Page 5 of His Forbidden Duchess
She glanced at her mother standing across the room, the light from the chandelier’s candles making her appear regal as she watched over the crowd. But beneath that poised exterior was a woman in despair, drowning under the weight of her late husband’s debts. And Jeremy, far away, would not be able to save them in time.
The image of Mr. Carlisle’s leering face flashed through Eloise’s mind, along with the sound of his threats. Her heart raced as everything suddenly fell into place.
That is what I need to do.
Creating a scandal was not necessary, but she urgently needed to become engaged to a wealthy gentleman from the Ton.
Her eyes drifted through the ballroom, searching, assessing. She needed someone of means, a gentleman who would not ask too many questions; someone who would not care about the intricacies of her family’s finances and perhaps lacked a degree of intelligence.
Her gaze landed on the very last person she wanted to consider, but he fit the bill perfectly.
Lord Mortcombe.
He stood across the room, surrounded by his usual flock of admirers, his vanity as nauseatingly palpable as ever. Eloise had always dismissed him as a self-centered, vapid man, completely absorbed in his own reflection. But now, as she watched him preen under the attention of his flock of ladies, a plan clicked into place.
Mortcombe is perfect.
Wealthy, vain, and, most importantly, easily managed. He would not dig too deeply into her family’s affairs. He was exactly the kind of suitor who could solve her problems without asking questions or complicating matters. Moreover, his overinflated ego might actually work in her favor. He did not even know who Lord Byron was, for goodness’ sake!
“Eloise?” Hannah’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you all right? You seem distracted. I know it is all extremely exciting, but…”
Eloise blinked, turning back to her friend.
“I am fine,” she murmured as her mind continued to sift through the steps of her strategy.
A husband could save us from ruin. And Mortcombe, with his wealth and arrogance, is the key to that salvation.
She felt a rush of determination. If Lady Charlotte could secure her future with a swift engagement, so could she. Eloise just had to convince Lord Mortcombe that her hand in marriage was worth pursuing and that she was a prize to be won—and quickly.
Her heart pounded, but she lifted her chin. If this was the game she had to play to save her family, then so be it.
Chapter Three
“Imust say, Your Grace, it is refreshing to see that you are still here. Most gentlemen would have folded by now.” Lord William Radcliffe, a man known for his arrogance and deep pockets, leaned back in his chair, eyeing Felix with a smug grin.
The dim glow of candles and the thick haze of cigar smoke created a heavy atmosphere inside the gaming hell. Laughter, murmurs, and the clinking of glasses filled the room, but at one particular table, the crowd was silent and focused. All eyes were on the high-stakes card game between Felix and Lord Radcliffe.
Felix sat with his usual calm demeanor, his sharp eyes never leaving the cards or his opponent. A small stack of chips lay neatly in front of him while Radcliffe’s pile had grown considerably. The stakes were high and the tension was profound.
Felix met his gaze without flinching, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Patience is a virtue, Radcliffe. But then again, I do not expect you to know much about virtue.”
A murmur rippled through the onlookers. Felix’s cool, measured tone contrasted with Radcliffe’s brash arrogance and seemed to be getting under the nobleman’s skin.
Radcliffe chuckled though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “It is a shame that you will be learning a lesson the hard way tonight. I have seen better men walk away from this table with nothing.”
Felix raised an eyebrow, casually tossing a few more chips onto the growing pile. “Perhaps you should concern yourself with the cards in your hand, rather than reminiscing about other men’s failures.”
Radcliffe’s mistress, a lonely but beautiful widow, ran a finger along his shoulder then leaned down to whisper in his ear, her red lips bright against Radcliffe’s pale flesh.
Felix could not hear what she had said, but he was sure she was offering him some words of encouragement. Radcliffe smirked, glanced up at her once, then turned back to the game.
The crowd was riveted, eyes darting between the two players as Radcliffe’s smirk faltered. The game had become a battle of wit and nerve as much as it was one of cards. Radcliffe, for all his wealth, was not used to being challenged this way.
The next round began, and Felix carefully studied Radcliffe. His opponent’s arrogance was his weakness. Radcliffe had a habit of overplaying his hands, believing his wealth could buy him out of any dire situation.
Felix was counting on that.
Radcliffe tossed a significant amount of gold sovereigns onto the table, the clattering sound echoing like thunder in the quiet room. “Care to match that, Your Grace? Or have you finished pretending?”
