A little, round man stood next to him. Winfrey grabbed the man by the coat and pulled him down to whisper in his ear. The little man wore filthy clothing including a dark gray cravat Devon could only guess had once been white. The smaller man’s grin revealed a hodgepodge of black, rotting teeth. Devon fought his shudder. The man scampered away with an odd, helter-skelter limp.
“Me man is off ta fetch me voucher,” Winfrey announced with a sour look on his face.
“My pleasure to wait,” Devon replied, relaxing a bit. “Though you could forfeit and end this whole thing now.” He eyed Winfrey’s left hand where the man wore a large gold and garnet ring.
Devon’s father’s signet ring.
Winfrey’s sharp crack of laughter bounced off the dirty, wooden walls. “Oh, ye’d like that very much, wouldn’t ye, Colton?”
Devon narrowed his eyes. Yes, gentlemen only came to this part of town with a purpose. And Devon’s purpose had always been to win. But he was biding his time. He normally played against cutthroats and gamers. The type of men who gambled with money they’d got from begging, stealing, or worse. And he always won. But Winfrey was different. Winfrey was the man who’d stolen his father’s fortune. Winfrey was worse than a thief or a ringer. The man was truly dangerous, and Devon wasn’t about to show his hand to Winfrey. Not yet.
Devon wasn’t here for himself. Or even his blasted dead father who’d left all the Colton estates barren and the coffers completely empty, tarnishing the family name. No, he wasn’t here for either of them. He was here for one reason and one reason only. Justin. He would do anything for Justin. Even this.
The small man soon returned with a voucher and Devon nodded once as Winfrey tossed it onto the table.
* * *
Two hours later, Devon snapped orders to his coachman to get him the deuce out of the Rookery. He relaxed back into his seat. Yes, that fool Winfrey was an inveterate scoundrel. And only too willing to tout his luck and skill at a game of chance.
Devon shook his head. He’d lost one thousand pounds today, but that was part of his plan. He was that much closer to being done with the entire detestable business. Almost. But not quite. There was one more game he had to play. One in which the stakes were much higher. It would be a game involving every thief and rook in town. Every cheat and sharp would crawl from his hole for this particular game, and Devon would be there with them. The prize was five thousand pounds. A fortune to those scoundrels. The money meant little to Devon. He wanted only one thing.
The Colton signet ring.
And Devon would be at a disadvantage. He wasn’t a cheat or a liar. He wouldn’t kill a man for winning his money, or for looking at him the wrong way. But he did have one thing in his favor. The numbers. They flowed through his brain and translated into decision-making in card games as quickly as the murky water flowing through the gutters. Yes, he was gifted, but if only he wasn’t. He might not have been forced into this detestable pursuit in the dank belly of the Rookery in the first place.
Devon expelled his breath hard, trying to rid his nose of the awful stench. A sweet memory assaulted him. Lilies. His wayward thoughts turned to the countess.
A spark of excitement flickered in his chest. A challenge. One that compelled him more than any game of cards ever would. If Miss Templeton had been a simple game of spades, Lily was the most challenging game of faro. Kissing her tonight had been unholy torture. One he hadn’t expected. It rattled him. Revenge was his game, not lovemaking. And he’d do well to remember that.
Devon’s coach pulled to a stop in front of his town house. The coachman let out the stairs, and Devon bounded down them and jogged up to the house. Tonight, he needed sleep, but he would be going out again tomorrow evening. He must tell his valet to prepare his evening clothes. He was feeling quite lucky of a sudden. It was time to play the next card in his game against Lily.
CHAPTER 9
“I heard she wrote the pamphlet to scare away the young ladies from the most eligible bachelors. To give her sister a better chance on the marriage mart,” Lady Hathaway whispered behind her fan.
“I heard she’s set her sights on Lord Medford. It’s not a wonder she spends her time with him. The man positively drips with money,” Lady Montebank replied with a twittering laugh.
“I have utterly failed in my many attempts to procure a copy of the pamphlet. Do you have one?” Lady Hathaway replied.
