Page 74 of Falling Into Bed with a Duke
“How can you be sure?”
“Because I know my own mind.”
“I want you to know your own heart.”
He squeezed her hand, realizing only at that moment that he’d never released it. They weren’t going to resolve this tonight, and he wanted to enjoy the time he was with her. Wanted her to enjoy the time she was with him. “I want to watch you play cards.”
At the end of the hallway, she stopped at a door, knocked, and with a single word spoken, gained entry. He followed her into a room that he’d heard whispers about for as long as he’d been a member. The dark location offered sitting areas and tables lined with decanters.
Minerva escorted him through parted draperies into a chamber that was better lit. A large, round, baize-covered table was the focus, several people already sitting around it. Standing, the gentlemen narrowed their eyes suspiciously. The ladies remained as they were and gave him a more speculative look.
“I believe everyone knows everyone,” Minerva said.
“Ashebury,” Lovingdon said, and Ashe should have realized her half brother would be here. Lovingdon’s wife was sitting beside him. The Duke and Duchess of Avendale were next. Lords Langdon and Rexton. Drake Darling.
“Lovingdon.” Ashe bowed his head slightly. “Ladies. Gentlemen.”
“We’ll sit over here,” Minerva said, taking his hand and guiding him to an empty chair at the far end. By the time they reached it, a footman had added another.
Ashe assisted Minerva in taking her seat, then waited as the gentlemen finished sizing him up. It was several interminable minutes before Lovingdon gave a brisk nod, and the gents settled into their places.
“Ashe isn’t going to play,” Minerva said. “He’s merely going to watch.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Avendale asked.
“The fun is in watching you lose your money while I keep mine,” Ashe said.
“Roulette is his game,” Minerva explained, and he wondered at her need to defend him. After removing her gloves, she set them in her lap, placed her hands on top of the table.
He studied those slender pale fingers and recalled the feel of them wrapped around him. As discreetly as possible, beneath the table, he set his hand on her thigh, squeezing gently through layers of petticoats. Her eyes meeting his, he saw the pleasure in hers, watched as a small smile spread slowly—
“You may be only observing, Ashebury,” Lovingdon said, “but I must insist your hands remain on top of the table.”
Ashebury’s jaw tightened. He was growing weary of the man’s interfering with his seduction of Minerva—even if she was Lovingdon’s sister, and he had an obligation to protect her.
“He’s concerned with you cheating,” the Duchess of Lovingdon said. “Or helping Minerva cheat.”
He didn’t remove his hand from her thigh. Instead, he squeezed again, before narrowing his eyes at her brother. “I’m finding it most difficult not to take offense. I do not cheat.”
“Unfortunately, we do,” Minerva said softly, her cheeks turning the most becoming shade of pink. “So hands must stay visible.” Leaning over, she whispered near his ear, “Regretfully.”
Regretfully indeed. Holding Lovingdon’s gaze, Ashe set his left hand on the table, fingers splayed, placed his right forearm along the back of Minerva’s chair and closed his fingers around her shoulder. She looked at him, looked at her brother. The tension mounted.
“I don’t need help cheating,” she finally announced. “I’m rather insulted that you would think I would. As long as hands are visible, I don’t think they have to be on the table.”
“As long as they’re visible,” Lovingdon affirmed, but he didn’t sound very happy about it. Ashe wondered how happy the man was going to be when they became relations.
“Shall we begin?” Darling asked.
Murmurs of agreement filled the silence. Minerva rubbed her hands together, popped her knuckles. Ashe didn’t know why he found the unladylike movement endearing and erotic.
Everyone tossed a chip into the center of the table. Darling began dealing the cards. Ashe was astounded by the stacks of chips resting in front of each person. He didn’t resent them their wealth. He only wished he could emulate it. Although, if his plans came to fruition, he would very soon have an immense fortune himself.
As discreetly as possible, Minerva showed him her cards, gave him a gamine smile. Was she flirting with him or signaling that she was pleased with her hand? He tried to make sense of the numbers. In the best of times, it was difficult, but when she was quickly arranging the cards in some sort of order, it was impossible. Still, he smiled back, pretended to know what the bloody hell those dancing figures signified.
She discarded two of them. He hadn’t a clue as to what she found offensive about them. He wondered if she would always be content with his watching, if a time would come when she would encourage, might even insist, that he play. Might think he was being rude or snobbish if he didn’t.
When the round ended, she was the one who reached across the table and brought in all the chips. “Ah, five hundred pounds. Lucky me. You can help me stack them,” she told him.
