Page 75 of An Earl Like You
She forced a smile. “I must go tonight, Thomas. And you know Finch is still waiting on the ladies at the ball. He won’t be home for hours.”
There was one good thing about being a countess; the servants didn’t dare argue with her. Thomas nodded and put on his cap to go get a carriage.
How desperately she wished Sophie or Georgiana were here. They had always been the leaders, always brave and bold. They would know what to do, and be decisive and clever about doing it. But Sophie was at Chiswick, rusticating in the country with her honestly devoted husband, and Georgiana was still at the Montgomery ball, no doubt dancing in Lord Sterling’s arms at this moment, blissfully certain of his love. She had been that way herself, just hours ago. In anguish, she dashed off a note to Georgiana and told Wilkins to have it delivered first thing in the morning. Depending how things went, she might need a friend.
The carriage arrived. Thomas helped her in, and Eliza instructed the driver to take her to Greenwich. She meant to get the truth from her father.
Hugh strode into the Vega Club still seething.
How quickly and cataclysmically one’s life could change, he thought furiously. In the space of a few minutes, he had fallen from his wife’s favor and perhaps lost her love as well. Damn Cross and his loose tongue. Just when Hugh had made peace with what he’d done, realized how fortunate he’d been, and surrendered his heart to her, Eliza threw it all back in his face. And even if he deserved it, the tide of despair was black and thick and made him want to punch someone.
He ordered a large brandy. Normally he did not drink much at Vega’s, but tonight it was necessary. He downed it without savoring or even tasting it, moodily watching a spirited round at the hazard table. Hazard was a fool’s game. He never played a game so devoid of skill and strategy.
He was, however, a crack hand at other games.
Eighty thousand pounds. Cross had bought him for that sum. Hugh swished the last of his brandy and thought of what it would take to win that much. He didn’t need to—he hadn’t needed to gamble since he began courting Eliza. His accounts were flush now, thanks to her dowry and the release of any obligation to pay old debts. He’d begun putting plans into effect to raise the income from his estates, which was still shockingly low for an earl. It would take time to rebuild his estate to true prosperity, but it would have been impossible without Eliza.
But if he could repay Cross...
It would ameliorate the guilt of what he’d done. It was the only thing he could do to demonstrate to Eliza that her father’s money might have motivated him in the beginning, but no longer. He put down his glass and moved toward the tables with no limit, where people played for the highest stakes, and found a place playing loo. Loo was his best game, and with no limit, one could make a fortune at it.
Of course, one could also lose, but this time Hugh did not mean to lose.
He started well. Luck was on his side tonight, ironically, and he racked up five thousand pounds in short order. At some point Robert Fairfield slid into the chair next to him. “Back at it, Hastings?” he asked as the cards were dealt again. “You’ve not been here in weeks.”
Because he’d been trying to win Eliza. Hugh collected his cards. “I was busy.”
Fairfield laughed. “Of course! Now you’ve got your bride settled, and can return to your old haunts.”
He was only here because he couldn’t be with her. It would take a long time to forget the expression on her face, shocked and disgusted and deeply hurt. Hugh tossed some markers into the pot for his ante. “You should only sit there if you came prepared to lose badly, Fairfield.”
His friend roared with laughter and tossed in his own ante. “We’ll see, we’ll see!”
Hugh won almost three thousand pounds from him before his old schoolmate pushed back his chair. “You weren’t joking with me,” said Fairfield under his breath. “Absolutely vicious, Hastings.”
“I look forward to playing with you again.” Fairfield put up his hands in surrender and walked off, still laughing. Hugh studied his markers. Up nearly ten thousand. Normally he would consider it an evening well spent and go home. But it was only a fraction of what he needed.
“Fancy seeing you here again, Hastings,” said a sly voice.
He looked up to see Robert Grenville taking Fairfield’s seat. It took all his equanimity not to stand up and walk away. The last time he’d played with Grenville had been the disastrous night when he let thirteen thousand pounds slip through his fingers.
The same night, now that he thought about it, that Edward Cross had first approached him.
It did not inspire a warm or welcoming feeling in his chest. “Grenville,” he said in barely civil greeting.
The other man laughed. “Come, you can’t hold it against me. Our last game, I mean,” he said as Hugh glanced sharply at him. Grenville leaned close and lowered his voice. “All’s fair at Vega’s tables, aye?”
Hugh had never thought anything else, and yet there was something about the man’s tone that put him on guard. “Not everything, Grenville,” he said with unusual hauteur. “A gentleman would know.” He held up a hand, stopping the dealer from giving him cards. “Not this hand.”
Grenville’s face darkened. He took his cards and threw a handful of markers into the center of the table. “Lost your stomach for risk?”
“No,” said Hugh evenly. “For the company.”
Now the man openly scowled, although it disappeared soon. “No matter.” He played, tossing the queen of spades onto the table and winning the trick. “For the right inducement, you’ll sit at a table with anyone, just like the rest of us. Isn’t that right?”
“No.” Hugh lounged in his chair, spinning his brandy glass between his fingers. He hadn’t drunk anything beyond the one glass when he’d stormed into the club, vibrating with anger and anguish over the confrontation with Eliza. He never drank when gambling. Now he watched Grenville, trying to decide if he hated the man because he’d won that night many weeks ago, or because he was an arrogant ass.
“No?” Grenville wore a queer little smile. “Perhaps not. Not since you’ve got your heiress and can afford to be fastidious again.”
