Page 4 of My Lady Rake

“Yes,” Dainsfield added, “I haven’t seen you talk to her at Tantalus. You don’t attend the same parties she does. Just how did this ‘wager’ come about?”

St. Ervan had no secrets from his friends, not exactly, but he had no desire to look like a lovesick fool as that boy Uppingham did. He tried to be vague. “I just proposed the first thing that came to mind.”

Damn, that was definitely the wrong word to use.

“Which was…?” Abingdon asked.

“Something I prefer to keep between Mrs. Stanhope and myself.” St. Ervan looked at the deck of undealt cards, wanting to change the subject. “Aren’t you close to the end of the deck?”

“Maybe half-a-dozen more rounds,” Parry said.

St. Ervan motioned to a footman to bring him a clean glass, then poured from the brandy bottle on their table. He sipped some just to keep from talking about Verity.

Was it a mistake to have invited her to his home this week? He couldn’t exclude her without it being blatantly obvious, since he’d invited so many of her friends And he wanted her there, even knowing she’d be oblivious to him. He was a piece of furniture to her, something you don’t notice unless it’s not in its place, like Abingdon, Dainsfield, and Gabriel, the third partner in the gaming hell, the Tantalus. St. Ervan didn’t have a stake in the club, although he should, with all the money he’d played there over the years. He, along with a few other men, were fixtures there, so Verity never joined a table he played at.

“You’re too old for her, you know,” Dainsfield said.

The comment brought St. Ervan’s thoughts back to the room. “I’m only a year or two older than her husband was.” Seven years older than Verity, to be exact, but they didn’t need to know he knew her age.

“And a good ten years older than any man she’s entertained since he died.” Parry continued to deal and take bets, but kept up with the conversation, too.

If St. Ervan were a dog, his hackles would have risen to go along with the growl wanting to escape his lips. He didn’t hold to society’s standards regarding women and their sexual habits, in fact, he rather enjoyed a few, but he hated when people discussed Verity in that way. Yes, she enjoyed the company of younger men, but that was no one’s business. He gritted his teeth and focused on the card in play, mentally placing a bet before Parry turned up the next card.

He lost.

He couldn’t have known the card was dead since he had missed a good portion of the play, but losing bothered him just the same, even when it wasn’t recorded on the score sheet. He hated to lose, period.

He’d not lose his wager with Verity this time. He’d make sure of it.

* * *

In the morning,St. Ervan woke early as usual, dressed, and went to the dining room for coffee and his newspaper. Normally, he’d have both in his study, but he had guests to entertain. If any men were eating breakfast, he’d invite them to ride one of his horses with him. Perhaps the women, too, although he wasn’t sure they’d have brought their riding costumes. Also, arranging for his curricle and phaeton to be readied seemed like a good deal of work with no destination in mind.

As it turned out, Verity was the only person in the room other than two footmen who stood ready to prepare a plate for new arrivals. Her plate was full, as if she’d just come downstairs.

Without waiting for help, St. Ervan took a plate and dished up some eggs and toast. When he sat, he nodded toward the coffee pot on the buffet table. A footman hurried to pour him a cup.

“How are you this morning?” St. Ervan asked Verity. “No overzealous breakfast partners assaulting you?”

She smiled and patted her lips with her napkin. “I’m well, thank you. As you see, I’m alone this morning.”

He chewed and swallowed his bite of eggs. “Good, good. And do you have plans yet? Perhaps we could take a drive around the estate. It’s warm out.” So much for not harnessing his horses.

“I’d like that,” she said simply.

Sending one of the young men to have the phaeton readied, St. Ervan then continued to eat. After several bites, he realized he was shoveling the food in to finish quickly. Verity ate at a polite pace, so he slowed down. “Is your coffee warm enough?”

“It’s tea, and it’s fine, thank you. Your servants see to all the needs of your guests exceedingly well.”

He nodded. His butler ran an excellent household no matter how many guests were visiting. St. Ervan took that as a point of pride. He tried to watch her without making her uncomfortable. Oh, but it was hard not to stare at that face. Today her dark chestnut hair was swept back from her face, twisted into a knot, with ringlets on her neck. Her skin was flawless, no sign of even the finest lines around her eyes, which were usually smiling. Those eyes, which he knew were hazel, seemed to study him as much as he did her, so he looked away.

“Will there be others joining our excursion?” she asked after sipping her tea.

“I hadn’t thought to invite anyone.” And he certainly wasn’t planning to now. He wanted time alone with Verity. Another thought occurred to him. “We can stop at a few shops in town, if there’s anything you need. Or just to pass the time. There’s a modiste with good reputation, and an all-sorts shop that always has items of interest.”

“Do they carry books?”

“No, but there is a small bookseller. We’ll call on him.”