“Discretion is the soul of wit, Mr.Wycliffe,” Arabella said, appearing at Tristan’s side with a coquettish tilt of her head.“And we are nothing if not discreet.”
“Very well,” Wycliffe said, raising his glass in a silent toast.“Let us parlay and see what fortunes this may yield.”
In the charged atmosphere, brimming with the promise of secret dealings and subtle power plays, Emmeline felt the thrill of danger mingled with hope.
“Mr.Wycliffe,” she said, her eyes locked on the enigmatic figure who held sway within the gambling underworld.The very scoundrel father had encouraged her to set her cap for.The very suggestion should have set of alarm bells, but whoever could have guessed the depths to which her father had sunken.“Surely, a man of your...stature understands the importance of loyalty and honor.”
“Indeed, Miss Brooks,” he said, his gaze lingering on her just a moment too long.“Yet even honor has its price.”
“Then let us discuss the terms,” Tristan said, his tone dangerous as he moved closer to Emmeline in a display of protectiveness and ownership.
As the negotiations continued, Emmeline felt a newfound confidence surging through her, fueled by the knowledge that, together with Tristan and their loyal allies, they were a force to be reckoned with.And as they pressed on, united in purpose, she knew they would triumph, no matter the odds stacked against them.
