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Authors: Marguerite Kaye
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wobbled as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, madam, that is twice the maximum stake permitted.”
“But…” Isabella looked up, embarrassed to find all eyes upon her. Impatient. Speculative. Inquisitive. Leering. Under her rouge, she blushed. Not all the women here were ladies of the ton . Not all the gamblers were gentlemen. With a heavy heart she took back half her counters. At this rate, she would never win as much as she needed. She must have the full funds by the end of the week or all would be lost. She simply had to win enough tonight.
“With the bank’s permission I will cover the bet, and any others the young lady cares to make.” The deep voice had just the trace of a Scottish lilt.
Startled, Isabella looked up into the most striking pair of eyes she had ever seen. Amber tinged with liquid brown, the colour of autumn leaves. For a moment they clashed with her own, causing a flicker of excitement to shiver down her spine. A sculpted mouth curled in a half smile.
“Captain Dalgleish,” the banker exclaimed in surprise. “This is most unusual.”
He flashed her a smouldering, flirtatious smile. “Unusual, Mrs Bradley, but I’m sure you can find a way to accommodate me.”
The banker smiled coquettishly. “Captain Dalgleish, I’d wager there’s scarcely a woman in London who wouldn’t be willing to accommodate you in any way you saw fit. If I was twenty years younger I might even be tempted myself.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the onlookers.
Ewan’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Madam, that is a regret we will both have to live with.” The crowd roared its approval. “Perhaps this will ease the pain somewhat,” Ewan said, passing her a sweetener which she quickly palmed, indicating her acceptance with a coy fluttering of her lashes.
An air of heightened excitement eddied round the room at this new, unexpected development. Jaded gamesters tilted back their straw hats to stare. High class birds of paradise and raddled society grandes dames alike peered curiously from behind their painted and lace-trimmed fans. Into the brief silence blew a flurry of whispered asides.
“ Rescued the climbing boy himself. They say he whipped the master. ” “ Apparently, he’s no stranger to the Roundhouse at St Giles. Locked up overnight with common thieves more than once. ” “ They say he found an escaped slave begging on the streets, set him up as an apothecary, no less. ”
Captain Dalgleish drew the attention of the whole room inexorably towards him with all the natural and unconscious ease of a magnet pointing a compass northward.
In common with everyone else, Isabella stared. When she had first heard tell of him he had been new to town, as famed for his daring exploits on the battlefield as he was infamous for his public condemnation of the American war in which he had fought. Now he was just as notorious, but for his hell raising. Ewan Dalgleish was not a man who lived by society’s rules. A rebel in every sense, she thought enviously. Why on earth would he want to cover her bet? But unless he did—no, she would not allow herself to think of the consequences of failure.
She watched him covertly as he placed a roll of notes onto the table. He was tall, with his coat cut in the new fashion buttoned tight across his chest, showing off the breadth of his shoulders, the severity of the rich black velvet cloth lightened only by the glimpse of a dove-grey waistcoat, the fall of white linen with just a hint of lace at his throat. The deep copper of his hair glinted bright as a new-minted penny in the candlelight. It was a memorable face. High cheekbones with a small scar visible on the leftone, a sabre cut no doubt. A strong, determined jaw. His colouring gave him an untamed look. The perfection of his tailoring somehow served to draw attention to the muscles hidden underneath. A mountain lion, Isabella thought with a shiver. Strength and power barely concealed under a veneer of
“But…” Isabella looked up, embarrassed to find all eyes upon her. Impatient. Speculative. Inquisitive. Leering. Under her rouge, she blushed. Not all the women here were ladies of the ton . Not all the gamblers were gentlemen. With a heavy heart she took back half her counters. At this rate, she would never win as much as she needed. She must have the full funds by the end of the week or all would be lost. She simply had to win enough tonight.
“With the bank’s permission I will cover the bet, and any others the young lady cares to make.” The deep voice had just the trace of a Scottish lilt.
Startled, Isabella looked up into the most striking pair of eyes she had ever seen. Amber tinged with liquid brown, the colour of autumn leaves. For a moment they clashed with her own, causing a flicker of excitement to shiver down her spine. A sculpted mouth curled in a half smile.
“Captain Dalgleish,” the banker exclaimed in surprise. “This is most unusual.”
He flashed her a smouldering, flirtatious smile. “Unusual, Mrs Bradley, but I’m sure you can find a way to accommodate me.”
The banker smiled coquettishly. “Captain Dalgleish, I’d wager there’s scarcely a woman in London who wouldn’t be willing to accommodate you in any way you saw fit. If I was twenty years younger I might even be tempted myself.”
A ripple of laughter spread through the onlookers.
Ewan’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Madam, that is a regret we will both have to live with.” The crowd roared its approval. “Perhaps this will ease the pain somewhat,” Ewan said, passing her a sweetener which she quickly palmed, indicating her acceptance with a coy fluttering of her lashes.
An air of heightened excitement eddied round the room at this new, unexpected development. Jaded gamesters tilted back their straw hats to stare. High class birds of paradise and raddled society grandes dames alike peered curiously from behind their painted and lace-trimmed fans. Into the brief silence blew a flurry of whispered asides.
“ Rescued the climbing boy himself. They say he whipped the master. ” “ Apparently, he’s no stranger to the Roundhouse at St Giles. Locked up overnight with common thieves more than once. ” “ They say he found an escaped slave begging on the streets, set him up as an apothecary, no less. ”
Captain Dalgleish drew the attention of the whole room inexorably towards him with all the natural and unconscious ease of a magnet pointing a compass northward.
In common with everyone else, Isabella stared. When she had first heard tell of him he had been new to town, as famed for his daring exploits on the battlefield as he was infamous for his public condemnation of the American war in which he had fought. Now he was just as notorious, but for his hell raising. Ewan Dalgleish was not a man who lived by society’s rules. A rebel in every sense, she thought enviously. Why on earth would he want to cover her bet? But unless he did—no, she would not allow herself to think of the consequences of failure.
She watched him covertly as he placed a roll of notes onto the table. He was tall, with his coat cut in the new fashion buttoned tight across his chest, showing off the breadth of his shoulders, the severity of the rich black velvet cloth lightened only by the glimpse of a dove-grey waistcoat, the fall of white linen with just a hint of lace at his throat. The deep copper of his hair glinted bright as a new-minted penny in the candlelight. It was a memorable face. High cheekbones with a small scar visible on the leftone, a sabre cut no doubt. A strong, determined jaw. His colouring gave him an untamed look. The perfection of his tailoring somehow served to draw attention to the muscles hidden underneath. A mountain lion, Isabella thought with a shiver. Strength and power barely concealed under a veneer of
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