Gentlemen Prefer Heiresses

by Lorraine Heath

  Three queens. Thank God.

  He revealed his hand. When she gave him a smile so bright that it nearly blinded him, he was glad he hadn’t folded. He was willing to lose every round to her for that smile.

  Antes were made. As the next set of cards were dealt, Minerva said, “I suppose we should have invited Somerdale.”

  “Why the devil would we do that?” Andrew asked, waiting to peer at his cards because he believed it was bad luck to look too early. Gina, on the other hand, picked each one up as it landed in front of her, her smile growing with each card added.

  “Because I saw him at the park with Gina. He’s courting you, isn’t he?” she asked with a pointed look. “Quite seriously it appears.”

  “Quite determinedly,” Gina admitted, briefly looking away from her cards, her smile softening as though she had fond memories of the bloke and his courtship skills.

  “Do you fancy him, then?” the Duchess of Avendale asked.

  “I do. When everyone else was giving me a wide berth, he took me rowing.”

  Rowing? How boring. He could think of a dozen ways to entertain her that would prove more exciting than sitting in a boat. Might as well be sitting in a parlor.

  “He didn’t seem at all embarrassed to be seen with me,” she continued. “His previous kindness does give him a leg up over the others.”

  “The others?” Andrew bit back a curse at the tone of his voice. The words had come out accusingly.

  She angled her head, studying him thoughtfully, and he felt rather like a dog that had been caught chewing the master’s shoe. “Yes, four other gentlemen called on me this afternoon.”

  Before he could demand to know who they were, Grace said, “You should have seen all the flowers in the residence when we arrived to invite Gina to join us. I daresay, at least half a dozen gents are keen to let it be known they, too, will be calling. And to think: we were all so busy assisting with the arrangements for Rex’s hasty marriage that we’ve barely begun our campaign to see her betrothed by Season’s end.”

  “Why set deadlines on something that should come about naturally?” he asked.

  “Fifty,” Ashebury announced.

  “Call,” Minerva responded.

  “Well, because having a goal helps one to stay focused,” Grace said. “Surely during all your travels you find you make better use of your time if you have a list of the places you wish to tour.”

  He was rather certain she didn’t mean to make it sound as though he had no worthwhile goals to speak of, that he was more concerned with play, but he couldn’t help but feel a measure of judgment in her words. He was the second son. He was given an allowance. His life was one of carefree ease.

  “Call or fold, Andrew,” Drake said.

  “Call. A list of the brothels and taverns I wish to visit is helpful.”

  “Don’t take offense because I worry you may do nothing useful with your life.”

  “I intend to do something very useful: I’m going to take every chip stacked before you.” Then, because he knew she wasn’t the only one at the table who saw him as a wastrel, he tossed back his scotch and signaled for more.

  “Don’t you start cheating,” Grace commanded.

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” But he would do it if Gina weren’t there.

  He didn’t take Grace’s chips that hand, Minerva did. The next two hands everyone folded because Gina’s smile was so sunny.

  The next round saw him with three aces. In spite of Gina’s pleased expression, he doubted she could best him. He had a moment of doubt when she exchanged only one card—until her face fell when she saw what she’d been given. He wagered a hundred. She folded.

  “Show me what you had,” he said.

  She tilted up that pert little nose of hers. “Show me what you had.”

  “I don’t have to. You folded.”

  “Since I did, I don’t have to show you anything.”

  “But you can’t learn to play well if you get no instruction at all. Show me.”

  She gave him a pointed glare. He tossed down his cards, face up.

  “Oh,” she said. “I was wise to fold.” She turned over her cards. Four, five, six, eight.

  “Never draw to an inside straight,” he told her. “The odds are against you.”

  “They’re always against you.”

  “But more so in that instance.” Reaching across the table, placing his hand behind her ear, he brought it forward and flicked a seven of clubs at her.

  She released a tiny squeal. “How did you do that?”

  “It’s one of the cards I discarded.”

  “But where did you hide it? Your sleeves are rolled up.”

  “How I managed it is of no consequence. What matters is that it was no longer in the deck when you were in need of a seven. I need to stretch my legs. Come with me.”

  Grace furrowed her brow. “What are you up to, Andrew?”

  Gina smiled. “You’re going to teach me to cheat, aren’t you?”

  He chuckled. “No, but I am planning to teach you something.”

  “You will behave,” Grace admonished.

  “Dear Sister, why would I not?”

  She exchanged a questioning look with Minerva, as though they both thought him up to no good.

  “She’s safe with me,” he said curtly, irritated the words needed to be voiced aloud, more irritated that he wasn’t absolutely sure they were completely true.

  When he and Gina were out in the hallway, she asked quietly, “Are you going to give me a lesson like you did last night?”

  “No.” Fighting not to think of last night, he escorted her to the balcony that looked out over the gaming floor.

  She wandered to the edge, peered down. “I love the sounds. Very different from those made in a brothel. I found myself contemplating them several times today.”

  “Don’t.”

  Turning slightly, she studied him. “Don’t … ?”

  “We’re not here to discuss past adventures.”

  “Then why are we here? Is there another adventure you’d like to take me on?”

