“Oh?” He shuffled the cards again, his enigmatic gaze fixed on her. “Do explain.”
Sophie was having a hard time keeping her temper. It was bad enough that she had to see him here, where she needed to be but he came for no apparent purpose. It was awful enough that she had to imagine him with his bride, some lovely, elegant creature of a rank and family fit to be a duchess. She could not sit across from him and pretend none of that mattered, that he hadn’t driven a spike through her heart.
She couldn’t take it, not now. “Mr. Dashwood explicitly warned me against associating with you, Your Grace.” She bit out the honorific, trying to remind him of his place. Of her place.
“Did he?” He nodded sagely. “Dashwood warned me about you, as well. But he shan’t interfere this time. Don’t worry, you won’t lose your membership for playing a hand with me.”
She was going to do something unpardonable in a moment—fly into a shrieking fit, snatch the cards and throw them into his face, even burst into tears. “Go away,” she said, enunciating every word. “Please.”
“Why?”
“Because this isn’t a decent place for a man of your stature,” she said in the same low, hard voice.
He glanced over his shoulder. “There is an earl playing hazard at this moment, if it matters that much to you.”
She pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Please.”
“Sophie.” He spoke softly. “Let me explain. I know what you heard—”
“Jack,” she said wearily, “it’s over. It’s for the best.”
He exhaled. “Then play.” With surprising dexterity, he dealt a hand of piquet.
“Not tonight.” She pushed back her chair and rose. Where had Mr. Hamilton gone? There must be someone she knew close by who would rescue her. Perhaps tonight was the night she should bring Giles Carter up to scratch; she didn’t love him, but he was a good man. Perhaps that was what she needed—a sharp, clean break from this ill-fated, doomed love she’d developed for the Duke of Ware. Filling her thoughts and time planning a life as Mrs. Carter would distract her. It had to. Nothing else had, but if she married Giles, she would force herself to think only of him, to throw herself into making herself care for him. She would firmly block every thought about the Duke of Ware and the way he’d once kissed her and laughed with her and made her knees go utterly weak with desire.
Jack laid a stack of markers on the table. “I stake five thousand pounds on this hand.”
Her stomach dropped at the amount. He’d wagered that huge sum once before, and she’d lost—not just the wager but her heart, in the end.
“If you win, it will be a wedding gift,” he went on, “enough to set you up quite nicely with Carter or some other chap, as you’d be a wealthy woman and sure to have several suitors.”
Sophie knew she should walk away, but somehow when she opened her mouth to say so, instead she asked, “Against what?”
He leaned forward. His hair was burnished gold in the chandelier light. “If I win . . . you’ll marry me instead, as you promised.”
Her mouth fell open in shock. How dare he? He was going to marry Lady Lucinda Afton. Georgiana and Philip had told her so.
“Do you agree to the wager?” he prompted.
She stared at the cards, then at him. He had hurt her and lied to her, and now he treated the entire thing as a game. Very well—she could do the same. Piquet was a challenging game, and she knew he didn’t play often. After the night of intense joy followed by a day of crushing heartbreak, she deserved to win five thousand pounds from him. She sat down and reached for the cards. “Only a fool would wager on marriage, but if you’re foolish enough to risk five thousand, I’ll be pleased to win it from you.” She inspected her deal. “I have carte blanche, and I will exchange five.”
Jack nodded once. “I am indeed a fool. I should have mentioned Lucinda sooner—”
Sophie didn’t even want to hear the other woman’s name. “How many cards are you exchanging?”
He exhaled. “Three.”
“I suppose you didn’t mention her sooner for fear I would refuse to have an affair with an engaged man. You were correct.” Sophie flipped her cards quickly onto the table, just long enough for him to see she did have carte blanche, then scooped her hand back up. She was already ten points in the lead, simply by having no court cards.
“I didn’t mention her because I was not engaged to her,” he said.
