Page 14 of A Deal with her Forbidden Duke
“Lost, perhaps?” another voice replied, dripping with mockery.
She felt their stares like a hundred tiny daggers, slicing through the thin veil of her composure.
Some men gawked openly, their expressions ranging from astonishment to lecherous amusement. Others whispered to their companions, their smirks betraying their assumptions about why a lady like her might be here.
The whispers burned in her ears, but she held her chin high, refusing to let them see her falter.
A nearby croupier snorted, leaning toward his companion. “Never thought I’d see the day. A lady come to gamble?”
His companion chuckled. “Not likely. She’s probably here to drag some poor sod back to his wife.”
Madeleine ignored them, her jaw tightening.
Summoning her courage, she approached a table where a group of men were engaged in a loud game of faro.
“Excuse me,” she said, her voice steady but strained. “I am looking for Lord Kinsfeld. Do you know if he has visited here of late?”
One man leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with incredulous amusement.
“Your lordship’s gone astray, has he?” he drawled, prompting laughter from his companions.
Another man waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Haven’t seen him. Try the next table, my lady.”
A third man leaned forward, smirking. “Or perhaps he’s upstairs, enjoying the finer offerings of the Hand?”
Heat rose to her cheeks, but she forced herself to ignore the response.
“Thank you,” she said curtly, turning on her heel and moving deeper into the hall.
Her anger flared, hot and sharp, clashing with the cold shame that coiled tighter and tighter around her heart.
Table by table, she pressed on, ignoring the growing sting of humiliation, her resolve a fragile thread fraying with every step.
At one point, a younger man, clearly deep into his cups, stood abruptly as she passed.
“Lady,” he slurred, his words tumbling over each other. “You shouldn’t… you don’t belong here.”
“I’m aware,” she replied coldly, stepping around him without breaking her stride.
Further in, she thought she saw a flash of dark hair, the thick covering of a beard, and piercing blue eyes watching her from the crowd. Her breath caught.
“Could it be…?” she murmured to herself, heart lurching.
But then she dismissed the thought.
The Duke of Silverton would not be here, she told herself.
Plenty of dark-haired men were gambling, she reasoned, forcing her gaze forward, though unease prickled at her spine.
Before she could reach the last table in the main hall, right before the grand staircase that led to higher levels—levels that no doubt contained more debauchery and rooms that might hold answers she did not want to see directly—she halted.
A finely-tailored man towered over her, his mouth pulled downwards in a sneer.
“Lady Kinsfeld,” he said, his voice hoarse, as if he had smoked all his life. “I have reason to believe you are pestering my customers. Men come here for an entertaining game, not to be harassed by a pathetic wife who can’t keep her husband at home.”
Her face flushed, humiliation tightening her throat. She was cut off by a voice behind her that sent shivers down her spine.
“Careful, Mr. Barrington. One more word against Lady Kinsfeld, and you’ll regret it.”
