Read Online Too Wicked to Wed by Cara Elliott - Free Book Online

bones—this next deal is going to change everything.” Gryff looked to Alexa. “Any objection t’ playin’ on, Lars? Say, f’r one hand t’ recoup all m’ losses?”
    She thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement, though the spot in front of him was indeed bare.
    Following her gaze, Gryff started fumbling through his pockets. “Bloody hell, must have some more blunt tucked away s’mewhere.” A slip of crumpled paper emerged from the depths of his waistcoat. After giving the contents a bleary squint, he dropped it on the table. “This should do it. Worth a demmed sight more’n the bet—and likely cost me m’ prick if I lose it. But I don’t intend t’ lose.”
    Alexa didn’t imagine anyone ever did. But even had she trusted her voice, she would have kept mum. Far be it for her to offer advice to a seasoned gamester, even if a novice could see that tonight was not the night to keep challenging Fate.
    “Will y’ accept a vowel, lad? ’Pon my word of honor as a gentlem’n, it’s good.”
    “ Ja. ” In truth, she wasn’t thinking about the money. The heady thrill of taking a risk, heightened by her earlier encounter, was making her heart race and her breath come in ragged gulps. It was both frightening and exhilarating. No wonder gentlemen frequented gaming hells if it made them feel this…alive.
    Gryff took up the deck and dealt the cards.
    Alexa paused for a moment, eye to eye with the Queen of Hearts as she waited for the butterflies to cease fluttering around in her stomach.
    The marquess groaned in disgust.
    A peek at her hidden cards showed the Ace, King, and Jack.
    Alexa could scarcely believe that luck had favored her with such an unbeatable hand. She turned the dazzling show of red face up in the flickering light.
    “May the Norse Gods be neutered,” swore Quincy. “He’s done it again.”
    “Er, so he has.” Gryff swore under his breath. “Was sure my luck w’s turning.”
    She gathered in the slip of paper and shoved it, along with the jumble of banknotes, into the pocket of her coat. Touching the brim of her hat in a jaunty salute, she rose and walked off, hoping her mimicking of a masculine stride would hide her real desire to twirl on her toes.
    Feeling light as a feather, and free as a bird, Alexa passed through the doorway. In her elevated mood, she saw it as a magic portal. Indeed, it was all like something out of a fairy tale, where the rules and roles had given way to dreams and desires. Her lips, half hidden by the false mustache, curled up in secret delight, but after another step or two, the smile turned rather bittersweet.
    All fairy tales had an end. At the stroke of midnight, the laughter would fade, the revelries would die away and the glass slipper—or in this case, the high top Hessian boots—would turn back into ordinary kidskin pumps.
    Alexa glanced at the clock, then plucked a glass of champagne from the sideboard and headed out to the gardens. The air was cool, and she stood for a moment in pale moonlight, sipping her wine and savoring the scent of lilac. She meant to enjoy the last few minutes of precious freedom in solitude, but for some unaccountable reason, she found herself wishing she might conjure up a storybook prince for company. One whose hair shimmered with silvery highlights…
    “Silly goose,” she muttered under her breath. The champagne must be having an odd effect on her brain, for rarely did she indulge in such silly schoolgirl fantasies.
    A prince, indeed!
    Ha! She may as well kiss the stone gryphon set in the niche of the wall, for all the good it would do her.
    “There you are!” Henry appeared a trifle out of breath as he caught hold of her sleeve. “What—what the deuce are you doing standing atop that urn?”
    Her boots hit the gravel with a crunch. “Nothing,” she muttered, grateful that a twist of ivy covered her embarrassment.
    “Step over here. We must talk.”
    His peremptory tone caused her hackles to rise. Why must he