“Thank you, but as you’ve gathered, this isn’t a social call,” he replied. “No need to go through the charade of polite pleasantries, as I’m sure you and your brother would prefer that we are gone from the premises as quickly as possible.”
A smile—one that struck him as genuine—curled the corners of Cordelia’s lips. “I, too, favor plain speaking, milord. So let us not waste our breath waltzing through spins and evasions. I overheard your questions to Jamie, and the reason why you want a truthful answer.”
“Cordelia,” murmured Woodbridge. “I beg you to consider your own reputation before you go on.”
Her gaze flashed a challenge at Wrexford and Sheffield. “I’m assuming the gentlemen will give their word of honor that what we say here is to be held in strict confidence.”
“Of course,” answered the earl, and the agreement was quickly seconded by Sheffield.
Her brother slumped back against the pillows in surrender.
“So I’ll ask the question again,” said Wrexford. “Why did you allow Westmorly to go unmasked as a cheat?”
Woodbridge exhaled through his nose. “Because to make a public accusation, I would have had to explain to others how I knew Westmorly was cheating, and that would have required . . . putting my sister in a deucedly awkward position.”
Sheffield choked back a grunt of surprise. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but . . .”
“But a man’s life hangs in the balance,” interjected Wrexford. “So forgive us, but we’ll need to have a more specific answer than that.”
“I expected no less,” said Cordelia. “Jamie, I think it best to let me tell the story, as I can do it without hemming and hawing.” She raised her chin, and Wrexford found himself applauding her sangfroid. “I’m quite used to men thinking me beyond the pale, so it no longer bothers me that I’m thought odd and eccentric.”
A pause. “Those are, of course, the most polite of the adjectives.”
“Far be it for either of us to judge anyone,” quipped Sheffield. “Our own reputations are not exactly lily-white.” He gave a wrysmile. “But then, I’ve always thought that lily-white is a rather colorless hue. And color is what makes things interesting.”
Cordelia’s mouth pinched for an instant. The earl wasn’t sure whether she was offended or simply trying to hold back a laugh.
“As Sheffield says, we are merely interested in learning the facts, not making any moral judgments,” he murmured. “So, please, go on, Lady Cordelia.”
“Very well.” She smoothed a crease from her skirts. “I accompanied my brother to Lucifer’s Lair several nights ago—dressed as a man, for obvious reasons.”
“That isn’t an easy masquerade,” challenged Wrexford. “It requires more than just masculine clothing. One has to master gestures and movement.”
“I’ve practiced it over the years and have gained some skill in it,” came the cool reply. “Before you ask why, it’s because you gentlemen reserve so many interesting things, like boxing matches, carriage races, and smoking cheroots, for yourselves. It’s most unfair.”
“Smoking is vastly overrated,” murmured Sheffield. “It leaves a vile taste in your mouth.”
Ignoring the comment, Cordelia continued, “And the atmosphere of a gaming hell makes it easier than most venues. The light is dim, the air is hazed with smoke, and the gentlemen’s wits are fuzzed with spirits.”
The earl acknowledged her point with a small nod. “True.”
Sheffield shifted forward in his seat. “Why were you visiting Lucifer’s Lair?”
“To play cards, of course.”
Wrexford, too, sat up a little straighter.
“Not for the mere devil-may-care thrill of courting danger,” added Cordelia. “Since we are being candid with each other, I will explain . . . up to a point.” She let her words sink in, before continuing. “My father had made some imprudent investmentsrecently and my brother and I found ourselves hard-pressed to meet certain family financial obligations. So I decided to use my skill at cards to earn the requisite amount.”
Cordelia tugged at her skirts again. A sign, decided Wrexford, that despite her cool demeanor, she wasn’t quite as composed as she wished to appear. He liked her better for it.
“Skill doesn’t always guarantee success, Lady Cordelia.”
“I’m well aware of that, milord. But I’m rather good at mathematics—”
“Actually, she’s rather brilliant at mathematics,” interjected Woodbridge.
Cordelia shrugged off the praise. “I count well, and I seem to have a knack for calculating the odds—”
