“I believe I am winning, so far,” the older man remarked, that glittering gaze searing into Neil’s flesh. “Tell me, your Grace, what brings you back to dear old London? I thought you’d given it up.”
“I like to keep my hand in,” Neil responded shortly. He threw a combined eight, exactly as he’d hoped. There was a knack to throwing certain numbers on a dice, but of course, there was no guarantee whatsoever. He threw twice more before throwing out and wordlessly handed over the dice.
“I imagine you’ve heard of my misfortune,” Lord Bramwell sighed, waggling his eyebrows. “My betrothed has fled. Hurtful, is it not?”
“Very,” Neil agreed. “But sometimes the best course is to let her go.”
“Ah,” Bramwell murmured, smiling. “And did you build your reputation by surrendering every hand when it grew difficult? No, no—you play to win. Perseverance, your Grace.”
Neil’s pulse thudded. “If the lady does not wish—”
“Let me give you a piece of advice, boy,” Bramwell interrupted, the word weighted with deliberate insult. Sir Thomas shifted, appalled. “Women don’t know what they want. The ones who think they do are dangerous. Miss Camden—I shall assume that you know her name—was mine. She had no right to leave me. If a servant steals my watch, I retrieve it. Miss Camden is no different.”
Neil fought to keep himself calm. Lord Bramwell handed over the dice, and Neil had to force himself to take them, stretching out his hand, palm upturned, so that the other man could drop them into his palm.
“I would not wish to marry a woman who did not wish to marry me,” Neil hissed, refusing to let himself look away.
Bramwell smiled lazily, then reached across the table. Instead of dropping the dice into Neil’s palm, he placed his hand beneath it, curling Neil’s fingers around the cubes.
“Do you know what I think, your Grace?” he murmured. “I think my Miss Camden has found herself a protector. I think she hides with someone who believes he can keep her from me.”
Neil met his gaze steadily. “A fascinating theory. I can’t imagine why you’d share it with me.”
Bramwell’s smile widened. “No reason at all. Just conversation between gentlemen. Now—about you. I hear you’re hosting the Farendales and their charming daughter. Shall we soon hear wedding bells?”
Neil flicked his wrist, the dice clattering to the table.
“No,” he said evenly. “You may not.”
Sir Thomas coughed nervously. “Was that—was that a throw?”
“I think not,” Neil replied, standing. “I believe I’ve played enough for one night.”
Bramwell’s expression curdled. “Running off already? Disappointing.”
Neil smiled. “I’ve never minded disappointing people. Do you know, Bramwell, why I win when others lose?”
Bramwell sneered. “I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”
“Because I know when to play in earnest.”
He turned on his heel before the man could answer.
“Simon,” he said sharply, catching his cousin’s eye. “We’re leaving.”
Simon blinked. “Already? But—”
“I’ve learned what I needed,” Neil said. “It’s time to go home.”
Chapter Fourteen
Emma was very excited about joining the adults for breakfast.
Maggie was rather less so.
Her meeting with the woman she now knew to be Lady Constance Fairfax the previous day had been enough to tell her that the lady was neither her friend nor particularly fond of Emma.
“Can I wear my green dress, with the pink pinafore?” Emma asked, bouncing on her toes.
