Page 28 of A Marquess of No Importance (Inglorious Scoundrels #3)

The dining arrangement was unlike anything Rivendale had encountered in London.

Instead of a long formal table, the room featured three round gaming tables, each set for cards rather than dining.

Along the walls stood elaborate sideboards—buffets, as the French called them—crowded with dishes that filled the air with enticing aromas.

Carafes of wine and an impressive silver punch bowl waited nearby, with servants stationed to serve guests throughout the evening.

So they would dine while they played. Interesting.

As the other guests settled in, Melissande steered him toward the table where their host was taking his seat.

People stepped aside to make room for his chair, throwing curious glances at him and whispering speculations behind their fans.

Was he wounded in the wars? How had he managed to travel to France in his condition? What was a stunning woman like Miss Monroe doing at the side of a crippled marquess? He must be extraordinarily wealthy, and she undoubtedly his kept mistress.

Melissande seemed entirely oblivious to the whispers, or at least gave no sign of hearing them. She walked beside him with her head held high, an easy smile playing about her lips, her hand occasionally brushing against the back of his chair as though it were a throne befitting a king.

Rivendale made it his mission to ignore the whispers as well.

Monsieur Laurent murmured something to his footman, who immediately stepped forward to remove one of the chairs from the gaming table, creating space for Rivendale’s chariot-chair.

“That won’t be necessary,” Rivendale said quickly. “I shan’t be playing tonight.”

Laurent tilted his head in polite confusion. “But my lord, you came to a card party. Gaming is the entire purpose of this evening’s entertainment.”

“My sincere apologies, but I’m not particularly skilled at cards,” Rivendale replied smoothly. “I much prefer to observe. Please allow Miss Monroe to take my place at the table.”

The footman, following his master’s gesture, placed the removed chair a few feet away from the table and indicated that Melissande should be seated there—clearly as a spectator rather than a participant.

Laurent steepled his fingers and offered an apologetic smile. “My deepest regrets, Milord Rivendale, but this is explicitly a gentlemen’s card game. That designation was clearly stated on the invitation.”

Melissande’s spine stiffened visibly. “The invitation was addressed to the Marquess of Rivendale and guest. I am that guest.”

“Yes, but you see…” Laurent produced the invitation from his waistcoat. “It distinctly states ‘gentlemen’s card game.’ Surely you wouldn’t be so discourteous as to insist upon violating the stated terms.”

“And surely you cannot be ignorant of exactly who I am,” Melissande countered, drawing herself up to her full height.

“I assure you, Mademoiselle Monroe, I know precisely who you are,” Laurent replied pointedly.

Rivendale rose from his chair, planting his hands flat against the gaming table and leaning toward their host with barely controlled anger.

“Then you know she owns the most successful gaming establishment in London. I would wager my entire estate that she is more proficient at cards than any gentleman at this table. Or is that precisely why you insist she remain a spectator? Are you afraid she might actually win?”

Laurent spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

“The games we play are largely matters of chance, Milord Rivendale. My reluctance has nothing to do with skill. You must understand that the reason ladies are excluded from such entertainments is that it would be ungentlemanly to allow them to suffer losses. All the gentlemen would be obligated to fold their hands before the game even began, rather than risk taking winnings from a woman. We might as well simply present her with all our stakes and be done with it.”

“You would find it rude if men win against me, yet see it as perfectly polite to bar me from the game altogether?” Melissande asked, her brow arched.

“I fear that is simply how these things are conducted, Mademoiselle,” Laurent replied with a bow.

Rivendale was about to argue further, but Melissande bit her lower lip in that calculating way he recognized. The woman had an ace up her sleeve. “Then you would have no objection to me dealing the cards, would you?”

Laurent blinked, lost for words. “You wish to be the banquier?”

“Yes. I won’t be playing the game; I’ll just be dealing cards. That way, I won’t lose to anyone and will still be included.”

The gentlemen at the table exchanged glances.

Rivendale wasn’t sure what the plan was; he would still lose any hand he played. But he settled back into his chair, observing the others’ reactions.

Signor de Piro was the first to break the silence. “I see no harm in letting the lady deal the cards. In fact, I would very much enjoy it.” His gaze swept over Melissande, and she bowed with a coquettish smile on her lips.

Rivendale bristled. He hated the way men looked at her as if they were ready to devour her. But Melissande seemed to know her effect on them and had learned to use it to her advantage. The rapport she had built with them in the first few minutes of their acquaintance didn’t go to waste.

Baron von Donhoff was the second to capitulate to Melissande’s charm, and eventually, everyone else shrugged their collective agreement.

The croupier, who had been preparing to deal, bowed himself away from the table.

Melissande walked past Rivendale, casually dropping her beaded reticule into his lap as she passed.

Oh, Lord. Now the realization finally dawned on him: not only was the fate of the locket in his hands, but also the fate of Melissande’s jewels that she had acquired for this game.

He only hoped she wasn’t too attached to the items in the reticule.

Melissande gathered the cards into her elegant hands and smiled sweetly at the assembled gentlemen. Rivendale could have sworn he heard a chorus of audible sighs. He stifled the urge to roll his eyes.

These men were obviously taken by her charm. But who was he to judge? He was clearly just as ensnared.

“Well then, gentlemen,” she said with a silky voice, “shall we play?”