play poker, Mrs. Sharpe?” Darling asked.

  “Please call me Rose. All of you. And I don’t. Actually I’m not one for gambling. My coins are too hard-­earned.”

  Avendale made a strangling noise that very much sounded as though he were choking. He cleared his throat. “Which is
why she’ll play with my chips this evening.”

  “Aren’t you going to play?” she asked, as footmen began setting glasses of amber liquid before everyone.

  “Not until I ensure you understand the game, the best hand for winning.”

  The duchess lifted her glass. “A toast, to our newest member. May fortune smile on you tonight, Rose.”

  “Cheers!” the gents echoed in chorus, lifting their glasses and downing the contents in one swallow.

  She did the same, savoring the fire.

  Chips were tossed into the center of the table. Darling began dealing cards. Rose waited until he stopped. Taking her cards, she fanned them out. Avendale leaned in, his arm resting on the back of her chair, his fingers skipping up and down her arm. She wasn’t certain he was aware of his actions, while she was very much cognizant of them. How did he expect her to concentrate when he was so near, his sandalwood and bergamot fragrance teasing her nostrils?

  She watched his long fingers plucking cards out, putting them in a different order, and she thought of his fingers, plucking her, squeezing her breast, pinching her nipple. He had such capable hands. So masculine. The allure they held over her was ridiculous.

  With his lips near her ear, his low voice a lover’s caress, he explained the various combinations, how they ranked, which held more value—­things he had explained in the coach on the ride over. She remembered every word he’d spoken, thought she would be able to recall every word from his lips on her deathbed. She wished he didn’t have this effect on her, even as she relished the fact that he did.

  He allowed her to select the cards to discard, didn’t appear at all disappointed when they lost the round to the duchess.

  “We’ll win the next one,” he told her.

  We. Her heart hammered within her chest with such force, such a loud clamoring that she was certain everyone in the room was aware of it. She took some pride in the fact that her hand didn’t tremble when she picked up the glass and downed a good portion of its contents.

  She had never before been part of a we. While she was not alone in life—­she had Harry, Merrick, Sally, Joseph—­she took all the risks, determined all the plans, worked alone, faced her marks alone. She never involved the others. Harry hadn’t a clue how she managed to secure lodgings or food or clothing. He didn’t know she was a swindler. In that aspect of her life, there was only she.

  If caught, she was the one who would be imprisoned, she was the one who would pay. She wouldn’t risk the others. She carried the burden of her sins.

  The next hand was dealt. She lifted the cards and stared at three tens. She did little more than furrow her brow in confusion, while Avendale moved them around in her hand as though he could find no way to situate them that made them pleasing. Slowly she let her gaze roam over the other players.

  They were incredibly stone-­faced. Not a smile among them, not any indication at all regarding whether they were pleased or disappointed in their hand. This, she thought, was why he enjoyed playing with them. It wasn’t about the money or winning a hand. It was about outfoxing them. Had he brought her because she’d outfoxed him?

  Only she hadn’t, not at the end, not when it had counted. She’d never been discovered before. Afterward ­people came to understand what she’d been about, but never during the ruse. Why had she slipped with him? She didn’t want to contemplate that perhaps she’d done so on purpose, that she had wanted him to catch her. That made no sense. At the time, she hadn’t known enough about him to know that he wouldn’t turn her over to the authorities.

  Her three tens took that hand. She scooped up the coins. She might make a tidy profit tonight. She wondered why she wasn’t filled with the same sense of accomplishment she usually experienced when she took from those who could afford to be taken from. None of the ­people at this table was going to suffer because she took a few of their coins.

  Yet she found herself feeling not particularly triumphant with the thought of taking their money. It was an honest game of chance. They were all on equal footing here, their fortune determined by the whim of a card, but she didn’t want to beat them.

  She had always viewed the aristocracy as distant, sitting atop pedestals that reached into the clouds. In between hands, she watched as they lowered their gaming faces and took a moment to laugh, joke, tease. In spite of being Avendale’s friends, they seldom included him in the banter. She realized it wasn’t that they didn’t want to, but he somehow held himself apart, as though he weren’t quite comfortable within their circle.

  Still, she found herself fascinated by them. They were kind, funny—­and generous, she discovered when she had won three hands in a row.

  “Appears the orphanages aren’t going to benefit tonight, Grace,” Rexton announced.

  “Grace always donates her winnings to the orphanages our parents established,” Darling explained.

