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“I am seldom wrong,” the widow said.

The sweet scent of rose oil was imprinted on Jude’s brain. Green eyes, full pink lips, and skin as soft as silk. He had thought of nothing else for two days. Damn it. He was utterly bewitched. He had to return to the Lyon’s Den and find out more about the woman who’d fallen into his arms. Was she one of Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s “upstairs ladies,” or was she a client—a desperate woman looking for a husband? That was the most likely case. The petal throwing had seemed to be a game of sorts, and those usually ended in marriage. Fear struck his heart as the realization entered his mind: That meant she could already belong to someone else.

What am I doing? I cannot marry. I dare not marry. I will not marry. Never again. I made that promise to myself, and I will keep it.

He poured himself a brandy and swallowed it down, hoping it would lull his thoughts and cause him to want sleep. But it had the opposite effect. The more he tried to talk himself out of going to the Lyon’s Den, the more he desired it—the more he desired her. He had to find her. If only to sate his curiosity. Once he did that, he’d be satisfied. The mystery would be gone. Was she a lady of the night? Or was she as sweet on the inside as she appeared on the outside? Who was she? That was all it was—a desire to know, nothing more.

“He is downstairs,” Hermia said as she stepped into Bessie’s study. “He arrived a few minutes ago.”

Bessie smiled inwardly. She had been right, and that gave her almost as much satisfaction as the impending marriage that would inevitably take place. Her job as a matchmaker had not only made her rich, but it had also made her powerful. Noble marriages rarely involved love and were serious business arrangements, but she’d managed to be successful in both departments. She had a talent for matching men and women in marriage, and the couples she’d brought together were eternally grateful to her. She did not doubt that if all went to plan, the Earl of Cadwell would be yet another lord who’d be forever indebted to her.

Along with his lady. “And Miss Wentworth is safely ensconced in her chamber?”

“She is,” Hermia said.

“Excellent.” She rose from her chair behind her desk, exited her study, and walked with Hermia to the observation area above the gaming room.

She spotted Lord Cadwell easily. He was wandering restlessly through the room, craning his neck to see across the crowds. It was obvious that he was looking for his Miss Wentworth—his mystery woman. Bessie knew she would have been on his mind ever since he’d stormed out of the Lyon’s Den two nights ago. Though he would have tried, he couldn’t stay away. Men were predictable creatures, Bessie thought with a smile. Still, this would require patience. Bessie knew that the longer Lord Cadwell waited for Miss Wentworth to appear, the more he’d want her.

He was still there, searching, when Bessie went downstairs and entered the game room. “Lord Cadwell,” she said, feigning surprise as she approached him. “I am so pleased you’ve graced us with your presence again. I thought you might not be back.”

He cleared his throat. “I may have overreacted.”

Indeed. Bessie was grateful for her veil; it hid her smile. She trained her voice to be placid instead of amused. “Well, you had quite the shock. It’s not every day a beautiful woman falls from the heavens into your arms.”

“Yes, about that,” he said, and it was clear to Bessie that he was trying to appear nonchalant. “I should like to inquire after the young lady. She wasn’t injured, was she?”

“No, she’s quite well thanks to you.”

“I didn’t have the pleasure of an introduction, otherwise I would have asked her myself,” he said.

“Oh, would you like that?”

He shrugged. “I shouldn’t mind it.”

“To what purpose?”

“Does there need to be a purpose?”

“There’s always a purpose. You know that. She’s not one of my upstairs girls, otherwise I could easily have arranged—”

“That isn’t my aim. I only wanted to inquire about her after the incident.”

“Mmm…is that all? I think you may want something more,” Bessie said. “But you think on it. Only, don’t take your time. The young lady won’t be in London much longer. And once she’s out of my protection, I’m afraid she’ll be lost to both of us.” Good. Her snare was set and the ropes tightened. They didn’t compare her to a black widow spider for nothing. Grinning to herself, Bessie turned to leave.

“Wait,” Lord Cadwell said, “what do you mean? Why is she in need of protection?”

Bessie kept walking as though she did not hear him, but as she brushed past Hermia, she said softly, “Send her down.”

Chapter Nine

Jude restrained himself from running after the widow who’d walked casually away, leaving him desperate to know more. She’d said that the lady was in danger and would be leaving London soon. Why? He started to follow the widow, but then stopped himself. What business is it of yours? You are no knight, just a flawed man who’s responsible for his own wife’s death. Do you think rescuing a stranger excuses what you did?

He turned and made for the gambling tables, reaching for a glass of brandy from an attendant with a trayful before he sat down. He swallowed the drink whole and then motioned to the attendant for another. Then he nodded at the whist dealer, who was shuffling the cards, indicating that he was ready to join the game. Four rounds later, he was deep into a losing streak, and his mind was clouded with brandy. He was behaving dangerously out of character, and it was time to stop. One had to keep one’s wits about when at the Lyon’s Den. He was usually watching the fools, not playing one. He pushed back his chair and stood up.

Exiting the gaming room, he stepped into the ballroom, but it held little interest for him. A restlessness plagued him, and he feared it would never leave him until he learned what he wanted to know. Why was Dove-Lyon keeping this woman masked and hidden from public view? Was the lady in question truly in some sort of danger? Or was this one of the widow’s games? He’d always prided himself on not falling into one of Dove-Lyon’s traps. Damn you, go home! Stop this recklessness. Alas, he could not. It seemed he had lost control of his own rationality.

Jude spotted Hermia across the room and made up his mind to request a meeting with the widow. It was the only way to get the answers he wanted. Keeping his eyes on Dove-Lyon’s fast-moving she-wolf, who never seemed to stay in one place for long, he strode forward and almost collided with someone who stepped into his path.