Page 2 of A Bet with a Duchess (The Gambling Dukes #1)

TWO

Georgiana

I tapped my fork on the mahogany table. It echoed around the breakfast room as my eye slowly moved along the table absolutely laden with the components for a cooked English breakfast: bacon, eggs, sausages, fried potatoes, herring…and a bottle of red wine.

Markham always said it was the best thing to have for breakfast. I had never known whether to believe him, or consign it as one of the things he said to draw a rise out of me.

And thinking of drawing a rise out of me…

I tapped her fork again, the rhythm increasing as my irritation grew. All my friends had risen, breakfasted, and left. A luncheon that I had been invited to, but had been forced to decline—with regrets, of course, I wasn’t an animal—because I had to babysit the damned journalist.

The journalist who was male.

Very male.

I swallowed as I thought back to the previous evening, the third glass of wine I had almost swallowed in one, my nervousness at seeing such a person arrive in the stead of the quiet journalist I had presumed I had invited.

“Eight o’clock, sharp,” I had told Mr. Fynn Monroe last night as tipsiness threatened to overwhelm my mind. Safer indoors, in my own bedchamber. “I’ll see you in the breakfast room.”

I turned slightly and glanced at the longcase clock slowly ticking the day away.

A quarter past nine.

Over an hour late. What on earth did the man?—

“Good morning, my lady.”

Every inch of my body tautened. Blast, why did I have to respond to the man’s mere voice?

Slowly, I turned to glare at the man who had just stepped into the breakfast room, mouth open to dress him down for his rudeness and tardiness.

My mouth stayed open, but no words came out.

Well, who could blame me? The stiff and suited man who had appeared yesterday had been handsome, yes, if you liked that rather obvious chiseled jaw, stubble carefully groomed down the neck, and tall stature.

But here he was, Mr. Fynn Monroe, in a light blue suit which was just a little tighter around his shoulders than I would have predicted, a crisp cravat tied elegantly, and a smile.

Dear God, how had he even managed to get into it? Was the thing painted on?

“My lady?”

I swallowed. I was not going to lose all self-control merely because the man was handsome. The man who was attempting to ruin my club, and my friends.

There it was; the calm, rational, precise reasoning that I was for renowned in the Gambling Dukes. All hints of lust—and that was all it was, appreciation of the male form—were pushed decidedly away, and in its place rose irritation and calm.

“I suppose you want to get started right away,” said Mr. Monroe with a lazily smile, picking up a piece of toast, taking a mouthful, and leaning against the table.

I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how irritated I had been. “There’s no hurry,” I said airily, leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs.

Just for a second, my ankles were visible under the light green linen dress I had chosen for this continued heatwave.

A flash of something—a spark of something I had not expected to see in the hack’s face.

Desire.

I swallowed, though forced myself to remain entirely impassive.

So, that was interesting. He thought me beautiful; or at least, his subconscious did. Interesting.

Well, far be it not to use any weapons in my arsenal. Not that it would come to that.

There was nothing to find here at Dalhurst Manor. The blasted man would discover that in a week, and disappear back to London with his tail between his legs.

A wry smile teased across Mr. Monroe’s face as he swallowed the last of the toast. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

“No, I'm not,” I lied stiffly.

Was it hotter in this room? It certainly felt hotter.

“Well in any case, I must apologize for my tardiness,” said Mr. Monroe with a laugh. “Turns out I was far more exhausted from the journey than I thought.”

I blinked. There was a crumb just below his bottom lip. It sat there, teasingly, as though it was waiting for me to?—

Absolutely not, I told herself firmly. This was business—the business of the Gambling Club, and nothing was more vital. What else did I have in my life? No child, poor Paul was not up to such things. My parents gone, taken swiftly from influenza, one after the other.

No, the Gambling Club was all I had. All I needed.

And if this Monroe character was attempting to sniff out scandal to ruin it, to take the only joy in my life away from me…

Not that there was anything to find. But still.

That did not matter when it came to London’s elite. Just the suggestion of humiliation was enough to scare Society away.

“Just so tired,” Mr. Monroe explained, licking his lips and discovering the crumb.

My stomach tightened. I absolutely should not be thinking of the man like this, I thought darkly. And I wouldn’t. Not from this moment onwards.

“I shall ensure one of the footmen awakens you next time,” I said coldly. “Now, shall we make a start?”

Mr. Monroe nodded, looking the absolute picture of calm. It was infuriating. “Definitely—I want to win that bet.”

“The bet I will win.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” he said with a laugh as I rose to my feet. “I’ll get my scoop, win some sort of prize I dare say?—”

“You do?”

“—and win this bet from you,” Mr. Monroe finished with a grin.

I tried not to glare at the blaggard.

Well! The cheek of it; coming here as my guest, when I could easily have just sent one of the club’s lawyers—and I had a whole stableful of them—to frighten him off the scent of a trail that did not even exist.

Mr. Monroe stepped toward me and I was overcome in an instant by an entirely different scent.

And this one was very real.