“Oh?” She selected five cards from her hand, set them aside, and drew five replacements from the cards still in the talon. It was a good draw, as she had expected, full of high cards. “A bit odd that your own family thinks you are.”
Jack tossed aside three cards from his hand and took the remaining talon cards. “My mother hoped I would marry Lucinda, but that is all it ever was—her hope.”
“Is that why you took her for ices at Gunter’s?” Sophie widened her eyes while keeping her attention on her cards. She would not fall for him so easily again. “I have a point of six.”
Jack’s lips tightened. “Good,” he said tersely, admitting he did not have six or more cards of the same suit.
Sophie added a six to her score.
“I had to speak to her and be certain Lucinda also knew there was no betrothal between us,” he added. “Her mother had been telling her for years it was her duty to marry me . . .”
Sophie’s vision burned red around the edges. “Sixième,” she said coldly. She had clubs from seven to queen.
“Good,” said Jack again, after a slight pause. He did not have a longer sequence than six in his hand.
She smiled without meeting his eyes. “That’s a repique for me.” And another thirty points, on top of the sixteen for the sixième. She was at sixty-two before play even began.
“Lucinda couldn’t wait to say that she did not want to marry me,” Jack said in a low, urgent voice. “She even hoped, when I left town a few weeks ago, that I would never come back and she wouldn’t have to see me.” Unthinkingly Sophie glanced at him. He looked pale, but his blue eyes were steady. “I wish we’d never come back from Alwyn House, either.”
Her breath faltered. She had also wished they could have stayed at Alwyn House, just the two of them, forever. She forced her eyes back down to her cards. “But we did,” she pointed out. “Because of duty.”
“Damn duty,” he said with sudden fierceness. “Do you really think I would have proposed that you marry me if I were engaged to Lucinda?”
Her chin quivered before she could stop it. “Philip said you’ve been promised to her for years . . .”
“Philip,” Jack bit out, “is an idiot.”
Her vision blurred, and she had to blink several times. “He said you’d got your heart broken years ago and never recovered. He said you would marry for practical reasons.”
“He was right about that.” Jack dropped his cards. “I think it eminently practical to marry the woman I want to see every morning when I open my eyes. The woman with enough nerve and cleverness to come to London and expect to support herself playing cards, of all the cursed things to depend on. The woman who would get out of a carriage and walk a mile in the rain and mud, and then ask where the dungeons are. The woman I want to have on my arm at balls and soirees, because she’ll make me laugh through the endless tedium. I think it’s the best idea I’ve ever had, marrying you, because it suits my every desire. I love you, Sophie—only you.”
Sophie was stunned into silence, which was a good thing; it let her mind start working again. The first time he kissed her, she was the one who invited him to make love to her. Back in London, she had broken their promise not to see each other again by seeking him out. When she asked for his help regarding Philip, he went to great lengths to do so—personally. He hadn’t asked to resume their affair in London, she had invited him to share her carriage and then to stay the night with her. In everything, he had followed her lead, and now she had repaid him by believing the worst of him.
; She looked at him, at his perfect face and his elegant clothing and the intense, anguished gaze he leveled at her. Slowly she put down her cards.
She thought about her uncle, admitting he’d never got around to finding a wife because he had no expectations. Of Giles Carter, who seemed so eligible and kind but was also still unmarried, whiling away his nights at the card tables. And of her father, walking away from his family, rank, and wealth because he’d met her mother, standing by her through poverty and sickness and never uttering a word of regret.
Finding someone she loved as much as she loved Jack was a rare stroke of luck. If Sophie knew anything about luck, it was not to waste it.
“You win,” she said, lashing out with one arm to sweep the cards and markers off the table.
Jack was out of his chair and around the table before they hit the floor. He pulled her up and into his arms, capturing her mouth in a scorching kiss.
Sophie thought she might combust right on the spot. She arched against him, winding her arms around his neck so she could kiss him back with equal passion. He growled low in his throat and licked her lower lip until she opened for him. His fingers plowed into her hair as his kiss deepened until she lost all sense of where they were. In her world there was only Jack, and he loved her—only her.
