“Good.” She nodded her head. “I look forward to your return to my club. Gentlemen are getting cocky, not having your superior card playing to remind them of their place.”
“All in good time,” Sam murmured.
“Lady Ameila, Mr. Blakewood, you look well. Your marriage has caused quite the stir.”
Amelia lifted one shoulder. “Like all gossip it will fade when someone else commits a more fascinating transgression.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “Oh yes, it is only a matter of time.”
Sam was growing impatient. “Well, as you can see, I am alive and am making slow but definite strides in healing. Perhaps you should return in, what... six months? See how I’m feeling then?”
Blakewood mumbled under his breath beside him. He could feel her stare as she focused on him.
“Are you trying to be rid of me?”
“Not at all. Forgive me, I am only feeling the need to rest once more. Even sitting strains me.”
“Of course. I can see that you are doing well but are not yet fully mended. We could discuss our bargain more, but I don’t want to tax you further at this time. Wounds need time to heal. Enjoy these days of rest, Lord Alston. All too soon, the future will be here.”
Sam’s gut tightened.
He’d ignore that looming future for as long as possible and live with the illusion that he was a free man, but this was a clear warning. Mrs. Dove-Lyon always had a strategy. Her words were mere clues. She loved a game of chance as much as anyone, but she favored manipulating the game for her gain even more. A good gambler never bet on luck.
“Do all your patrons get this level of service?” Sam asked bitterly.
The widow stood. “Just you. You’re my favorite. Lady Amelia, will you see me out?”
“Of course,” Amelia stood and then waited by the door. Miss Smith grabbed her small bag, and Mr. Chase took it for her and followed her out.
Blakewood gave him a long look before following Amelia. Petrov entered to clear the table.
“She’s a formidable woman,” Daisy said. “But she seems kind and concerned about your health.”
“What sheseemsis subjective.” Sam said.
He could feel Daisy’s confusion and anxiety hanging in the air. His immediate instinct was to go to her, to comfort her. Sam tossed the napkin on the table and Petrov picked up the plates. “Leave us, please.”
Petrov nodded and took the dirty plates away, leaving them alone.
“I’m sorry you’re involved in this now,” he said.
He tried to sound reassuring, but he didn’t believe his own words. He wasn’t sorry. He was selfish. He wanted her here for his own gain, to lessen his own pain, but now the chaos if his life was affecting hers.
She frowned. “Involved in what? I still don’t understand.”
Sam ran a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated.”
The suffocating feeling of having no control over his life came back, tightening around his neck like a noose. He’d lost his right to choose his own wife, and he had no idea how long it would be until he lost his unfettered access to Daisy. Every day that passed was a day closer to her parents’ return. She’d have no reason to stay here once they came back. The idea of not seeing her every day burned at his insides. What would he have left then?
He cursed inwardly. What was the point of living if he no longer had power over his own choices? What kind of life would that be? He’d be married to someone he already disliked, and he’d have to watch Daisy marry another. They were tied to each other now through Blakewood and Amelia. Unless he took pains to avoid Daisy—which would be awkward for everyone—they’d see each other often and he would suffer because of it. Because every moment with her only made him want more.
Something deep and desolate opened inside him.
She sniffed. Was she crying again? “Daisy?”
She shook her head, her arms folded around herself like she could shrink down disappear from his life. He wouldn’t stand for it.
“Please tell me why you’re crying.”
