Page 39 of The Pleasures of Passion
“What makes you think I will lose?” he countered.
“Yes, Brilliana,” her father said. “And what right have you to lecture your husband on his gambling?”
Given her sudden stiffening, that remark didn’t go over well. “He’s not my husband yet, Papa.”
“But he will be. And when he is, you won’t be dictating to him about his card-playing, I’ll wager. For God’s sake, girl, he’s an earl. He can do as he pleases.”
This was the most vulgar conversation Niall had ever participated in. He began to understand Brilliana’s resentment toward the man. Did nothing shame him regarding his daughter? Clearly, her mother had been the one to teach her how to behave in polite society.
Despite the conflict with his aims for the evening, Niall smiled warmly at her, if only to counter her father’s dreadful behavior. “Truly, sweeting, if you would prefer that Inotplay—”
That flustered her. “Oh no, I did not mean to say . . . That is, of course you may . . . youshouldplay cards with Papa if you wish.”
“Good, then it’s settled,” her father said. “We start at ten o’clock at the Star and Garter.”
That gave Niall the opening to go in another direction with the conversation. “So, if Pitford and Dunsleigh aren’t going, who’s playing tonight?”
Fulkham had given him a list of eight men associated with Sir Oswald.
“Well, aside from Quinn Raines, there’s Sir Kenneth Whiting.”
Niall’s heart nearly stopped. “Of the Essex Whitings?” Fulkham hadn’t mentioned that name.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bree stiffen. In a flash, he remembered telling her years ago that Joseph Whiting was the man he’d killed in a duel.
But her father hadn’t apparently heard about Niall’s duel, for he merely said, “I believe he’s from Suffolk, but I’m not sure. Pitford brought him in recently. He’s the man’s cousin, here from out of town.”
Forcing himself to relax, Niall said, “Ah.” Whiting was a common enough English surname. No reason to assume that Sir Kenneth was related to Clarissa’s assailant.
Though the fellow’s recent appearance explained why Fulkham hadn’t known of him—unless Fulkham had deliberately not told Niall of the man because he feared Whiting’s involvement would make Niall balk.
Niall frowned. It would be just like Fulkham to keep that to himself, the damned bastard. It also made Whiting a good choice for counterfeiter, depending on how recently he’d joined the group—because being connected to Joseph Whiting in itself might show him to be a villain.
He chose his next words carefully. “So, are Raines and Sir Kenneth as feckless as your brother made them sound?”
Sir Oswald waved his hand dismissively. “Pay my sourpuss of a brother no mind. He always disapproves of everyone in my orbit.”
That was interesting. Especially since Toby Payne’s sudden appearance in England seemed markedly suspicious. “Yes, a pity that your brother doesn’t play. I confess myself curious about his export business, since I’ve just returned from the Continent myself. Does he export from France to England, or the other way around? And what exactly does he export?”
“Wines from France. And other foodstuffs.” Sir Oswald leaned forward. “He brought me some excellent French cheeses for my kitchen.”
Not exactly the kind of business that would provide much help to a counterfeiter. If the man was a dealer in engravings or ink or some such, that might be different. “Well then, surely his French cheeses make up for his disapproval of your gambling.”
“I suppose. Though, truth is, my cook don’t really know how to serve them properly. Keeps trying to put mustard on the Camembert.” Sir Oswald glanced at his daughter. “Now that you’ve remembered what you owe your old papa, you could take my kitchen in hand, you know.”
When a look of horror crossed her face, Niall stepped in. “I’m afraid she’ll be far too busy takingmykitchen in hand, sir, to manage yours.”
“I was only saying—”
“Trust me, my kitchen will take up a great deal of her time. Indeed, I expect that entertaining on the scale expected of a countess will tax her exceedingly.”
That reminder of Niall’s position seemed to quell any further suggestions on Sir Oswald’s part that Bree should manage his household. Thank God. Niall wasn’t sure she could maintainthatlevel of deception with her father.
These visits would need to be strictly regulated so she could feel easy enough to be convincing. The hard work of investigation would take place at the gaming tables, anyway.
Just then, the clock chimed, reminding him that they’d likely overstayed their welcome—and the limits of Bree’s patience.
He rose. “If I am to join you this evening, sir, and Bree is to have time to dress for the ball, we should pay the rest of our calls.”
