“We find such dress very inspiring in my home country, sir. You English are a staid lot with little flair for fashion.”
She’d spoken in French, and her tone was a deep, husky purr that had Zach’s body stirring to life. He could smell her. The scent was thick but not cloying. An elusive musk that seemed to wrap around him.
“My dear Madame Lucienne.” Plunge fell back into his seat at her side. “Please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Zachariel Deville, one of society’s most sought-after bachelors. His eldest brother is the Earl of Raine—”
“Yes, thank you, Plunge, that will do.” Zach cut him off before he could recite his entire family history.
“Madame Lucienne.” He bowed and then sat.
“Mr. Zachariel Deville.” She lowered her head once.
She wore a deep shade of gray, which would give some credence that she was in mourning. The fabric shimmered when she moved her shoulders. The dress was cut low at the bodice and showed an enticing amount of flesh. The curves of her soft, pale breasts rose above the material. The sleeves were capped and exposed long, slender limbs. Her gloves reached her elbows, and around one wrist was a band of rubies and diamonds. Zach knew jewels, and with just a look, he could tell it was extremely valuable.
Perhaps here sat the very person Zach needed to pull him from his mood. A distraction. If she was a widow and wished for a dalliance, he could provide it. Of course she was also in mourning, and therefore, she could conceivably have loved her husband, and yet he doubted she’d frequent a gambling establishment if she was broken-hearted.
“How long have you been in London, Madame Lucienne?” Zach asked as his cards were dealt.
“I have been coming here for many years.” She turned her head slightly so he could only see the side of her veil covered face.
He wanted to see her. The urge to reach across the table and raise that veil had his hand clenching.
“Lord Plunge has been keeping me company.” This time she spoke in heavily accented English.
That surprised him. He’d never known anyone who willingly kept company with the man. Except Mary. Lately, she appeared to have formed an attachment that Zach could not understand. Just thinking her name made him want to snarl. The woman had been a sharp, pointy thorn in his side for years. Mary Blake had a mouth that could eviscerate a person in seconds. The stab of pain under his rib had him rubbing it. Just thinking about her made him uncomfortable. He’d never understood why she’d evoked such a strong reaction in him.
“Are you unwell, sir?”
He shook his head at her words.
“Quite well, thank you, madam.”
The cards were dealt.
“I heard that Robertson has not offered for Miss Wright as was expected, which leaves the playing field open for us, Deville,” Sir Simon Hampton said to his right.
“Perhaps Miss Wright may have no wish to wed either of you?” Madame Lucienne said.
Hampton laughed. A simple fellow with a pleasant enough manner, Zach had never had an issue with him other than he had a feminine giggle, which could not be helped as he’d been born with it.
“You jest, Madame Lucienne.” Hampton scoffed.
“Do you believe all men with a title and fortune are irresistible to women, Sir Simon?”
Her tone was pleasant enough, but Zach had a feeling she was far from amused.
“It is the aim of a woman to wed just such a man,” Hampton said, looking smug.
The slender hand that reached for her cards stopped and curled into a fist. Zach was right—Madame Lucienne was not impressed.
“And why is that do you believe?” she asked.
Hampton glanced at Zach and the other men at the table.
“As you clearly have no answer, allow me to enlighten you,” she said, unclenching her fist.
She wore two rings. One a large ruby, the other a gold band that was engraved with words that he couldn’t make out.
“Men have made it such in this world that women have no recourse but to wed for money. They rarely find love or even respect in a husband. It is purely and simply a business transaction for them.”