  One between the sheets. He shoved that image back into the corner of his mind. “Have you noticed how often people are folding in there?”

  “Indeed, yes. They must not be receiving decent cards.”

  “You telegraph with your facial expressions when you’ve received what you believe will be a winning hand.”

  “I do?”

  Placing his hand on her waist, he urged her into the shadows. He skimmed his fingers over her eyebrows. They were darker than her hair, with a delicate arch to them. “You raise your eyebrows just a tad.”

  He glided his forefinger along her temple, down to her cheek. “Your eyes sparkle like emeralds reflecting sunlight.”

  They weren’t sparkling now, though. They were warming with pleasure as she stared into his eyes. He dropped his hand farther, stroked his thumb over her full, lower lip, felt the tiniest of quivers run through her. “Your smile is one of pure satisfaction.”

  Her pink tongue darted out, dampened the pad of his thumb. His stomach tightened, his cock twitched. He touched the corner of her mouth and shoved out the next words. “And when you don’t get the card you need, you frown.” His voice sounded rough and raw. “You telegraph your pleasure or displeasure with the cards. You don’t want to give that information to your competitors.”

  “What should I do?” she rasped.

  Ask me to kiss you. “Keep your face still. Don’t smile. Don’t take delight in the cards.” He trailed his finger along her throat. So silky, so smooth. Down. Then up to where her pulse beat furiously. “Imagine me kissing you.”

  “Would that not delight me?” Her voice was breathy, low, sensual. It fit the shadows, was suited to bed play. He wanted it near his ear as he rode her.

  “It would, but thinking about it would serve as a distraction, would put distance between you and the cards.”

  “Is that how you manage not to giv
e anything away? By imagining kissing me?”

  “Oh, I imagine a good deal more than that.”

  She licked her lips. If Somerdale ever tasted them, he might have to plow his fist into the man’s face.

  “Having never been kissed,” she rasped, “I can’t quite conjure what I should imagine. Perhaps you should demonstrate.”

  How had he come to this moment of doing something he knew was totally and absolutely wrong? Not a single person sitting at the table in that private room would approve. His parents would disapprove mightily. Rex would not only take him to task, he was likely to bloody Andrew’s nose. Yet knowing it would be frowned upon, was forbidden, would identify him as a cad of the lowest order, he couldn’t find the will to resist.

  Not when her eyes were searching his, not when her lips parted slightly, not when she lifted her mouth as an offering, a sacrifice, a surrendering.

  He glanced down the hallway. Empty. He guided her farther into the shadows, cradled the underside of her jaw, felt the pulse at her throat thundering against his fingertips. Certain he could school her in the art of a kiss without involving anything more than his mouth, he lowered it to hers.

  The plumpness of her lips welcomed him like the softest of pillows; the warmth hit him like the sun on a summer afternoon when he was stretched out over a bed of clover. Her hushed sigh was the sweetest lullaby ever sung.

  Without prompting she opened her mouth to him and he was lost, lost to the glorious taste and heat of her, the velvet and silk of her tongue gliding over his. One of her hands folded around his upper arm, the other clasped the back of his neck, her fingers scraping up into his hair. He snaked his free arm around her back, crushed her to him.

  God help him. Kissing her was more marvelous than he’d imagined. Every breath he took only served to bring a deeper awareness of her violet fragrance. With each sweep of his tongue, he tasted brandy darkened by her enjoyment of it. Her mouth was paradise and decadence.

  And not enough. Not nearly enough.

  He wanted to peel off the layers of her clothes and feast on her flesh, raining kisses over every inch, circling his tongue around her nipples—would they be pink or dark, small or large? He wanted to draw the tiny buds into his mouth and suckle until she was writhing against him, wrapping her legs tightly around his hips and holding on for dear life.

  He wanted everything he could not have, should not have, would not have.

  A kiss, this moment, was all the indulgence he could spare. She was not the sort with whom a man toyed. She was the type a man married. She was an incredibly wealthy heiress who could have her pick of men: titled lords, princes, and kings. Not second sons, not spares who were expected to never amount to anything of importance.

  He drew back. She blinked as though awakening from a dream, her eyes glazed over. Touching his thumb to her damp and swollen lips, he wanted to taste them again, wanted to take her someplace where he could taste them more thoroughly.

  “We’ve been gone too long.” His voice sounded as though he’d been a month without drink.

  She merely nodded.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  Again a nod. “It was more involved than I expected it to be.”

  “Not nearly as involved as it could have been. Think about that. Let it distract you so you don’t show any emotion whatsoever at the cards you’re dealt.”

  He escorted her back to the room. Everyone was standing around, drinking and talking. As he pulled out the chair for Gina, the others began taking their seats.

  “You were gone a rather long time,” Grace said, with suspicion.

  “If you must know, I was providing her with some tips. She’s giving too much away.”

  “Oh.” She seemed surprised by his answer.

  “What else would I have been doing?”

  “You’re a young buck, she’s a young lady.” She arched a brow at him.

  “You’re a suspicious wench. She’s family now. I wouldn’t take advantage.”

  “See that you don’t.” She lowered herself onto the chair.

