Pursued By Passion
By Dinah McLeod
From the instant Lady Freya Denham crosses my path, restraint becomes a lost cause. Charming the ladies of the ton has always come easily to me—but a bastard by birth, I have little chance with Lady Freya. Even so, she lingers beneath my skin, a provocation I cannot ignore, until I realize there is only one course left to me: I must bed her.
A rake beholden to no one’s good opinion, I wager everything on my own audacity. Lady Luck, a card game of the highest stakes, and a well-placed bit of blackmail will have to serve where pedigree cannot. But even when I have won the lady and made her my wife, the game continues for her heart.
Chapter One
Gregor
“Do you think fortune shines upon you this eve, my lord?”
I smile and toss back my hair that is often inclined to fall over my eyes. “Nay, Your Highness. Fortune has never smiled upon me, as everyone present knows all too well.” I glance around the table at the Lords present, all of whom mirror my grin. The bastard son of a Marquess, I learned long ago to make sport of myself before others could seize the opportunity.
The Crown Prince and Heir Apparent chuckles softly at my observation. Indeed, it is due to my close friendship with Prince James that I am afforded such luxuries—to sit in the private saloon and play cards with the proper lords of the Beau Monde. A soft hum of conversation permeates the room, accompanied by the occasional clink of crystal as footmen fill glasses with port or brandy.
I lift my own glass in a salute to the prince, and my dear friend. “To your health, Your Highness.”
“Hear, hear!” Baron Sumtner calls, lifting his own glass.
Lord Carlisle is forced to do likewise—not that he holds the heir apparent in any less regard than we do. He simply dislikes the favor I share with the Prince, and in truth, he would ratherstart the trend than be made to follow it. But to his misfortune, he seems to always be a step behind the rest, which leaves his face sour, to say nothing of his disposition. I do not need the candlelight or the gilt-edged mirrors to tell me that.
Baron Sumtner tosses the beverage back neatly. It is his fourth of the evening, but no one can accuse the Baron of not holding his drink well. He enjoys amusement, and if his dancing eyes are anything to go by, he thinks this game will be quite the diversion.
“Shall we have another round of Whist?”
“It shall be the fifth of the evening, my lord, and I fear my partner’s judgement leaves something to be desired,” Lord Carlisle remarks drily.
I grab my heart with dramatic flair, my smile growing. “I shall treasure your criticism as dearly as the coins upon the table—both weigh heavily.”
Lord Carlisle grimaces, while the other lords watching the game, and indeed, the Prince himself, indulge in soft chuckles.
“Perhaps this ought to be the last hand. Would that meet with your approval, my lord?” the Prince inquires.
“Very well, Your Highness.” Lord Carlisle waves a gloved hand, indicating we should begin.
Baron Sumtner has the honor of dealing the next hand, and does so deftly, cards flying across the green baize until all are dealt.
I tap my cards on the table, considering the Prince. He seems to be of good cheer this evening—perhaps more so than I have observed in a long time.Mayhap this is the best chance I will get.
I do not wish to offend James, nor create a scandal, but I also know if I am to take a risk, I surely will never get a better opportunity. I study each of the players in turn, wondering if I dare.
“You seem troubled, my friend,” the Prince remarks without looking up from his cards. “Might I inquire as to the reason?”
“You might indeed, Your Majesty. I was only thinking that I am most curious to see whether Fortune favors a more spirited stake.”
This captures His Majesty’s attention, as I had hoped. His eyes slide over to me with a gleam that is both curious and mischievous. I know him quite well, and as such, I suspected I might be able to intrigue him with such a suggestion. But to obtain what I am after, I must proceed with the utmost caution, lest my plan go awry.
“Perhaps. I am most curious to hear your proposal.”
“What scheme is afoot?” Lord Carlisle mutters.
The Prince’s gaze remains fixed on me, though he says, “Pray, let us hear from you, Greyonyx.”
I inhale slowly, trying to appear unflappable, while in truth, my heart is galloping fast enough to disturb my perfectly tied cravat.I can ill afford a single misstep.“It is no secret that the late Duke of Fairwynd had no male progeny.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel the tension in the room swell. There is not a single sound—not so much as a murmur, or the clinking of a coin—as every man present, those at our table, the ones merely observing and awaiting their turn, indeed, even the footman, seems to hold his breath. The topic of the late Duke’s estate—and, of greater consequence, his title—has been discussed in every drawing room, every hallway, indeed, even in church, for a fortnight.
