Read Online The Accidental Duchess by Madeline Hunter - Free Book Online
Authors: Madeline Hunter
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since she never wore them at the tables. On second thought, she also untied her bonnet, removed it, and set it aside, since she never wore hats or bonnets at the tables either. It might be best to mimic her appearance and state of mind as closely to what she brought to wagers as a matter of course. She was not superstitious as such, but if one has evidence of a force as irrational as luck, one tends to allow for other irrationalities.
Penthurst sat in his chair. He mixed the cards, stacked them neatly, and pushed the stack toward her. He lounged back comfortably. “You can go first, Lydia.”
She sat forward so her body almost touched the table. She tried to ignore him because she never paid attention to others at the tables. Unfortunately, she could not remove him from her mind completely. Even without looking at him she felt him there, his eyes on her, his presence pressing on her as if he gave off a measurable energy. He made her nervous, and imbued this risk with more danger than she wanted to acknowledge.
What a goose she was being. There was no danger. Not from the cards, at least. She would draw, win, collect, get rid of Mr. Trilby, and burn her manuscript once she had it back.
She spread the cards into a fan. Her fingers shook when she reached forward. Hand hovering, she made her choice. She plucked out a card and turned it over.
The queen of spades.
She raised her arms in triumphant excitement while a little cry of delight escaped her. She looked down on her queen, admiring it, enjoying the thrill of the win.
A hand came into view over the cards. A very male hand, but quite beautiful in its own way, long-fingered and leanly strong. Those fingers plucked out a card. It disappeared. She looked up to see Penthurst studying it. From his expression she knew she had won.
He appeared disinclined to throw it down with her queen. Laughing, she stood, leaned over the table, and grabbed it out of his fingers. She dropped it on the table, ready to gloat.
Her laughter caught in her throat. Her mind emptied. Looking up at her, side by side with her queen, lay the king of spades.
No.
Impossible
. What were the chances he would pull one of very few cards that could beat her? She stared at it.
Stunned, she sank back into her chair. “Did you fix it somehow?”
“Since you are distressed, I will pretend I did not hear that insult.”
Distressed hardly covered it. His voice caused a pang of terror to sound through her. She forced herself to look at him. He watched her in turn.
“I do not understand,” she mumbled. “I never lose on big wagers.”
“If you had asked your brother, he would have told you that I do not either.”
It did not seem fair that his luck should be better than hers, tonight of all nights. How was she supposed to predict such a thing? Now she had lost and he had won and— Oh, dear.
He stretched out his legs and crossed his boots. Eyes bright with devilish lights, he tapped the table, drawing attention once more to the cards. “How should we handle this, Lydia?”
“Handle what?”
“I assume we both want absolute discretion. I would rather Southwaite not call me out, and I am sure you would rather the world not know you gambled away your innocence.”
She could not find her voice to respond. Not that she had any intelligent response to give.
“Not in London, I think,” he went on, giving the matter deliberation. “It is easy for you to visit your family’s estate on the coast, isn’t it? You should make plans to go there in the next week. Take only that aunt of yours, the one who never watches you properly.”
“How do you know whether she watches me properly or not?”
“You are here, aren’t you?”
“My aunt Hortense is not my gaoler. I can move about town without her. I am a grown woman.”
“Indeed you are. I would never be planning how to bed you if you were not.”
Bed you
. That shocked her mind straight. She stared at Penthurst, trying not to imagine what that
Penthurst sat in his chair. He mixed the cards, stacked them neatly, and pushed the stack toward her. He lounged back comfortably. “You can go first, Lydia.”
She sat forward so her body almost touched the table. She tried to ignore him because she never paid attention to others at the tables. Unfortunately, she could not remove him from her mind completely. Even without looking at him she felt him there, his eyes on her, his presence pressing on her as if he gave off a measurable energy. He made her nervous, and imbued this risk with more danger than she wanted to acknowledge.
What a goose she was being. There was no danger. Not from the cards, at least. She would draw, win, collect, get rid of Mr. Trilby, and burn her manuscript once she had it back.
She spread the cards into a fan. Her fingers shook when she reached forward. Hand hovering, she made her choice. She plucked out a card and turned it over.
The queen of spades.
She raised her arms in triumphant excitement while a little cry of delight escaped her. She looked down on her queen, admiring it, enjoying the thrill of the win.
A hand came into view over the cards. A very male hand, but quite beautiful in its own way, long-fingered and leanly strong. Those fingers plucked out a card. It disappeared. She looked up to see Penthurst studying it. From his expression she knew she had won.
He appeared disinclined to throw it down with her queen. Laughing, she stood, leaned over the table, and grabbed it out of his fingers. She dropped it on the table, ready to gloat.
Her laughter caught in her throat. Her mind emptied. Looking up at her, side by side with her queen, lay the king of spades.
No.
Impossible
. What were the chances he would pull one of very few cards that could beat her? She stared at it.
Stunned, she sank back into her chair. “Did you fix it somehow?”
“Since you are distressed, I will pretend I did not hear that insult.”
Distressed hardly covered it. His voice caused a pang of terror to sound through her. She forced herself to look at him. He watched her in turn.
“I do not understand,” she mumbled. “I never lose on big wagers.”
“If you had asked your brother, he would have told you that I do not either.”
It did not seem fair that his luck should be better than hers, tonight of all nights. How was she supposed to predict such a thing? Now she had lost and he had won and— Oh, dear.
He stretched out his legs and crossed his boots. Eyes bright with devilish lights, he tapped the table, drawing attention once more to the cards. “How should we handle this, Lydia?”
“Handle what?”
“I assume we both want absolute discretion. I would rather Southwaite not call me out, and I am sure you would rather the world not know you gambled away your innocence.”
She could not find her voice to respond. Not that she had any intelligent response to give.
“Not in London, I think,” he went on, giving the matter deliberation. “It is easy for you to visit your family’s estate on the coast, isn’t it? You should make plans to go there in the next week. Take only that aunt of yours, the one who never watches you properly.”
“How do you know whether she watches me properly or not?”
“You are here, aren’t you?”
“My aunt Hortense is not my gaoler. I can move about town without her. I am a grown woman.”
“Indeed you are. I would never be planning how to bed you if you were not.”
Bed you
. That shocked her mind straight. She stared at Penthurst, trying not to imagine what that
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