The woman was too tempting and altogether too dangerous, and it would be best if he stayed away from her. He turned to bid her farewell. “My lady.”
“Don’t call me that here,” she said.
“I shall call you that wherever I like. It is your due, is it not?”
“That’s not why you use it.”
It wasn’t. But he did not admit it. Instead, he said, “Do we have an agreement?”
It took her a moment to follow, and he resisted the pleasure that came at the knowledge that he unsettled her as much as she did him.
“I shall take it to Chase.” Her beautiful amber eyes met his. “This can never happen again.”
He raised a brow. “There’s one way to ensure it doesn’t.” Her gaze turned questioning. “Get me my information. And I’ll get you married.”
He turned and left the room. And the club.
Vowing to resist the woman.
Chapter 7
… Lady G— once more, dear readers! Beautifully turned out at the opera in robin’s egg blue. And there has never been a more beautiful chick to emerge from such a casing. The aristocracy is no doubt thrilled by the lady’s return and very eager to witness her rise…
… With the three owners’ impressive marriages in the last twelve months, we recommend that women on the hunt limit their search to members of a certain casino. We are coming to believe that there is something remarkable in its water supply…
The gossip pages of The News of London, April 24, 1833
“Chase is halfway to sleeping with Duncan West,” Bourne said, taking his seat at the owners’ table, tumbler of scotch dangling from his fingers.
She’d done her best to avoid her partners since the embarrassing incident involving West and Temple two days earlier. In fact, she’d almost skipped the faro game that stood for the owners of the Angel every Saturday evening. She’d almost taken to her rooms in frustration and embarrassment.
But she was not a coward, and her partners would have happily called her one if she’d missed the card game.
Nevertheless, it did not mean that she was required to tolerate their questioning.
She pretended Bourne had not spoken, and leaned forward to collect her cards from the table, used only for this game. She, Temple, and Cross played while Bourne occupied the fourth chair with his scotch. The Marquess of Bourne had lost everything in a game of cards on the day he’d turned eighteen, and had not played since.
Unfortunately, he attended the games nonetheless, complete with his foolish grin. He did not seem to care that she had not replied to his initial overture. Instead, he continued, “Though it sounds to me that there would not have been much sleeping involved.”
“I should never have saved your asses all those years ago,” she said.
Six years earlier, Temple and Bourne had been running dice games on the edge of Seven Dials, and they’d made more than a few enemies. On the night Georgiana had decided to offer them the chance to enter into partnership with her, she’d saved them, quite luckily, from a group of ruffians who would have taken their money and left them for dead.
“Probably,” he said happily as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “But lucky for all of us, you didn’t.”
She scowled at him. “It is not too late to have you handled.”
“As you are occupied with handling West, I cannot imagine you would have the time for Bourne,” Cross said as he took the round.
She tossed her cards to the table, turning wide eyes on him. “You, as well?”
He smiled, there, then gone. “I’m afraid so.”
“Traitor.” She looked to Temple. “And you? Do you have insults to add to the pile?”
Temple shook his head as he shuffled the cards, the waxed paper flying through his fingers before he dealt the cards expertly around the table. “I want nothing to do with this. In fact, if my memory of the event were wiped clean, I would not be unhappy about it.” He closed his eyes. “Like seeing one’s sister in the nude.”
“I was not nude!” she protested.
“It was close enough.”
“Was it?” Bourne asked, his curiosity piqued.
“It was nowhere near close enough,” she insisted.
“But you would have liked for it to have been?”
Yes. No. Perhaps. Georgiana pushed the unwelcome response aside. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Bourne turned to Temple. “Do you think we should tell her that she didn’t answer the question?”
She looked down at her cards, cheeks hot. “I hate you.”
“Which one of us?” Temple asked, playing a card.
“All of you.”
“It’s a pity, as we are your only friends,” Bourne said.
It was true. “And asses every one of you.”
“They say you can tell a man by his friends,” he replied.
“It is a good thing I am a woman,” she said, discarding.
“Which Temple can now confirm.” Bourne paused. “Why do you think none of us have ever had cause to see for ourselves before now?”
Death was too kind for Bourne. He deserved some kind of torture. She glared at him, considering any number of medieval devices. Temple laughed. “We’ve already established that she’s more sister than seductress. None of us would consider it.”
“I considered it,” Bourne said, refilling his drink. “Once or twice.”
The entire table looked to him.
“You did?” Cross asked, voicing all their shock.