I breathed in the man’s cologne, one that had drifted on the warm air by the lake last night, but now freshly applied was absolutely heavenly. A dark mixture of musk and jasmine, a fragrance few men would consider but I was drinking in as though I had never breathed before.

“Lady Cartice?”

I stiffened. The irritating man was only a foot away, he must have stepped forward when I did not do anything, lost in…

Oh, damn. Lost in heady images of being pulled into Mr. Monroe’s arms, that strength I could see now felt across my skin as he tilted my head back and kissed my neck, the warmth of his lips?—

“Lady Cartice, are you quite well?”

I cleared her throat. This was because I was lonely, that was all. I had been a widow for months but not taken a lover as I could because…well, I did not know why.

“Perfectly well, thank you,” I said coldly.

The last thing I needed was the damned fool thinking he had any genuine influence.

“What were you thinking for the terms of the bet?” asked Mr. Monroe, gesturing that I should step before him.

I was flattered at first, then reminded myself the idiot had no idea where I would be taking him. He was no gentleman, he was nothing but a weasel, a weasel trying to ferret out a secret that did not exist.

And that was all.

Confidence rushed through me as I thought of the bet. Perhaps a foolish thing to do in most circumstances, I thought as they stepped into a sunlit corridor that ran the full length of the west side of Dalhurst Manor, and I knew my friends thought me reckless to engage in such a thing.

But what was the harm in a little flutter when I held all the cards?

Mr. Monroe appeared beside me as we walked, and I found myself saying, “What terms would you like?”

I tried not to glance at him, focusing entirely on the route before us. After all, it was not as though I wanted another look at the man; a closer look, standing as we were only a few inches apart.

His shrug grazed my shoulder, shooting teasing sparks of something I did my best to ignore down my arm. “If I find something?—”

“Which you won’t.”

“—which I will, then I publish,” finished Mr. Monroe as we turned a corner.

I prevented myself from smiling. That was hardly a bet; he would have done that anyway, if he could find something. If there was something to find. Which there wasn’t.

“And if you don’t?”

We stopped outside a door and I did what I had already promised myself I would not do, and turned to look at Mr. Monroe. He was looking at me, his eyes shrewd, and only then did I realize just how close he was.

Close enough to?—

“If I don’t?” Mr. Monroe repeated, a teasing smile on his lips. “Why, Lady Cartice, then you can do whatever you want with me.”

Heat seared my cheeks, despite my best efforts. Whatever I wanted? What I wanted right now was to kiss the man silly then pack him off back to London so I would never have to see him again.

I forced a smile. “Well, as I will be winning this bet, I will have to think about it.”

Fynn

She was doing this on purpose.

It was the only thought in my mind, though that was hardly impressive. Not with Lady Cartice droning on and on about the club’s history in the library of their own manor house.

“…that, of course, made that obsolete, leading to the creation of a commission to investigate the regulations impending on the betting in England since 1651…”

I blinked, but my concentration did not return. We had been here for over an hour—at least, it felt like it. Without a clock I had no way of telling. It was strange, the fact that there was not one within the library—but I supposed one of them disliked the tick.

“…regrouped to discuss the commission’s findings,” Lady Cartice said smoothly, smiling banally at me from the armchair upon which she sat. “And naturally, when the recommendations were duly considered…”

She is doing it, I thought again more fiercely than before, on purpose. Leaning like that.

Perhaps she had designed this whole conversation to make me forget what I was here for. I swallowed as the Chief Legal Counsel of the Gambling Dukes leaned even more forward, her breasts dipping down. They may be restricted by that heavenly fitted green gown, but I could see every curve, almost feel the weight of them in my palms.

All I had to do was rise, push back my chair, lean forward and pull the tantalizing woman into my arms. Or across the breakfast table from earlier.

The blasted thing looked about the right size too, more’s the pity.

“Mr. Monroe? Mr. Monroe, are you concentrating?”

I smiled weakly. “Yes.”

Just not on what you think.

Lady Cartice nodded and continued on with her monologue. “When the regulations were confirmed, there were some discreet conversations undertaken with dukes and duchesses of the highest ranks …”

Though irritation prickled at the corners of my heart, I had to admit I was impressed.

Well. It was not everyone who could drone on for this long about the legal repercussions of gambling and betting and almost entirely keep my attention.

Though admittedly it wasn’t her speech that had me so transfixed.

Time to do something, or the stiffness in my breeches was going to be painfully obvious when I stood up.

“—outdated examples of?—”

“Lady Cartice,” I interrupted, leaning forward myself. “I know you are hiding something.”

There. Just a flicker, nothing more, and it was quashed the instant it arrived.

But I had seen it; just a hint of panic in her eyes. Her dark blue eyes. Eyes that captivated him in a most pleasant way.

I shook my head as though ridding my ears of water. Concentrate, man!

“I have absolutely no idea what you mean, Mr. Monroe,” said Lady Cartice sweetly, tilting her head.

