“Most of the unmarried dukes are widowers, you dolt. And about one hundred years old.”
“Not Blackheart!”
“Ha! Now I know you’re joking.”
Lady Tabetha scrunched her nose. “He is rather formidable. But it’s not as though he’s the only halfway decent-looking lord in England. I only need to makeoneof them fall madly in love with me.” Her twinkling eyes slanted again toward the far end of the room where most of the gentlemen who were not yet ancient had joined the ones already lounging there. Charley wondered that Lady Tabetha could be so delightful and yet so absurd at the same time.
“Are they all titled?” Charley asked for no reason other than to offer something to the conversation. Such would explain the fact that each of them carried themselves as though nothing and no one could thwart them in anything.
The one who’d been staring at her had his back to her now, leaning on his leg with one foot resting on a low table. It caused the material of his trousers to stretch tightly across his posterior and Charley…
Did not normally notice such things.
“Would you like us to introduce you to any of them?” Lady Tabetha offered eagerly.
“Oh, no.” Charley halted the girl before she moved in their direction. She had no interest in any of these Englishmen who were so cocksure of themselves. The wealthier, the more powerful they were, the less likely they could be trusted. She turned a bright smile on Lady Bethany. “What do people do at these house parties?”
Chapter 2
HELL OF A HAND
Hours later, Jules’ certainty had waned considerably.
As the clock on the mantle in the billiard’s room struck two in the morning, Jules ignored the desire to rub the back of his neck and regarded his worthy opponent from across the table.
Before even being introduced to the man, Jules had guessed his identity. Jackson’s hair was the same color as his daughter’s, though now sprinkled with strands of gray, which didn’t shine quite so brilliantly. As an added insult, it served as an irksome reminder of the hundreds of pounds he’d lost earlier that day.
Tonight, blast and damn, the chit’s hair wasn’t costing him. It was her father’s shuttered eyes, also not as bright as his daughter’s, but the color of a dark forest and quite unreadable.
The successful American businessman could have been dead for all the emotion he showed as he glanced at his cards and then at the center of the table where the pot grew increasingly larger with each hand. The man was like ice. He never flinched, smiled, grimaced, or even so much as shifted in his chair.
Jules narrowed his gaze at his own cards, refusing to be ruffled despite having fallen behind. The losses wouldn’t break him, not even close, in the grand scheme of things, but each time he watched Jackson’s freckle-covered hands reach to the center of the table to corral his winnings, Jules’ pride suffered something fierce.
If Jules was holding two pairs, Jackson laid down three of a kind. When Jules was dealt a full house with queens and tens, Jackson took the pot with a full house consisting of queens and jacks.
The blighter’s game was uncanny.
As a man who never lost, Jules had silently mocked those who’d stressed the importance of knowing when to walk away. Perhaps this was something he’d reflect upon later.
Unfortunately, on this night anyhow, walking away from a game of cards while losing was not in his blood.
Chase dealt five cards face down to the remaining players who, by this point, had grown quiet and weary. Ignoring the others, Jules peeked casually at his cards before indifferently lowering them face down on the table.
A royal flush.
A beautiful royal flush.
Unbeatable.
Ignoring the satisfying knowledge that he would not be walking away a loser tonight after all, Jules kept his breathing even and deep.
The wily American traded out two cards and threw out his bet.
Lucas folded but his older brother, Blackheart, stayed in. As they went around the table, Chase, Peter, and Greys folded as well, but both Mantis and Stone tossed in their coin.
As did Jules.
Jackson raised the stakes.
