Picking up one of his cards, the ace of hearts, Jules tapped its edge on the table as he waited for the door to close behind Stone.
When the only sound in the room was the ticking of a clock that rested on the mantle, Jules forced himself to acknowledge the consequences of his actions. He lifted his gaze from the card and was surprised by the other man’s demeanor.
Mr. Jackson wasn’t gloating or smiling or even looking overly satisfied. He was frowning deeply.
“I suppose I owe you my congratulations,” Jules offered. Or was he the one to be congratulated? On a most unlikely betrothal? “Hell of a hand.”
The American remained frowning. “Wouldn’t have wagered my legacy otherwise.” The man’s accent seemed more pronounced now that the game was over. Hard, long consonant sounds, weak vowels. Accented with the slightest drawl.
Would the daughter sound the same? Of course, she would.
Jules continued tapping the card and began imagining how the news was going to go over with his mother and… others. Somehow, he didn’t think this man was going to be willing to negotiate his winnings.
He ought never to have underestimated a man deemed a king of anything. Especially an American one, by god. He had to have been swindled.
Jules had givenhis word, however. “I will offer for her tomorrow.” He spoke with conviction.
Jules tilted his neck to the left and then to the right, but the cracking failed to bring him the relief it normally did.
Was Miss Jackson a harpy? Was she unintelligent? Sickly? She’d not seemed like any of those things from what he’d noticed earlier that evening. But then again, he hadn’t taken the time to speak with her.
If she accepted him, which, of course, she would, those redheaded urchins would become a distinct possibility.
Ice flooded his veins. Oh, hell, his mother was going to be—
“I’m afraid it will not be so very simple as that,” Mr. Jackson interrupted the jolting direction of Jules’ imagination.
Why wouldn’t it be? Jules did his best to tamp down his frustration. Damn it all to hell, he’d done this to himself.
“My daughter,” Jackson continued. “will indubitably reject your proposal initially.”
Relief flooded through Jules. “Would you prefer something else then? One of my unentailed estates?” Although Jules would hate to part with any of them, it would cause far less upheaval for himself. Dash it all, and for a handful of others as well.
“Oh, no. I expect to collect. If you remember correctly, you did not wageran offerfor her, you wagered that you would convince her to marry you.”
The card Jules had been tapping bent and then folded onto itself. “You do not seriously expect me to—”
“Win her hand.” Jackson’s eyes, which were far from lifeless now, locked with Jules’ without wavering.
“And if I fail?”
“Let’s give you until the end of the house party, shall we? If my daughter refuses to capitulate by then, I will return to America and she will be able to boast that while in London, she was eagerly courted by an earl.”
If Jules was not a man of honor, he could avoid the leg shackle by courting her in a lackluster fashion. But that would mean reneging on a bet. That was something he’d never do. Honor was everything.
Even if the girl was an absolute shrew, he was going to put his best foot forward. Despite the unsettling color of her hair and eyes, she was not unattractive. It was more than likely that she was simply unrefined and lacked dignity. Otherwise, Jackson wouldn’t feel compelled to resort to winning a husband for her in a card game.
A sick feeling rolled through Jules. What the hell had he done?
Because, of course, she would accept him.
What woman wouldn’t?
Chapter 3
THE DEVIL’S TONIC
“Was it as horrible as you expected?” Charley’s maid, Daisy, asked as she began unlacing the stays at her back. Charley’s grandmother had insisted that if Charley were to attend a house party, she must have a maid who could also serve as a chaperone or companion if necessary. Daisy had barely arrived from the agency before Charley’s father collected them to journey to Westerley Crossings.