The stirrings I had absolutely been denying sharpened. I cursed silently, hoping to goodness she did not see just how swiftly I was influenced by the merest hint of sensuality in her frame.

The woman could conquer the world, become noble merely by marrying a duke, I thought feverishly, and then…what, studied every book on the law she could find?

“Of course you do not,” I said smoothly—far more smoothly than I felt. “You don’t know because you don’t want to know. Because as the Chief Legal Counsel of The Gambling Dukes, knowing the secret that the club is hiding would make you liable.”

The teasing flirtatious look immediately disappeared from the woman’s face. “I beg your pardon?”

“Which is why I have no doubt that your friends have kept this, whatever it is, from you,” I pressed on, sure I was getting close now. Why else would she prickle so at my words? “You cannot be blamed for such shortcomings, Georgiana, when?—”

“Lady Cartice.”

She did not precisely snap, but the clipped tones were sharp and I felt cut by them.

So, she wanted to play it that way, did she?

I smiled, leaning back in my chair and stretching out my arms. “You’re not to blame, Lady Cartice. I would be furious too, if I knew my friends were keeping something from me that I would want to?—”

“My friends do not keep anything from me,” Lady Cartice bit back, a temper I had not expected rising to the fore. “How dare you?”

“I dare because I have to know,” I said, excitement stirring in his stomach. I was on to something, I knew it. Why else would she respond this way? “A secret in such a respectable and yet new club such as this, you must know how it will affect?—”

“You speak of what you do not understand, and I pity your lack of understanding, for I have just spent the better part of twenty minutes explaining it to you,” Lady Cartice said with a wry smile.

I blinked. Twenty minutes?

“You think that because I am young, because I am a woman, I cannot possibly know what is going on in my own club,” Lady Cartice said sweetly.

There was something dangerous under that sweetness. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I immediately attempted to backtrack.

“That is not what I?—”

“And I have met men like you, arrogant men, wealthy men sometimes, intelligent men at times, men who believe anyone who is worth knowing should be someone like them, arrogant and intelligent,” said Lady Cartice firmly, rising slowly to her feet.

Her gaze did not waver and I was transfixed. She was magnificent. How had I ever doubted her?

“And that’s the rub, of course,” she said with a laugh, “because I am just as intelligent, and just as arrogant. Maybe more. I know my worth, Mr. Monroe, I know my abilities, and they far exceed most of the men I have the misfortune to meet.”

“I-I did not think?—”

“Evidently. So you will have to believe me when I tell you that there is no secret in the Gambling Dukes, save that we truly understand human nature and in doing so, win almost all of our bets,” she said sweetly.

I tried to smile. “That’s a good line.”

For a heart stopping moment, I thought she was going to shout at me. There was certainly enough rage simmering under that beauty, rage I had not believed possible.

And I had underestimated her. Badly.

But not why she thought.

Lady Cartice inclined her head. “One of Lilah’s. Another woman, may I note, who has had an impressive positive force on the club.”

Slowly, far too slowly because I was only now noticing just how much of her curvaceous hips I could see as she stood, Lady Cartice sat.

“You are clever,” I said quietly. “And arrogant, yes, and passionate, and beautiful?—”

“Beautiful?” Lady Cartice’s brow furrowed.

“That’s not what I—the point is,” I said hurriedly, cursing my own ineptitude. What on earth possessed me to say that? “My point is, I never underestimated you because you are a woman.”

It was her turn to lean back in the soft leather chairs. “Yet you did underestimate me.”

Well, it would be churlish not to admit it. “I did.”

A moment of silence. I was half in a mind to rise and state I would pack up my bags now, return to London, the bet off—which would have been a shame. A full week staying in the same location as Georgiana, the Dowager Duchess of Cartice would have been a welcome respite indeed from the insipid women I’d considered courting these last few years.

Not that we were courting?—

Stick to the plan, I told myself sternly. You’ve done everything possible to uncover the Gambling Dukes’ secrets. You’re not going to leave now.

Lady Cartice smiled, slowly, her dimple appearing. “Not just a pretty face.”

I swallowed. Not only a pretty face, either. My mind slipped naturally to the rest of her, the curves of her, the power of her, the arrogance of her—yes, that word was well chosen.

She knew how beautiful she was, knew that trapping me in a room with her for hours on end—I didn’t believe for a moment it was only twenty minutes—was a surefire way of distracting my mind from the task at hand.

I grasped onto that thought tightly. The task at hand.

“You were saying,” I managed.

Lady Cartice raised an eyebrow. “I was?”

I nodded. If this was how she wanted to play the game, who was I to deny her? I was not entirely sure I could deny Lady Cartice anything. “Outdated examples of…?”

The look she gave me was pure suspicion, but I held it. Held it for longer than I had thought possible.

“Indeed,” Lady Cartice said softly. “Outdated examples of clubs limiting membership to only gentlemen, a shocking example of…”

I settled back in my armchair. Though this was perhaps not something I would admit, at least not aloud, I could listen to her talk for hours.

As long as I could look at her while she spoke.