  Rose fought not to appear surprised. He was part of their family?

  “Not any longer,” the duchess said.

  Around the table, several brows arched in surprise. Although Lovingdon did little more than place his hand over his wife’s where it rested on the table. She smiled softly at him, before addressing the others. “I’m going to build a sanctuary upon the land that was my dowry.”

  “For what purpose?” Langdon asked.

  “To provide a haven for women who have had devastating surgeries. A place for them to recover and to not feel quite so alone.”

  “Bravo,” Langdon said, lifting his glass. “From tonight forward, my winnings will go to your endeavors.”

  She graced him with a beatific smile, and Rose wondered if all their winnings were donated elsewhere. Would she be expected to donate hers? Was that why Avendale had been so keen to let her have them? She couldn’t take them with her? She would not feel guilty because she had never given any of her ill-­gotten gains to anyone other than those within her close circle. She didn’t possess as much as these ­people did. They could give without suffering. Yet it didn’t diminish her respect for them as they seemed to give as a matter of course. They weren’t selfish as she’d originally thought or consumed with naught but pleasure.

  The knowledge made her more curious about Avendale. How did he fit in? How much was he like them? In many ways, he seemed to be very different.

  He ceased arranging her cards, although he stayed near. When she lost a hand, he would explain how the odds would have favored her had she played differently, kept what she tossed, tossed what she kept. Sometimes, even when she won, he pointed out how she might have increased her odds.

  “Very easy to decipher once you’ve seen everything that has been played,” she said tartly.

  With a grin, he trailed his finger along the nape of her neck, across her shoulders. “You’ll thank me one day for the lessons I’m teaching you tonight.”

  She wondered if he was referring to more than the cards. “I doubt it. I shall never play with my own coin.”

  His grin grew. “We’ll see how you feel when the night is done, especially if you win a particularly large pot. Once you’ve experienced that thrill of victory, you’ll always be searching for it.”

  “Then I shall hope that I don’t experience it, as I daresay, I’d have a most difficult time affording it.”

  “I’ve often said,” Darling began, “that the worst thing that can happen is for a person to win the first time they gamble.”

  “I notice you don’t wager,” Rose said.

  He merely shrugged.

  “We don’t allow him to play,” Avendale said. “He’s the most skilled cheater of the lot.”

  Rose laughed. “You’ve mentioned the cheating before. Are you serious? You all cheat when you play?”

  “Sometimes,” the duchess said, giving her husband a sideways glance and smile. “But if you’re caught doing it, you must forfeit all your winnings.”
/>   “I never cheat,” Rexton announced.

  “You also seldom win,” Darling said. “I’m more than happy to teach you.”

  “Mother would be appalled—­are you free for a lesson tomorrow evening?”

  Rose laughed. She didn’t want to like these nobs, but she did. She didn’t want to recall how she had entered this establishment searching for an easy mark. She’d certainly misjudged there.

  They played a few more hands, then Darling cracked his knuckles. “Let’s take a small break, shall we? I need to check on a few things.”

  “Your staff will let you know if anything is amiss,” Lovingdon said.

  “I’d like to see for myself. I shan’t be but ten minutes.”

  Chairs scraped back as everyone stood. Rose knew a few seconds of light-­headedness. She looked at her glass. It was nearly full. While she’d been sipping the scotch as they played, she hadn’t had that much.

  “Are you all right?” Avendale asked, taking her elbow.

  She smiled at him. “Yes, I’m feeling rather lovely, actually. I like your friends.”

  “They like you as well.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because they’re not cheating.”

  “Perhaps they are, but they’re letting me win. I suspect ­people cheat for all sorts of reasons.”

  “If you’re looking for a noble one, you won’t find it here.” She suspected he might be wrong. She was good at reading ­people. These seemed . . . genuine. They cared for each other, looked out for each other. She was glad Avendale had them, although she wasn’t certain he appreciated exactly what he held.

  “Avendale, may I have a moment?” Lovingdon asked.

  “Yes, of course.” He looked at her. “Do you mind?”

  “No, not at all.”

  They walked away several feet. Rose wished she had the ability to read lips, wondered what was so urgent that Lovingdon—­

  “He did it for me,” the duchess said.

  Turning, Rose found herself staring into kind, but inquisitive, blue eyes.

  “I wanted a moment alone with you,” the duchess explained. “It became obvious rather quickly that Avendale was going to hover. I’ve never seen him smitten.”