No Good Duke Goes Unpunished
Page 58Lavinia.
Surely he’d misunderstood. “Lavinia?”
“She is here.”
She couldn’t be. She wouldn’t risk herself. She wouldn’t risk her children. Fury flared, hot and quick. “Are we simply allowing entry to every woman in London these days?”
Chase was still attempting to see inside the room. “Some of us are more to blame for the recent rash of peeresses than others. She is in your office.”
Cross swore, harsh and soft.
“Shame on you. In front of a lady, no less.”
He closed the door on Chase’s smug face, turning to Pippa.
What a disaster.
She and his sister, under the same, scandalous roof, and it was his fault.
Goddammit.
He was losing control of the situation, and he did not care for it.
She had edged closer, her curiosity making her brave, and she was only a few feet from him. Two minutes earlier, and he would have closed the distance and kissed her senseless.
But Chase’s intrusion was best for both of them, clearly.
Perhaps he could will it to be true.
He had to deal with his sister.
Now.
Her eyes went wide. “You’re leaving me?”
“Not for long.”
She took a step toward him. “But you didn’t answer my question.”
Thank God for that.
He took a step back, reaching for the handle of the door. “I will be back,” he repeated. “You’re safe here.” He opened the door a crack, knowing that there was little he could do. Lavinia could not be left alone in the casino.
Not that Pippa was entirely trustworthy. Indeed, this lady could wreak no small amount of havoc if she were left to her own devices here, on the Other Side.
For a moment, he hovered between staying and going, finally meeting her big blue eyes and saying in his most commanding tone, “Stay.”
Lord, deliver him from women.
Did he think her a hound?
Pippa circled the hazard table, absently collecting the dice and rotating them over and over in the palm of her hand.
She hadn’t heard much, but she’d heard Cross say her name.
Felt the keen disappointment that came—altogether irrationally—with the syllables on his tongue.
He’d left her, for another woman. For Lavinia. The woman from the gardens.
With nothing more than a masterful, “Stay.”
And he hadn’t even answered her question.
She hesitated, turning to face one long edge of the table, placing her hands on the finely carved mahogany bumper that kept the dice from rolling right off the table and clattering to the floor. She tossed the dice that she had been clutching in frustration, not watching as they knocked against the wood and tumbled to a stop.
Leaning over the table, she stared long and hard at the hazard field, mind racing, the green baize, with its white and red markings, blurring as she considered her next course of action. For she certainly was not going to stand by and wait in this tiny, constricting chamber as all manner of excitements occurred in the club beyond.
Not while he scurried off to do whatever it was scoundrels did with women for whom they pined.
And he certainly pined for this Lavinia person.
He’d pined enough that he’d met her clandestinely, at Pippa’s betrothal ball. He’d pined enough that he chased after her today. And he clearly pined enough that honoring his commitment to Pippa was easily forgotten in Lavinia’s presence.
Suddenly, her chest felt quite tight.
Pippa coughed, standing straight, her gaze falling on the closed door to the little room where he’d left her. She lifted one hand to her chest, running her fingers along the bare skin above the edge of the wool bodice, attempting to ease the discomfort.
She took a deep breath, the thought of Cross’s rushing through the gaming hell and into the welcoming arms of his lady—who had clearly realized he was a man worthy of forgiving—overwhelming all others.
She was likely beautiful, petite, and perfectly curved. No doubt, she was one of those ladies who knew precisely what to say in any situation and never ever found herself saying the wrong thing or asking an inappropriate question.
Pippa would wager that his Lavinia could not name a single bone in the human body.
No wonder Cross adored her.
The tightness in her chest became an ache, and Pippa’s hand stilled.
Oh, dear. It was not physiological. It was emotional.
Panic flared. No.
She leaned back over the table, closing her eyes tightly and sucking in a long breath. No. She wouldn’t allow emotion into the scenario. She was here in the interest of discovery. In the name of research.
That was all.
She opened her eyes, searched for a point of focus, and found the dice she’d tossed earlier.
Her gaze narrowed on the winning toss.
Six and three.
Suspicion flared. She collected the dice. Rolled again. Six and three.
Inspected them carefully. Rolled again. Six and three.
Just one die. Three.
Three.
Three.
Her eyes went wide as understanding came. The die was weighted. The dice were weighted.
She hadn’t won.
He’d let her win.
He’d been directing the game all along.
There’s no such thing as luck.
He’d lied to her.
He’d been working the game, no doubt with losing dice, too . . . planning to fleece her of all her research plans, planning to take from her these last weeks of freedom before she was Countess Castleton. He’d stolen from her!
Worse, he’d stolen from her and left her to meet another woman.