“Apparently even small amounts matter in the game of cricket,” he muttered.
Grace grinned.
He glared at her, as if just realizing that they had gotten far off subject. “I suppose you have questions?”
The viscount turned to her as well, awaiting her leisure.
“What is your most popular game?” she asked.
“Whist.” They both answered in conjunction, then glanced at each other. Lord Sterling continued, “The next is Hazard and Faro.”
“I see. And how many people do you have attend each evening that you’re open?” She glanced to the tables, counting them mentally while she waited.
“That is not information that we can share,” the viscount replied kindly.
Grace calculated the math quickly in her head. There were twelve tables, all seating around eight to ten men. That would equal from ninety-six to one hundred twenty men just at the tables, assuming they were all full. That didn’t include men dancing or milling about.. . . It was indeed a large club. She was fascinated.
“I can see the wheels turning in your mind, Miss Grace. What else do you wish to know?” Lord Sterling asked. But his tone implied the rest of the statement:what else do you wish to know so we can move on and get you out of here.
She held back a glare. Why was he so impatient? She frowned as she considered the possible answers. Then it struck her, and she couldn’t restrain her grin. “There’s a party tonight, isn’t there?”
Lord Sterling turned to the viscount, his expression mutinous.
The viscount simply shrugged. “I cannot answer that question either.”
“Can I stay?” she asked, stepping forward.
“No!” Lord Sterling practically roared while the viscount said, “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why ever not? I’ll stay out of the way. Oh! I can dress up and—”
This time both gentlemen roared. “No!” The viscount was holding back a grin of amusement, while Lord Sterling had an expression of panic on his face.
“You cannot dress up! Dear Lord, I told you this would be Lady Heightfield all over again!” Ramsey practically growled, and in the vacant room the sound vibrated all over the walls.
Grace watched with interest as the two men argued.
“She’s not going to dress up as a courtesan—”
“Bloody hell, man! Don’t give her ideas!”
“I would never—” she started to interrupt, but was given dubious looks by both gentleman that clearly indicated that they didn’t believe her.
“I wouldn’t! I have morals,” Grace felt the need to affirm.
“You would simply dress as a servant girl, but with your fiery hair and temper to match we’d have more than a few men interested and problems aplenty with the lot of you. Don’t even think of it,” Lord Sterling remarked.
“She does remind me ever so much of Liliah,” Heathcliff mused, chuckling.
“Damn both of you,” Lord Sterling swore but without heat.
Grace was immediately aware of the name, and then connected the previous mention of Lady Heightfield. “Are you saying that Samantha’s sister—”
“I don’t think that is something we should discuss here,” the viscount interrupted. “You can ask Samantha later . . . it’s quite a story and we do not have time to do it sufficient justice here.”
“Nor do I wish to relive it,” Lord Sterling added.
“You’re quite uptight,” Grace remarked, tipping her head as she studied him.
