Page 77 of An Earl Like You
Dashwood made a quiet noise in his throat, disbelieving. “See that you don’t accidentally deal incorrectly again, sir.”
Two spots of color burned in Southbridge’s narrow face. “No.”
With one more speaking look, Dashwood strolled away. His message had been heard; Southbridge would be watched closely from now on, and expelled at the slightest slip. Even worse, word would spread that he had cheated and got off. Almost in one motion, all the other players at the table except Hugh pushed back their chairs and left.
Southbridge leaned forward, spite shining in his eyes. “Fine work, Hastings.”
“Spoiling a fixed game?” Hugh swept up his markers. “I take pride in it.”
“Idiot,” said Southbridge in contempt. “If anyone should have kept his mouth shut, it ought to be you.”
Hugh just raised one brow in contempt.
Southbridge got to his feet. He smoothed one hand over his slicked-back hair. “You never saw Grenville do it to you, I wager. Losing can leave a man open to other opportunities which far outstrip a paltry loss at the tables.”
Hugh’s hands slowed to a stop as the meaning sank in. Right. He might have guessed. “As you say,” he said evenly, carefully, “it did work out to my benefit. I suppose Cross intended it that way.”
Southbridge snorted. “It was more than you deserved. Ned Cross was a bigger fool than I thought when he chose you.” He scooped up his markers and walked away.
He sat motionless as a statue. It was the final stroke, the only thing wanting in this miserable deception. Cross had set him up from the beginning, telling Grenville—and Alderton?—to ensure Hugh lost. What had the man said to him that first night?Not every man knows how to face losing.But Hugh did. Hugh kept his temper and lost honorably, even graciously, never thinking he’d been cheated, and in response Cross bought up all his debts and boxed him into a trap.
His chest hurt. Eliza couldn’t have known this. He knew his wife, and she would never, ever approve of cheating, let alone cheating someone just to see how he handled a crushing loss.
And how the devil could Cross do such a thing? Sudden fury filled him. How dare that man think so little of his daughter that he felt it was necessary to break and trap and coerce a man to court her? Any sensible fellow would fall in love with her if only he spent a few days in her company. Cross could have filled his home with guests, taken a damn house in the middle of London and let her find her own stride, even simply let her go live with Lady Georgiana, where she would have met any number of eligible men at her dazzling friend’s side. At least a few of them would have been intelligent enough to discern Eliza’s worth—not in pounds sterling but in heart, in sense, in joy, even in beauty, quiet and understated. The urge to call Cross out burned in his chest.
And he’d told her to go ask her father. Hugh’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He’d sent her to the person who had caused all her pain, but also the person least likely to tell her the truth about what he’d done. The person who openly admitted he was not a friend to Hugh, who promised that if Hugh proved a poor husband, there was nothing he wouldn’t do to settle accounts.
He’d sent her right to the person who could ruin his marriage and turn his wife against him forever.
He strode through the salon. The early light of dawn was just filtering through the windows in the entrance hall. Forbes, the club manager, fell in step with him. “I apologize for the difficulty you had tonight, my lord—”
“Yes.” He dumped his markers into the startled manager’s hands. “Credit these to my account. I have to go to Greenwich.”
Chapter 29
Eliza reached her father’s house in Greenwich resolved to be calm and reasonable. There must be an explanation for everything.
It wasn’t that she doubted Hugh. Why would he say those things to her if they weren’t true? If put to the point of a knife, she would say that he did love her, now, just as he said. The hurt of hearing what he had done before, though, was too deep and too sharp to ignore. She had to know why and how and what her father had intended.
Papa. She gulped back a sob. How could he have done this to her?
The butler gaped at her in astonishment when he opened the door. “Miss Cross,” he exclaimed. “I beg your pardon—Lady Hastings.” He bowed.
“Never mind, Roberts.” She let him take her cloak. “Is my father home?”
“No, ma’am, but he did say he would not be late.”
It was already late. Eliza nodded. “I’ll wait.”
“Of course.” He rushed to follow her to the morning room, hastily lighting the lamps. “I shall tell him of your presence the moment he arrives.”
“Thank you, Roberts.” She smiled at the dear man, who had been butler here since she was a child.
“Shall I send for tea?”
Eliza knew the cook and kitchen maids would have gone to bed by now. “No, please don’t wake Cook. I shall be fine.”
“As you wish, ma’am.” He bowed out, closing the door.