Finally he lifted his head and clasped her to his chest. Sophie felt the rapid thud of his heart against her temple, and it made her own chest unbearably tight. “Right,” Jack muttered, breathing hard. “Enough of this place.”
His arm still around her waist, he headed toward the hall, carrying her along with him, just as he’d done once before. This time Sophie went willingly, almost running to keep up with his stride as she clutched at his jacket for balance. Dimly she realized people were watching them—staring in astonishment at them, actually—but this time she didn’t care at all. Let them stare. She caught sight of Philip and Mr. Hamilton sitting at a table with a bottle of port between them; Mr. Hamilton lifted his glass in salute, but Philip didn’t even look at her.
“Damnation,” said Jack under his breath. Face dark with disapproval, Mr. Dashwood was striding toward them, Forbes at his heels.
Sophie flushed as she recalled the stern warning Mr. Dashwood had given her. “We’re about to be scolded.”
“Not much,” returned Jack, his pace unchanged. They reached the hall, and he turned a look of ducal command on a wide-eyed Frank. “Fetch Mrs. Campbell’s cloak and my things.” The servant gulped and ran to do as ordered.
“Jack, Mr. Dashwood made me promise not to wager with you,” Sophie whispered. Jack still held her tight against him, almost as if he feared to let her go. Her heart swelled; he needn’t worry. She wasn’t leaving his side again, even if Mr. Dashwood threw her out and banished her for life.
“Did he? Thank God you ignored him.” Jack raised his voice as the club owner reached them. “Dashwood.”
“Your Grace.” The other man gave a short bow. “Might I have a word?”
“No,” said Jack. “I am leaving.”
Mr. Dashwood didn’t look pleased, but Jack’s cool, aristocratic tone brooked no argument. The owner’s gaze moved to Sophie, who knew her face must be four shades of pink. “Mrs. Campbell. I trust you’ve not forgotten our agreement.”
“No, sir. But I must assure you, I have not lost a wager with His Grace tonight—”
“On the contrary. She’s won everything I have.” Jack finally released her to take her cloak from Frank and swing it around her shoulders. “You may strike my name from your rolls. You may also strike Mrs. Campbell’s name. If she wishes to remain a member, you shall have to enroll her under her new title, Duchess of Ware.”
That stopped Dashwood’s reply, whatever it was to have been. His face froze somewhere between grim disapproval and astonishment. Jack looked past him. “Forbes, I want a carriage. Now.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Without looking at his employer, Forbes bolted by them and out the door.
Sophie summoned a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Dashwood. I have been very pleased to be a member of your club. But I think . . .” She glanced up at Jack, whose expression softened as he gazed down at her. “I think I am through with wagering,” she finished. “I apologize for any uproar I may have caused.”
Mr. Dashwood had recovered his aplomb. “It looks as though you’ve played your cards exceptionally well, madam. I wish you joy.” With a wry glance, he turned and left, just as Forbes rushed back in to say a carriage was waiting. Frank handed Jack his hat and coat, and they went out the door of Vega’s—perhaps for the last time, Sophie thought with a start. As a duchess, it would be unseemly for her to gamble, and she wouldn’t need the money. She would have to learn a great deal about her new life.
Jack helped her into the hackney and climbed in beside her, but the instant the carriage moved forward, he hauled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her. “Much better,” he growled, pressing his lips to her neck.
“We’ll be scandalous,” she said on a sigh, tilting her head so he could do it again.
“We’ll be happy, which will bore the gossips into an early grave.” He untied her cloak and tugged it out of the way so he could slide his arm around her waist inside the garment.
“Jack.” She twisted to face him. “My uncle came to see me. The Ogre died, and my uncle wants to be cordial. He . . . he’s a lord—Viscount Makepeace.”
He didn’t even blink at this revelation that she had aristocratic connections. “He shall be welcome, so long as he is cordial.”
