However, her father was in no mood to argue, especially when one of the players at the table, a lace-capped dowager, asked, “Are you playing, Charnock, or do we have to sit here and listen to you jabber to your daughter?”
“Of course I am playing.” Charnock frowned at Leonie and gave a nod to Roman. “Dance with him. The two of you are old friends—”
“You are jesting—”
“No, I’m not,” Charnock said. “Do the pretty and mind your manners. Rochdale is an important title, and Gilchrist has already asked my permission to court you.”
“Court?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “And you said yes?”
“Aye.” Charnock then leaned in and said something to his daughter that straightened her back. “Now,” he continued, raising his voice, “I am going to sit for this round because it is a poor winner who takes his winnings and leaves.”
“That is the truth,” the dowager said. She downed her sherry neat and signaled for another before slapping the table. “Let us play.”
Charnock obliged, gleefully stacking his coins in front of him as the cards were dealt.
Leonie stood a moment as if carved of stone. She was not happy, but then she slowly turned in Roman’s direction, the gesture reserved, tight. Her gaze met his.
How many times in the past had he caught her watching him and wondered what she was thinking? Her dark eyes could be remarkably expressive, or as cold and unrevealing as coal.
She moved toward him.
Roman braced himself. Was he about to receive another slap?
Instead, she walked right by him. “The dance floor is in the other room,” she murmured without breaking step. Apparently, she assumed he would follow.
He’d be damned if he would.
Roman might not have money but he had pride. He also knew better than to dance to the pipe she was playing. He’d learned that lesson once. He watched her leave, wondering when she’d realize he wasn’t following.
Charnock looked up from his cards. “I thought you said you wanted her, my lord?” He referred to the conversation Roman had managed before Charnock had sat down at his table.
Roman had been blunt about his intentions. He had a historical and respected title; Charnock had a daughter and a pot of money. Before Roman had even wasted time talking to Leonie, he’d wanted to know where he’d stood with her father.
And what he’d found out was that Charnock would have sold his daughter to Beelzebub if it would gain for him what he wanted. He liked the sound of “Earl of Rochdale” and had even taken the time to sound out his gambling companions as to the heraldry around the family name. He’d approved Roman’s suit on their verdicts.
“Go on. Give chase,” Charnock said, his tone bored and his fellow card players amused. “It is what we men do. Or have you changed your mind about her fortune?”
“Mayhap I have,” Roman responded coolly.
After all, he was a bloody lord now. And Charnock was one of those Roman suspected had been involved in his demotion and military humiliation in India. The bastard could wait on him—and his daughter could learn some manners.
With a nonchalance that he was far from feeling, Roman began walking in the opposite direction of Leonie. The far door of the card room opened onto the main hallway. He wasn’t clear in his intentions but he was beginning to think he’d rather be home in his rented rooms with a good book and a hot toddy than playing lapdog to a spoiled heiress and her greedy father.
He’d almost reached the door when he heard his name called.
Roman stopped, turned—and saw Lord Erzy working his way around the tables toward him. Erzy clapped him on the back as if they were congenial colleagues, but then he lowered his voice to speak. “I hope you aren’t in this room placing wagers without seeing that Malcolm and I are paid for what your uncle owed us.”
“Some would say that a man’s debts die with him.”
He knew his argument would not fly but he had to try.
Erzy answered, “Not a debt of honor. It never goes away. Of course, you may not have the decency to pay but I’ll see you are put beyond the pale by everyone of importance. Doors will be closed to you, even in the Lords. Is that what you wish, Rochdale? This early in the game after inheriting your title?”
No, Roman had no desire to be on the outs with anyone. He’d been there too long.
“I haven’t been gambling,” he informed Erzy. “I’m not a betting man.”
“Pity. There is much sport in it.”