Lady Mountebank shook her head. “Perhaps we should ask Lady Merrill for a copy.”
They both erupted into gales of laughter.
Lily backed away from the corner where she’d been standing. Thankfully, the other ladies hadn’t noticed her. She’d been overhearing such unpleasantness more and more lately. And what nonsense! She’d written the pamphlet for the civic good, the public education of young, unwitting females. Nothing more or less. She’d been trying to help, for heavens’ sake. And of course, the money was a definite boon.
She cut a wide path around them, giving both ladies a tight smile. They eyed her with knowing looks. Devon was right. The entire ton did suspect she was the author of that pamphlet. But as long as they didn’t know for sure, she and Annie were quite safe.
Lily wandered into Lady Hathaway’s dining room and took her seat at the long table. She eyed the occupants of the room warily. Everywhere she went, someone was talking about that pamphlet. Who would be the next to broach the subject? It was merely a matter of time. It plagued her as though she were the fox and it, the hound.
She’d come to the Hathaways’ tonight for the free meal, to get out of the house, and, ah … very well, to see Devon Morgan. There. She could admit it to herself. It wasn’t so bad. The truth was, she couldn’t stop replaying that kiss in her mind. Over and over again, it haunted her. Had it been a figment of her imagination? Had her memories of him combined to make her think she was falling for him all over again? Surely, it was a blight in an otherwise orderly game of cat and mouse. And tonight she intended to prove it.
She wanted another kiss. She needed another kiss, to prove to herself the first one had been nothing more than an aberration. But this time, she would be doing the kissing.
Her gaze scanned the dinner table. Directly across from her sat one empty seat. Meant—so her hostess had informed her—for the Marquis of Colton. Lily couldn’t take her eyes from the vacant chair. She glared at it, as if by sheer force of will, she could make the absent marquis appear.
“Lovely weather we’ve been having this year,” Lord Tinsdale said from her right.
Lily turned toward the elderly man and allowed the ghost of a smile to play across her lips. She let out a sigh of relief. At least Lord Tinsdale wasn’t discussing the blasted pamphlet. “Yes, lovely,” she murmured.
Lord Tinsdale shook his head. “It’s a wonder it doesn’t rain fire and brimstone all over the city what with this hideous pamphlet being bandied about as if it’s acceptable reading material.”
Lily smiled at him wanly and stabbed her fork into her fish. If one more person made a remark about that pamphlet, she would hurtle her stuffed kippers at his head. And she was a fine shot, actually.
“My apologies for both my tardiness and arriving in such a condition.”
Lily snapped up her head. She glanced toward the entrance to the dining room to see Colton bowing over Lady Hathaway’s hand. That lady giggled and murmured something sweet and accommodating. When he straightened to his full height, Colton’s brown eyes captured Lily’s. What was that dark shadow on his chin?
In a few long strides, he was at his place, escorted by Lady Hathaway. And Lily struggled to pull her gaze from him.
“Pardon?” she stumbled over her reply to Lord Tinsdale. “Oh, yes, no doubt it has been even more unseasonably cool in Bath this year.”
Colton slid into his seat and Lily’s skin crackled, every nerve in her body aware of him. She dared a glance and did a double take. “What’s happened to your face?”
She cringed. It was insufferably rude of he
r to say such a thing, especially since the man had barely taken his seat. No greetings had been exchanged. But she couldn’t help it. Colton was sitting there, looking unbearably handsome as usual, with a dark bruise on his jaw. Come to think on it, his hair looked mussed and there were what appeared to be flecks of blood and streaks of dirt on his shirtfront.
“My apologies.” He bowed his head toward her. “I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say I was involved in an unfortunate altercation on my way here. I would have returned home to change my clothing, but I was loath to miss your company for even one more moment, Lady Hathaway.” He turned his attention back to their hostess who giggled and blushed.
Lily rolled her eyes. Ah, now she understood. The man could not stop gambling for even one evening. “Unfortunate altercation? I suppose that’s one way to put it. But gaming hells are hardly the safest institutions, are they, Colton?” She smirked at him from behind her water glass.