  He winked at Gina. She gave him a warm smile. He did wish he didn’t like it so much. “Remember what I taught you,” he said sternly, hoping to give the impression that nothing untoward had happened while they’d been absent from the room.

  “I assure you I shall never forget.”

  He suspected she wasn’t referring to his counsel regarding the need to keep a straight face when playing cards. Three hands later he was rather certain of it because she showed continual delight with the cards she was dealt, completely ignoring his advice. His demonstration had been a waste—

  That was untrue. Nothing in his life had ever been less a waste. Nor so unwise. He could still taste her on his tongue, and that kept him in a continual state of distraction. But she was as happy as a lark with her latest hand. Everyone else had folded. It was left to him to call or fold. He’d already put three hundred into the pot. She wanted five hundred more.

  She was waiting expectantly, beaming as though she’d found her heart’s desire beneath the tree on Christmas morning. He peered at his two queens. She had to be holding something better. A wise man knew when to cut his losses. “Fold.”

  With a victorious smile, she laid down her cards and began collecting her winnings.

  “So what did you have?” he asked.

  Stopping, she met his gaze. “You’ll never know. You weren’t willing to pay for the privilege of seeing them.”

  “Because you looked so bloody cheerful. I advised you to keep your emotions in check.”

  “As I’m the one gathering up the chips, perhaps I didn’t need your advice.”

  Suspicion roiling through him, he scowled. “I want to see your cards.”

  “No.”

  “You’re new to the game. If you show us what you had, what you threw away, we can help you determine best how to win.”

  “I’m already winning.”

  Before she could react, he lunged across the table and snatched up her cards. She shrieked and reached for them, but he held them aloft until he could get a good look at them. He flung them onto the table. “You had nothing.”

  “I had five cards.”

  “But none of them matched in any way. None of them amounted to anything. You were grinning like a loon—bloody hell. You show excitement no matter what you have.”

  “While I realize you lot fold quite a bit, I still get the take, even if it isn’t very much. Small amounts eventually add up to large amounts.”

  He barked out his laughter. “You swindler! How many hands have you had nothing?”

  She shrugged, an impish smile spreading over her face. “I can’t recall.”

  “So there is a method to your madness.”

  “I don’t fancy how serious you all look. So I thought if I always smile, you’ll always think I have something of value.” Placing her elbows on the table, she leaned forward. “I will wager five hundred quid right this minute that you were holding at least a pair. Probably face cards, but I’m not wagering on that. Only the pair. Prove me wrong. Show me what you had.”

  He could think of things to show her that had nothing at all to do with cards. He glanced around the table. Everyone else seemed to be waiting on bated breath. “I’d be a fool to accept your wager.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he turned over his cards. The two queens mocked him.

  Dear God, but she was beautiful when victorious. “How did you know?”

  “You tap the table with your forefinger when you think you’re holding cards that will beat the others.”

  “I always tap the table.”

  “Yes, but when you don’t have anything you use all your fingers.”

  “She’s right,” Grace crowed. “How clever you are, Gina, to spot his habit so quickly.”

  “You were aware I did that?” he asked. Even he hadn’t been cognizant of it.

  Grace didn’t have the decency to look abashed. “Why do you th
ink I always beat you?”

  “Because you manipulate the cards.”

  “I have to figure out what you’re holding in order to determine how best to manipulate them.”

  He shifted his gaze back to Gina. “Perhaps we should step into the hallway and you can give me some lessons on how not to give anything away.”

  He wanted to reach across the table and flatten his palm against the blush warming her cheeks.

  “I think there have been enough lessons for tonight,” Grace said. “And enough gaming. We should be off.”

  “Afraid I’m ready to call it a night as well,” Minerva said.

  “Same here,” Avendale announced.

  “Which is why I shall never marry,” Andrew said. “Marriage breeds boredom. You all serve as perfect examples. It’s not even nine.” He looked at Gina. “If you wish to stay longer, spend some time on the gaming floor, I’ll escort you home.”

  “That might be viewed as inappropriate,” Grace said. “You’re a bachelor. Hardly chaperone material.”

  “You’re the one who said we were family.”

  “Still, we must protect her reputation.”

  “I could send word to my maid to join me here,” Gina said. “If I’m on the gaming floor until she arrives, everyone will know I did nothing untoward. Then if Andrew would be kind enough to see us both home … I really would like to stay a bit longer.”

  Grace looked at her husband, who merely shrugged. She glanced over at Minerva.

  “I don’t see the harm,” the Duchess of Ashebury said. “Besides, spending time on the gaming floor would probably serve her courtship goals better than being hidden away in here with us. One of the nice things about the Dragons is that it provides a social environment outside of the ballrooms.”

  “You’re right. I’m probably just being overprotective,” Grace said. She gave him a hard look. “Have her home by midnight. I promised Mother. You know how she worries until all the chicks are home.”

  With good reason. Her chicks tended to do things they ought not, especially when temptation came in such a lovely package as Gina Hammersley did.

  Oh she was a wicked girl. She hadn’t wanted to go to the gaming floor. She’d wanted to find a dark quiet place where Andrew could bestow another kiss upon her.