I slipped away, plotted murder in my head, and wondered if I stole Lionel’s basket from between the duke’s legs if I could make it out of the gaming hell before one of the footmen stopped me.
Swatting my way through the crowd, I walked back to the barrister.
“How long will the duke make me suffer?”
Thackery slid me his glass of wine he nursed. The level of it looked untouched. “LaCroy, you look like you need this more than me.”
A groom came and pressed a note in my palm.
I took it, my hands visibly shaking.
It was in Lady Shrewsbury’s script. She was outside and wanted to know how everything was going. “Mr. Thackery, your aunt’s in the duke’s carriage. I think you should collect her and Mrs. St. Maur and take them back to Hamlin.”
“LaCroy, you don’t seem to be doing so well in your present negotiations. Perhaps you should come, too. The duke is only going to stay as long as you do.”
“I’ve had enough games and disguises, sir. I understand my limits.”
The barrister settled the bill, tossing a few coins from his purse. “Don’t lose heart. You have a duke and a baby chasing after you. You must be some kind of woman. Evening, LaCroy.”
Thackery strolled to the door, and I heard claps from the hazard table.
Seems the duke won again.
I sniffed the barrister’s wine and took a drink. If I wanted to be drunk and deadened to pain, I’d down the thing. The way my heart hurt right now, as if it had been ripped from my sticky chest, it was clear the duke had won everything.
* * *
Busick held the dice in his palm and watched the barrister leave.
“Come on, Repington,” the operator said. “Don’t let that arm grow cold.”
He rolled again and won his nick. “I think it’s time to stop.”
“Your Grace, you need to give the house a chance to win back its money. Surely, you want another turn?”
“Roll ’em.” One man started the chant, then another picked it up, too.
It wasn’t the same as his soldiers voicing their meter in a march, but it was stirring. Wellington eschewed gambling, so Busick would, too. He passed the dice to the man on his right, then hefted the bread basket.
Lionel started to stir, wiggling his blanket. Any moment he’d fully awaken and would be ready to dine.
He made his way through the crowd to where Patience sat.
Was it wrong to admire the shapely cut of her legs, or the way the pantaloons made her backside a viewable work of art?
He stopped staring before he became known as even more eccentric. “LaCroy, would you like me to drop you off somewhere?”
She didn’t glance at him, her gaze stayed steady on the blanket. “I’m quite ready to go.”
Patience took the basket at such a speed, he thought her capable of fleeing, but Busick knew she’d not run from battle. She’d hear him out first.
“I’ll get your hat, Your Grace.”
He let her retrieve it, and then they walked side by side onto the street.
She released a sigh. It was deep, shaking him at his core.
Had she suffered as much as he, thinking of the jeopardy her scheme afforded?