Devon’s eyes bored into her. A footman rushed to fill Devon’s wine glass and he took a sip. “Indeed they are not, Lady Merrill, but I’m at a loss as to understand how you would know such a thing.”
Lily sucked in her breath between clenched teeth. The cad. How dare he imply she had ever been to a gaming hell?
Lady Hathaway looked as if she might wring off her hands. Lord Tinsdale looked as if he might choke on his kippers.
Lily narrowed her eyes on Colton over a plate filled with watercress sandwiches. “You appear to be the worse for wear, my lord. You weren’t accused of cheating, were you?”
All chatter at the dinner table stopped. All eyes turned to watch. Lady Hathaway looked as if she might swoon.
“Cheating?” Colton replied, his voice smooth and calm. “No. Personally I’ve found cheating to be the stronghold of perfidious females and men who are much worse card players than I.”
The occupants of the dinner table let out a collective sigh and resumed their chatter. Lily took another sip of water. Perfidious females? What the blast did he mean by that? And everyone knew he was a hideous card player. Just like his father, the man had lost every shilling he’d ever gambled in St. James.
Lord Tinsdale cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes, well, deuced glad to see you’re not hurt worse, Colton.”
Lady Hathaway seized upon the segue in the conversation to return to her own seat, looking relieved to escape her two quibbling guests.
Devon made himself comfortable, exchanging pleasantries with the other occupants of the table, while Lily did her best to ignore him. And to think she had actually been contemplating kissing him tonight. There was no need. The man was nothing but a money-obsessed gambler. His revered title might continue to afford him entrée to the best houses in London, but he was no more than a common rook as far as she was concerned.
As the night wore on, Lily spoke merrily with Lord Tinsdale and the other guests all the while studiously avoiding Colton’s gaze. She could feel his dark eyes on her, evaluating her, watching her, but she did not return his interest. And she would not.
After the meal was cleared, she quickly excused herself to join the other ladies in the salon. She tossed her napkin on her chair and didn’t so much as glance back at Colton, but she knew he watched her leave.
Lily drifted into the salon feeling vaguely dissatisfied with the entire evening. She’d expected things to go so differently, and then Colton had to arrive with a pummeled jaw, reminding her what a blackguard he was. She took a seat in a chair in the corner and only halfheartedly listened to the conversation floating around her. That is, until the talk turned to the Marquis of Colton.
“Did you hear?” Lady Cropton asked. “The marquis saved a man’s life tonight.”
“What’s that?” Lady Hathaway descended upon the settee and Lily scooted her own chair a bit closer.
“Yes. McAllister just arrived and said Lord Colton stopped a robbery in progress on the way here tonight. Sent the crooks running and saved the poor man they’d nearly bludgeoned to death.”
“Oh, my. Colton was alone?” Lady Hathaway asked, her hand gripping her chest.
“Yes,” Lady Cropton replied. “Quite alone. And there were three of them. Apparently, he intervened at great risk to his personal safety.”
Lily’s face fell. She felt vaguely nauseated. Colton hadn’t been gambling tonight after all. And she’d all but accused him of cheating. In public. She’d been unspeakably rude. Her face heated with shame. Apparently, he’d got into a fight trying to save someone. He could have been killed. Why did that man have such a death wish?
The women were all atwitter over Colton’s bravery and good looks, giggling and laughing. The matrons had turned into schoolgirls. No matter his faults, Colton was a Society favorite.
“He may be penniless,” giggled Lady Mountebank, “but I’d certainly overlook it if I were twenty years younger and unmarried.”
“Oh, Louisa, you are bad,” Lady Hathaway said, slapping at Lady Mountebank’s arm.
That was it. The talk of Colton set Lily’s nerves on edge. She had to get away and think clearly. She jerked herself out of her chair, wrapped her arms around her middle, and rushed from the room. She may have seemed inexcusably rude, but at the moment, she didn’t care.
Colton. Colton. Colton. She had to escape that name.
