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His wastrel Uncle Martin, Earl of Marchant, had all but bankrupted the earldom, and his three sons practically prostituted themselves into loveless marriages to heiresses to fill the family’s hollow coffers once more. Jack’s mother had fallen in love with a gambling sot who had sent the family to the poorhouse for a time.

Both his parents had died in that hellhole, leaving him to care for his younger brother.

Jack never intended to be a pauper again, nor would he follow in his rakehell father’s footsteps. Toward that end, he eschewed the same temptations, and even though he could’ve increased his and Duncan’s fortunes exponentially by adding gaming rooms to his restaurants or turning them into gaming hells, he refused to do so.

Money dishonorably earned was tainted. Funds gained by hard work, shrewdness, or others’ ineptness, on the other hand…

“Thank you.” Aubriella angled her long neck to meet his gaze as she sipped. “Papa is most considerate.”

She knew as well as Jack did that he fibbed.

Mrs. Templeton had set aside a separate salon for card and dice games—but only for forfeit prizes. Mrs. Templeton didn’t allow gambling for profit in her grand home. Wise lady.

“This afternoon, after I posed for your sketching, you promised me a game of hazard, Miss Penford.” That wasn’t entirely true. She hadn’t asked him to sit for her. Her talent was such that she could quickly sketch a scene, image, or person and had done so while the others labored over a single drawing.

Neither had she promised him a toss of the dice.

“Please excuse me.” She rose and, graceful as a swan, skirted an armchair.

Jack extended his arm, and after the merest hesitation, she slid her gloved hand into the crook. After taking a casual sip of wine, she glanced at him from the corner of her eyes.

“I don’t recall promising you to play hazard,” she said.

He winked as they strolled toward the card room. “It was the only excuse I could think of at the spur of the moment to save you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t need saving.”

“We all need saving at some time or other.” He grinned down at her.

“Jack.” A female titter accompanied the calling of his name. “That is, Mr. Matherfield.”