Prologue
London, late April, 1817
An honorable gentleman would never be so callous as to wager a lady’s future on the turn of a card. Most of the time, Phineas Knight, the Marquess of Huntington, was an honorable gentleman.
This wasn’t one of those times.
“Disgraceful, Huntington.” Lord Derrick, who was a gentlemanallthe time, sat next to Finn at the gaming table, his lip curled with disgust. “Disgraceful, and unworthy of you.”
Finn didn’t argue the point. God knew the whole business was despicable enough. Unless he happened to win, of course. Then the wager simply became a neat way to rid himself of a troublesome rival.
Neat, and quick. A card turned, and the matter settled.
The economy of the thing appealed to Finn. As far as the winnings themselves were concerned, they were a secondary consideration, and a distant one at that.
Either of the two young ladies in question would do.
“It’s too late for regrets now, Derrick. The game has begun.” Finn drummed his fingers on the table, one eye on his cards, the other shifting back and forth between his two opponents.
Lord Harley, as usual, was grinning like a fool. One didn’t like to lose to a half-wit like Harley, but men like him were much like rookery vermin—disgusting enough, but so common one hardly gave them a second thought.
Lord Wrexley, however, was another matter. Of the two men facing Finn across the table, Wrexley was the one who’d slide a blade between his ribs the moment he turned his back. Wrexley bore watching, because there was nothing more dangerous than a reckless man who didn’t have a thing to lose.
“You’ll regret it soon enough, Huntington. Harley has the devil’s own luck at cards. Damn it, Harley.” Lord Derrick raised his voice. “Why can’t you wager over bank notes, like every other scoundrel in London?”
Harley peered over the edge of his cards, his infuriating grin widening. “Wearewagering over bank notes. If you recall, Lady Honora has fifty thousand of them.”
“Miss Somerset has forty thousand, and eyes so deep a blue she’s brought half of London to its knees.” Lord Derrick shot a contemptuous look across the table. “But I suppose that isn’t bloody good enough foryou, is it, Harley?”
Harley laughed. “What a romantic notion. But if forty thousand and a pair of blue eyes were enough to tempt any of us, we wouldn’t be in the middle of this wager.”
“Quite the opposite, Harley. Why bother to wager for a lady who doesn’t tempt you?” Lord Wrexley curled his fingertips over the edge of his cards, his lips stretching into a provoking grin as his gaze met Finn’s. “I’d sink lower than my knees for Miss Somerset.”
Lord Derrick snorted. “So low you’d wager over your own cousin’s future, as if she were a prime bit of horseflesh at Tattersall’s? Lady Honora deserves better from all of you, but especially from you, Wrexley.”
Wrexley shrugged, and rapped a knuckle on the table. “Finish it, Harley.”
Lord Harley tossed a card across the table to him, then looked at Finn. “Well, Huntington? Another card, or will you hold?”
Finn glanced down at his hand again. They were playingvingt-et-un, and he held fourteen points. It didn’t look promising.
He tapped the table once. Harley passed him a card, then placed the deck face-down beside him, without taking a card for himself.
Another bad sign.
“What the devil have you got against Miss Somerset, Huntington?” Lord Derrick’s scowl was turning blacker with each card tossed across the baize.
“She’s well enough.”
This terse answer didn’t satisfy Lord Derrick. “She’s as lovely a lady as I’ve ever seen, and you don’t give a bloody damn if her fortune is ten thousand shy of Lady Honora’s. Why not just court Miss Somerset, and be done with it?”
For any other gentleman, Miss Somerset was a tempting option. She’d been raised in Surrey, and still had a tedious whiff of the country in her manners, but even so she was undeniably a diamond of the first water. Despite her success on the London marriage mart, however, she wasn’t Finn’s first choice. She did have beautiful eyes—that much was beyond dispute—but there was occasionally a flash of willfulness in those blue depths Finn didn’t quite like.
“Too lively for my tastes.”
Lady Honora Fairchild, on the other hand, was the type of young lady who’d never give him a moment’s concern. She was as docile and sweet-tempered as a new spring lamb, and thus the perfect choice for a wife. She’d make a splendid marchioness.
Lord Derrick crossed his arms over his chest and lapsed into a moody silence.