She hurried down the corridor and turned the corner. When she came upon a small salon, she glanced inside. Dark and empty, thank heavens. Moving silently into the quiet room, she pushed the door shut behind her, leaned back against it, and closed her eyes. Thankful for the solitude and silence.
Moments later, the aroma of a fine cigar hit her nostrils. Lily’s eyes shot open.
“Good evening, my lady. Dare I hope you were looking for me?”
CHAPTER 10
Lily blinked, not quite believing it. Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw him. The Marquis of Colton was lounging on the settee. A cheroot hung from his lips and its smoke swirled in the air above him, forming a ghostlike pattern in the darkness. From the light of the sole flickering candle in the corner, Lily could see he had one long leg encased in black superfine trousers draped across the settee and the other was bent at the knee. One hand rested beneath his dark head and the other lay still at his side.
“Get out of here,” she snapped.
He plucked the cheroot from his lips. “Did it escape your notice that I was here first?”
Lily pushed herself away from the door. He was right. She was being rude, yet again. “I’ll leave then.” She cracked the door, intending to flee, when his deep voice penetrated the darkness again.
“If privacy is what you are after, there is nowhere else. The men are in the study, the women in the salon, and you and I are here. Unless you intend to sit on the back stoop with the cook, you are trapped with me.”
Lily bit her lip. The choices did seem grim. She couldn’t face the laughing, chattering women any longer, and of course she could not join the men in the study. “I’ll go home, then.”
She wasn’t one step out the door when his mocking laughter reached her ears. “Scared of me, are you?”
Scared? Scared? She wasn’t scared of anyone. She was a grown woman, not a silly little girl afraid of the dark.
Without saying a word, she moved back into the room and shut the door behind her. She made her way to the large leather chair next to the settee.
“You don’t frighten me, Colton. I’ll stay. But do not speak to me. I’d like some peace and quiet.”
Her only answer was a puff of smoke and then, “It was both peaceful and quiet here before you arrived.”
She snorted and collapsed onto the seat. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Several seconds passed in which neither said a word. A comfortable silence, really.
“It’s insufferably rude of you to continue to smoke that thing in my presence without asking if I object.”
A short laugh. “You told me to remain silent, did you not?”
A delicate grunt.
For heaven’s sake, she needed to stop being so mean. “How have we managed it, Colton? Five years in the same town without seeing each other?”
The smoke puffs stopped. “I’ve seen you. I just haven’t spoken to you.”
Lily smiled in the darkness. “The same for me,” she admitted with a sigh. “I have seen you at various events. I managed to successfully avoid you. However, it seems my streak of luck is decidedly at an end.”
Devon sat up, the cheroot still dangling from his perfect mouth. “I admire your honesty. I thought for a moment you would pretend as if you hadn’t seen me.”
She shrugged. “Why pretend? I nearly broke my foot at the Wentworths’ fete last spring fleeing from you and Lord Ashbourne when you entered the ballroom.”
His crack of laughter echoed off the wood walls. “I thought I saw a flash of gray streak past.”
Her eyes widened. “You did not!”
His white teeth flashed in the darkness. “No, I’m only jesting. But I do admit, I’ve done my best to avoid you.”
Lily propped her elbow on the arm of the chair and rested her chin in her palm. “You were always with a bevy of beautiful women.”
He pulled the cheroot from his lips. “Why, Countess, is that wistfulness I hear in your voice?”
“Absolutely not!” She hid her smile behind her fingertips.
Devon turned his head to face her. “You were always wearing mourning clothes and looked so unapproachable.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Lifting her chin, she fluttered her hand in the air between them to dispel the smoke.
He sat up and crushed out his cheroot in a nearby tray. “Not to mention you’ve always got that sop Medford at your heels.”
Lily raised a brow. “What exactly is your quarrel with the viscount?”
“He irritates me.”
“He’s a very good friend.”
Devon turned to her, an intent look in his eye. “They say his fortune is the reason for your friendship. Is there any truth to that?”
Secrets of a Wedding Night Page 7
