If recollection served, Dunlop also had a bald pate and a laugh like a braying donkey.
“He is exceptionally wealthy,” Auntie Agatha added.
Felicity tried to summon up some enthusiasm and failed.
There was only one man she wanted to dance with at the ball this evening. One man she longed for. One man who set her aflame.
And she had a feeling he would likely not even attend.
But then, mayhap it was better that way.
A bloodyball.
Blade had reconvened with Gen, Gavin, and Demon for a less-dangerous competition than knife throwing. This time, they were playing vingt-et-un in another of the seemingly endless salons the vast Abingdon House possessed.
Blade snorted at Gen, who held the deck of cards in her hand. “There is no way in hell I am attending a ball. Do not tell me you wish to go.”
Gen grinned. “And why not? When I open my ladies’ gaming den, I am going to have to talk to fine ladies. Lure them in so I can fleece their reticules. That sort of thing.”
“Another,” Blade ordered her, tapping his cards. “You can’t mean to attend a ball wearing breeches and a cravat and shirt.”
She dealt him a card, and he was above one-and-twenty. Cursing, he flipped over his hand. “Done in, damn it. You need a gown, Gen. There will be shocked whispers from all the quality Devereaux Winter has invited.”
Thus far, she had not attended any of the Christmastide diversions their hostess had planned for them because Gen was,well, Gen. Which meant she had an entirely different method of conducting herself. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, as she saw fit. She did not give a damn about polite society, manners, or the expectations of others.
“I have duds,” she announced, shocking him. “Pru was kind enough to loan me one of her gowns. We are similar in size, so I think it will do. I had to borrow crabshells from Grace, and they pinch my toes. Can’t wear boots with a gown though, can I?”
“Pru is it?” Gavin teased her. “Thought you didn’t like the other Winters.”
Gen actually flushed. “I need to pretend to be a lady if I want my hell to succeed. Mayhap the Winters ain’t all bad. They’ve been giving me some advice.”
“No more cards for me,” Gavin said.
“Another for me,” Demon announced. “I’m going to trounce you all.”
“Smug bastard,” Blade muttered.
And the hell of it was—Demon probablywasgoing to win. He was the luckiest man Blade knew. He could fall into a pile of dung and emerge smelling of lilies.
Gen considered her hand. “Think I shall stay where I am.”
Cards were revealed.
Predictably, Demon crowed. “Vingt-et-un! Give me all your blunt.”
Gen and Gavin grumbled.
“That is enough for me.” Gen gathered all the cards into a tidy pile. “You were probably gaming us again, Demon.”
“Not this time,” he claimed. “Nary a card up my sleeve.”
That was the thing about Demon—when his luck ran thin, he created his own.
More grumbling ensued, along with some choice epithets from Gen.
But Blade’s interest was piqued. “You are truly intending to wear a gown?” he demanded of his sister.
“Aye. And you ought to accompany me,” she said, making a sweeping gesture toward Blade, Demon, and Gavin. “I need friendly faces.”
