Page 37 of The Danger of Desire

“Once in a while. Perhaps after this game, we should switch to vingt-un.”

Her brow clouded over. “I don’t like vingt-un.”

“Because vingt-un has more of an element of chance?”

“Because vingt-un was my father’s game,” she admitted.

Interesting. “Ah yes, I remember your saying your father was a gambler.”

“An avid one. My mother despaired over him.”

In that one sentence she told him more about her upbringing than she could have done in hours of polite conversation. Of course Mace Trevor would have been hard to live with. Gamblers usually were.

Warren’s brother Hart had been a heavy gambler in school. Fortunately, being an army officer had knocked that tendency out of him. He still played cards, but he’d found a profession that he enjoyed, so he felt less need to spend his time at the tables.

Besides, Warren had been very strict with him after their father had died. He’d not allowed his young brother any funds to pay his gambling debts, and Hart had soon learned not to gamble unless he was prepared to pay for it out of his own pocket.

Delia didn’t seem enamored of gambling, just what it could bring her. That no doubt came from having a famous father who’d won an estate with his skill.

“So, Jones,” Warren said, determined to make her realize the madness of her scheme, “what do you generally do with your winnings?”

She eyed him coldly. “I have a family, sir. I must take care of them.”

“Of course. Though I do wonder if your family is aware of how you go about supporting them.”

“It doesn’t matter. A man has to do what he must to fulfill his obligations.”

He couldn’t help snorting. “Indeed,a manmust. Still, gambling is an uncertain profession, even for someone as skilled as you.”

“Then why doyouengage in it, sir?”

“To entertain myself, of course.”

“Only a rich lord would entertain himself by losing money,” she muttered.

“I can afford it.” He eyed her over his hand. “And I don’t always lose.”

The barmaid from the previous night sauntered over and leaned down, probably purposely to give him an eyeful of her ample bosom. Whichwasquite nice. A pity he had no interest in it.

“Can I get you anything, my lord?” she cooed.

“He’s playing badly enough already, Mary,” Delia snapped. “Don’t distract him.”

Warren glanced at Delia to find her staring daggers at Mary. How interesting. The chit was jealous. Though he generally found jealousy in a woman tedious, in this case he rather enjoyed it. Because it meant she was as susceptible to him as he was to her.

“Ignore my surly friend,” Warren told Mary with a wink. “And fetch me a bottle of port. Only don’t put it too close to Jones. I don’t relish having another shirt ruined.”

The onlookers laughed as Delia hunkered down with a scowl.

“And here’s something for your trouble,” he added, and tucked a sovereign between Mary’s breasts, watching to see Delia’s reaction.

“Thank you, my lord,” Mary said silkily, and ran a hand up his thigh. “I’m happy to give you whatever pleases you. You need only ask.”

“Looks to me like he doesn’t even need to ask,” Delia grumbled.

Warren bit back a smile. “Poor Jones, without a woman to please him. Here’s another sovereign for you, Mary, if you go give Jones what you’re giving me.”

“Gladly, sir,” she said, and walked over to Delia.