“But—don’t you see? I am not a nobody with no family now. I never would have said Makepeace’s name aloud while my grandfather was still living, but Uncle Henry—well, he seems kind, like my father.”
Jack touched her lip with one finger. “Sophie. You misunderstood me. I don’t care if your family is royalty or itinerant cardplayers. I want you. I love you. Your uncle, and any other family and friends, are welcome in my house so long as you wish to invite them.”
“Itinerant cardplayers?” She rolled her eyes even as she smiled. “Society would never accept such a duchess.”
“Hang them all,” he said. “Have you a dress to be married in?”
“Well—yes, but I ought to get a better one—”
“I have the special license in my pocket.” He nodded at her gasp of astonishment. “I browbeat every clerk in Doctors’ Commons until they produced it. We only need a vicar and a church. Does tomorrow suit you?”
“Surely a duke doesn’t marry in such a hasty fashion!” She pushed back from him, just enough to see his face. “And you were presumed engaged to someone else just this morning.”
“Presumed,” he stressed. “Only by my mother, who was incorrect.”
“Still, you might have warned me,” she said in reproach. “I was going to beat you at piquet and win your money, just to repay the anguish I suffered when Philip told me about her. Why didn’t you tell me—?”
“I knew I’d only win if you wanted me to.” He stopped her question with a kiss. “And you should never listen to anything Philip says, ever again. I promised to take care of Lucinda after her father died when she was a child. My mother decided I ought to marry her, not I.”
“Philip says she’s a clever, pretty girl . . .”
Jack smiled, pressing his forehead to hers. “She is. Clever enough to want to go to Egypt and discover antiquities, rather than marry a stuffy old duke.”
Sophie raised her brows, unable to stop smiling. “You?”
He gave her his wicked grin, the one she was increasingly certain he reserved for her alone. “I’m afraid so.”
She laughed, and he grinned before shifting his hold on her, until her back was against his chest and her legs straddled his. “Do you know what I thought of doing on that long, long ride to Alwyn House?” he murmured against her nape.
“You said . . .” Her voice broke as his hands skimmed up her thighs, over her belly, to settle around her breasts. “You said you only wanted to t
each Philip a lesson . . .”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. The lesson was that he should not interfere in my seduction of you.” He eased the dress off her shoulder with one hand and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss on her bare skin.
Sophie quaked. “Was that your plan?”
“Plan?” He laughed softly. “I had no plan. Was it the driving thought I couldn’t keep from my mind, no matter how hard I tried? Absolutely. Even when you wore a housemaid’s dress and had cobwebs in your hair.”
She thought of that moment in the attics, when he had brushed close by her and her body had all but gone up in flames. “Did you know I wanted you then?” she whispered, letting her head fall back as his wicked hands ravished her.
His hands paused. “I think we shall live in Alwyn House,” he said after a moment. “Fill it with children and laughter and happiness, so that someday, our great-grandchildren will explore the attics and marvel at how deeply the ninth duke loved his wife.” He kissed the back of her neck, his lips lingering. “My future duchess.”
“Jack.” She gave a little sigh. “My future duke.”
“Until the end of time,” he agreed.
Epilogue
Six weeks later
“Hold still, Sophie.”
“I am.”
“No,” he said, with a crease of exasperation between his brows, “you’re not. Your hand is brushing your bodice and it’s driving me mad.”
Sophie laughed. “Like this?” She ran her fingers over her breast, arching her back as she did so.
Her husband’s eyes riveted on her hand. For a moment she thought he would act on the desire she could read in his face, but after a moment he gave his head a small shake and turned back to his sketch pad. “You’re the one who asked me to draw you.”
She smiled. She had, but he was the one who told her to recline on the library sofa in this artlessly seductive pose. Her skirts were pulled up to expose her bare feet, and her hair tumbled loose and free over the arm of the sofa. Merely lying here made her think of the first time he’d made love to her, and how easily he could do so again, now that they were married.
My Once and Future Duke Page 28
