Page 29 of A Gamble on the Duke (The Gambling Dukes #4)

“Get the scoop, get the story, uncover whatever lies they’re telling Society, and I don’t care how,” my editor had said with a fierce look just that morning before I had left the stifling office in London.

“Any means necessary?” I had quipped, raising a golden eyebrow and slinging my satchel over my shoulder.

My feet crunched on the gravel as I strode toward the impressive double doors of the manor. Dalhurst Manor.

God, to think one club had all this money—it was disgusting.

The Gambling Dukes.

No one had expected them. No one had predicted it.

A gambling club…founded by two dukes, and two duchesses.

All widowed. All in need of funds. All confident beyond belief, and winning money left right and center—it all felt too good to be true, if you asked me.

And so here I was: trying to investigate four members of nobility who all outranked me by miles.

The doorbell jangled. No one appeared.

I had foolishly dressed in my best suit, something to impress this Chief Legal Counsel of the Gambling Club who had issued the rather intriguing invitation. A bet; a bet that I couldn’t find anything even after staying a week with them.

Well, that was a bet I could not refuse; and I had the upper hand, for I knew I would find something. A week? A day, that was all I needed.

All I needed to prove this club who suddenly appeared in Society just a few months ago certainly had more nefarious dealings than anyone suspected.

When the door finally opened, I was hot, irritated, and ready to head to my guest bedchamber and take a long, hot bath. All I wanted was warm water on my tired muscles, but the butler, or whoever he was, merely smiled thinly .

“They are waiting for you,” he said quietly, then turned without saying another word.

I shifted my satchel and pulled my trunk through the…

It couldn’t be called a hallway. That would make it sound small, domestic, while this space…

If I hadn’t known I had left the heat and riot of London behind, I would have said I was standing in one of the majestic alcoves of St. James’s Palace, or one of the consulates.

Sunlight drifted lazily from the glass dome in the center of the ceiling, while a crystal chandelier simply coated in diamonds floated above me.

I couldn’t precisely see how it was hanging there.

The room was at least as large as the meager lodgings I had taken when appointed as a journalist for The Investigator— all I could afford after that rather unfortunate scandal.

I swallowed, pushing all thoughts of last year aside. I had come here to restore my reputation, not dwell on its loss.

“Come on,” said the butler ahead of me without turning around.

Lengthening my strides, I easily caught up with the woman, but it was another few minutes of walking through room after room.

How big was this place? How much space did one club of only four members need—though even I had to admit, the opulence and yet elegant décor of each room we strode through was impressive.

Drawing room, dining room, glimpses of rooms flashing past so quickly I couldn’t exactly see them; library, some sort of study, a billiards room?—

“They are by the lake,” said the woman, suddenly halting at a pair of French doors. “Good luck. ”

“Good—what?” I turned but the woman had already disappeared.

For some reason my throat was dry. Which was ridiculous, I told myself. I wasn’t about to be cowed by some old lawyer, even if he was the Chief Legal Counsel of a club for dukes and duchesses.

I had the brains, the intellect, and the ability to sniff out lies.

I’d learnt my lessons. It wouldn’t be long before I was back on the road to London, I thought to myself with a dry smile, whatever scandal it was this Gambling Dukes club was hiding in his notebook, and within days I would have broken the biggest financial story in London.

All I had to do was step forward and win this ridiculous bet.

I grasped the handle before me and pushed open the French doors. Leaving my trunk and satchel behind—no point taking those near a lake, sod’s law said I would drop them in—I strode forward, trying hard not to blink in the blinding light.

A gaggle of people sat and stood on one side of the magnificent aquamarine pool. Two men, clearly close friends, were laughing together, glasses of wine in hand. I swallowed. I was not going to think about how thirsty I was.

There was a dark haired woman in the most outrageous gown lounging with a half-finished drink in her hand. Her smile disappeared as soon as she saw me.

My jaw tightened. No need to get distracted. I was here for the scoop, nothing more.

Now, all I had to do was figure out which of these tall men was the one who had been so foolish as to offer such a ridiculous bet. None of them looked old enough.

“Fynn Monroe,” I said firmly, halting before them and meeting each of their eyes in turn. None of the men looked away. “I believe you invited me?”

“So I did,” said a voice behind me that sounded almost amused. “My goodness. Now that is a surprise.”

I turned slowly on my heels and my heart most disobligingly skipped a painful beat as a woman stepped out from behind a tree. A woman I had not noticed.

Which felt impossible now. What, not notice this blonde beauty, a woman who absolutely radiated beauty and sensuality? Curves hardly hidden in the tightly fitted silk gown the same dark blue as her eyes, eyes that fixed on me most pleasantly?

My stomach lurched.

Well. Not my stomach. Something a little lower than my stomach.

Dear God, she was beautiful. I hadn’t known much about the ladies who had formed this club, and no wonder. They probably had to keep them here, far from London, to prevent any future members getting the wrong idea.

Like just how easy it would be to tear off that silk dress with my teeth, for example.

“Fynn Monroe,” said the woman with a teasing smile that made a dimple appear in her left cheek. She handed another glass to the other woman, then sipped one of her own.

I tried not to look at the way her lips pursed around the glass. What else could those warm lips be persuaded to?—

No.

Damnit, man, wasn’t this precisely the trouble you’d got into last time? Wasn’t it time to think with your head, not your manhood?

“Yes, I’m Fynn Monroe,” I said, rather foolishly it felt but in that moment I could hardly think of anything to say. “ I’ve come on the invitation of your friend—though I’ll admit, I know not which friend…”

I turned and looked back at the two men. Peregrine, the Duke of Markham. Alfred, the Duke of Kineallen.

But neither of them had names beginning with E.

E. Cartice.

“Oh, don’t tell me you didn’t give your name, Georgiana,” said the Duke of Markham with a laugh. “And neither did he! How delicious.”

I glanced at him, then back at the woman who pushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Georgiana?” I repeated slowly.

My brain was slow and I knew precisely why. This woman, this elegantly refined woman, peering up at me through dark luscious lashes, a teasing smile now growing on those lips I had only just been fantasizing about…

Georgiana, the Dowager Duchess of Cartice. E. Cartice. The hard-hearted, forceful, arrogant, infuriating Chief Legal Counsel I’ve been corresponding with for over a month?

“I…ah.” I forced a smile. “Would you consider me a cad if I said I thought you were a man?”

There was a snort from the other woman but I ignored it, all my focus on the woman before me.

Well, hell. There I’d been, certain I could cajole, outdrink, then outsmart the gentleman I had come all this way to see, duke or no…only to discover she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

Damn.

“You really did it,” said the other man. There was a look of unrestrained anger in his eyes, and it was not only directed at me, but at Georgiana. “You really invited the journalist. ”

“Kineallen,” said the Duke of Markham warningly.

“Aren’t we due a little peace after the hounding he’s already subjected us to?” the Duke of Kineallen continued with a snort, shaking his head. “Parasites.”

My jaw tightened. I knew full well what the rich and noble born thought of journalists like me; hacks was perhaps the most polite term I was given.

Parasites was a new one.

But I was not here to be complimented. I was not even here, I told himself firmly, to seduce and bed the most delectable woman I had ever seen. Even if the hackles on the back of my neck were rising at the mere suggestion of her gaze on me.

No. I was here to uncover what lies and mischief this gaggle of friends had done to gamble and almost always win, then return to London with the details before I ran the story.

And that was all.

I forced a smile. “What a wonderful week we are going to have. ”