Page 3 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
Alexandra gasped. She would have taken it better if Lockwood had said those words, but it was her father—her father who insulted her.
Useless? Can’t do anything right?
She had lived for him for the past few years and married the man he foisted her on with barely a complaint.
He wasn’t even finished. “What do you think a bit of coin would do for me? Useless! You are nothing but a brainless chit! I would never rely on such a worthless burden!”
Alexandra’s eyes stung. She blinked back the tears that were threatening to fall as she stumbled backward toward the crowd. Inhaling the stench of musky perfume mingled with tobacco and sweat, she almost cast up what little she had for brunch. Then, she felt someone push her forward back to her father and Lockwood.
She held back a shriek. The hurt turned into anger as she got pushed from side to side by a restless throng of gaming patrons.
“Let the lady play instead. That will pay off Hartwell’s debt!” someone shouted.
Protests rippled across the rest of the patrons. They seemed disgruntled that Lord Hartwell’s troubles interrupted their game time.
Lord Hartwell surprised his daughter by swinging at the man who made the suggestion. Others drunkenly joined in. Alexandra suspected that the other men were merely joining in the chaos for fun. With the main game paused, they were looking for another type of risk.
The Duchess decided then that it was the best time to escape the gambling hell, but someone grabbed her wrist. It hurt.
“So, Your Grace, you’re not against mingling with the gambling folks, eh?” A man dressed like a lord pulled her closer to him.
He appeared to be in his mid-thirties and had blonde hair and blue eyes. Some women might find him attractive, but Alexandra could only shudder at his closeness.
“Unhand me, please!”
“You know I have an account here at Devil’s Draw? I can persuade Lockwood to forgive your father’s debts.” His breath smelled of Madeira and cigar, and he was too close for comfort.
Alexandra continued to struggle against the man’s grip, gagging at the smell. The man might look wealthy and handsome, but he was even worse than her father. His money would not change anything for the better.
The grip loosened suddenly as he was flung away from her.
Alexandra watched him stagger backward. Someone had pulled him back and threw him aside like a sack of potatoes.
“No one touches my wife,” a familiar voice growled as her savior stalked the cowering scoundrel.
She watched as her husband, Oliver Audley, the Duke of Westgrave, swung a fist at the man who was harassing her.
Chapter Two
“That’s your wife?” Alexandra’s harasser asked the Duke, venom lacing every word. “Ha! I don’t know which of you is more unfortunate.”
Alexandra bristled at the comment but knew that there was some truth to it. Her marriage was purely a financial arrangement. What kind of people would agree to that?
“You don’t want to ask me that question again, Percy!”
Oliver looked different. He seemed angrier and more muscular. How long had it been? She had not seen him since their wedding a day—a year ago—and now, with his broader shoulders and intense eyes, he looked both familiar and strange.
Tonight, she was seeing him with new eyes. She reached for her throat and felt her quickening pulse.
“It’s only because I’m in a gambling hell,” she whispered to herself. “Your Grace, you do not have to do that. Let us leave,” she then implored, finally finding her voice.
As soon as her husband turned to her, two burly men rushed to crowd him.
Alexandra screamed as one man swung a fist at Oliver’s face.
Oliver ducked. How could a large man like him move so gracefully? The young Duchess felt hot and cold, and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the establishment.
The lights in the gambling hell flickered like her feelings, swaying between fear and something more difficult to understand. The feeling made her heart race and her palms sweat.
