Page 27 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
“Still, it awaits.”
“That’s all right, Greenaway,” Minerva said, addressing the keeper of the peace. “I’ve grown bored with this game.”
She signaled to the lad who had gathered her chips at the card table. He dashed over, handed to her the voucher he’d obtained earlier, and began placing her roulette chips in his bowl. Bending down, she whispered, “It’s all yours.”
His eyes widened. “Thank ye, Miss Dodger.”
Straightening, she smiled at those circling the table. “Gentlemen. Lady. I hope your luck improves.”
After taking a dozen steps away from the table, she lowered her defenses and felt Lady Hyacinth’s barb striking deep. In spite of the offers for marriage, she knew the men had not wanted her. They’d wanted her money. Most had been polite. Some had feigned interest. Others had been blunt. She preferred the blunt ones, liked knowing where she stood, and it made it so much easier to decline without offending or worrying about hurting someone’s pride.
Although her own was presently stung. Ashebury had shown interest last night, but he hadn’t known who she was. She’d been mysterious, provocative, interesting. He might have been willing to place a bet on her tonight, and while her first thought had been that he’d done it out of support for her, her second thought sent the first straight to hell. He was placing the wager knowing the odds were in his favor that common Miss Dodger had a good right punch. Actually it was a left, but still. She’d once flattened her younger brother. Her father was a commoner, a former gambling-house owner, and she knew the ins and outs of that life like she knew the back of her own hand.
“Don’t suppose you’re headed to the ballroom?” a familiar voice asked behind her.
Staggering to a stop, she rebuilt her protective walls before facing Ashebury. “Your Grace, I hadn’t decided on which game of chance to go with, but I’d not even considered going to the ballroom.”
“I wish you would, and once there, I hope you’ll honor me with a dance.”
If he touched her with a feather, she’d fall over. “After the spectacle I just made of myself? I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity, but admiration. She had too much to drink, isn’t very sharp to begin with. You, on the other hand are as sharp as a whip and could have sliced her to ribbons. Yet you didn’t.”
Dear Lord, what sort of spiteful women did he seduce? Although she was flattered that he saw her as intelligent. Her smarts intimidated most men, but then Ashebury wasn’t most men. “There’s nothing to be gained from inflicting that sort of hurt. It was beneath me to even taunt her.”
“I daresay, she was the one doing the taunting.”
“Be that as it may, she’s only just been presented to the queen. She’s young. I’m seasoned. I would have been better served keeping my mouth shut completely.”
“I’m rather glad you didn’t. I think every gent at the roulette wheel is now imagining ladies in trousers.” He gave her skirts a long, leisurely perusal that caused her mouth to go dry. He made her feel as though he had the ability to see beneath the cloth and knew exactly what her legs looked like. Not just her feet and ankles, but all the way up to her hips. “Have you worn them?”
She shouldn’t confess, and yet, where he was concerned, she seemed to find herself doing things she ought not. “At my half brother’s estate.”
His brow furrowed. “The Duke of Lovingdon?”
“Jolly good for you. Our family tree is a little confusing.”
“You can sort it all out for me while we dance.”
Her palms, which never grew damp, suddenly did. The thought of waltzing with this man brought forth images of doing other things with him, things she might have done had she not walked out last night. “I suppose I might find myself wandering to the ballroom.”
“Allow me to escort you.”
As he had last night, he offered her his arm, and she found it just as firm and muscled. Only now she thought of him trudging through jungles, battling a lion.
“Which shoulder?” she asked.
He shifted his gaze to her, and while he was considerably taller than she was, he didn’t so much look down on her as much as he managed to look over at her. He made her feel delicate when she was probably the least delicate lady in London. Yet, she appreciated the sensation he elicited, one no other man ever had.
“Pardon?” he asked.
“The lion. Which shoulder did he sink his teeth into?”
“Ah. The left. More a grazing than a sinking. Edward tends toward the dramatic. It makes him both appealing and irritating, based on one’s mood at the time that he’s waxing on.”
“Yet he’s your friend.”
He gave her a self-deprecating smile. “Tragedy makes for strange bedfellows.”
