It reminded her ofthatman.
The very reason for her presence here today.
Let’s not think about that unpleasantness.
From her spot above the gambling floor, she braced her hands on the railing of the gallery and forced herself to breathe evenly. She required distance. Detachment. To feel was to falter, and sentiment cost more dearly than coin. Yet the sight below was distasteful. Cursed and dangerous, every table was designed to lure men to their ruin. Ironic, in a place where losses traded hands like coin.
A means to an end, Alyssia.
Yes, well.She could only hope her family forgave her.
Somewhere down there, among the messy games of men eager for thrill, played a stranger who she would soon wed.
God help her.
“Look well, Lady Alyssia, for by the end of this night, one of those men will become your husband.”
Her husband.
Alyssia curled her fingers tighter around the rail until her knuckles ached. She refused to lament her fate. After all, she had a hand in it all. What followed now was merely the price of that hand. Consequences did not lessen simply because one wished them away.
Her gaze drifted to the cluster of men gathered around the largest Hazard table, the one that would yield her husband. She didn’t thinktoo deeply about their identities. That didn’t matter much to her.
Nodcocks, the lot of them.
They hadn’t the faintest notion what they were playing for this evening. She’d rather not be forced to marry a fool with such vices, yet rumor had already begun its vicious spin through theton. Fortunately, her family was not in London to witness her descent from grace. Her father would have had no choice but to see her wed to that man.
The heavens had been merciful in that regard.
Which made Mrs. Dove-Lyon her only choice. And the widow had promised her the best solution for her current situation: a husband who would be willing, discreet, and, most importantly, indifferent enough to leave her to her life in peace.
Alyssia couldn’t ask for more.
“Don’t look so morose, my dear,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said, stepping up beside her, the woman’s presence as commanding as ever despite the soft fall of the veil over her face.
“I was merely thinking,” Alyssia murmured on a sigh.
“About your future husband.”
“About how he will be a nincompoop.”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon chuckled. “All men are.”
“That’s not encouraging.”
“My dear, not much of the life of a woman is. That is why we require courage to take the life we want if we aren’t fortunate enough to have it handed to us.”
“I suppose that is true.” To the extent that women could take.
“So don’t worry too much about your husband-to-be,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon advised. “Fate might just remind us of its charm tonight. Trust the instinct that brought you to me.”
Lawd. What didthatmean?
“My instinct says to run.” Fast and far, and very far away.
A slight laugh escaped Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Some happy turn must have set the woman in such humor. “And yet here you remain. Do notsell yourself short at a scandalous discount.”
That made Alyssia smile.
