But King and Bishop had departed for home, taking their lovely wives with them, women with whom they were no doubt at this very moment making mad, passionate love. Rook and Lawrence had decided to leave the club in search of a lady’s favor elsewhere.
Alone, Knight had begun riffling through the pages of the damned book, his gaze settling on a passage here or there, each bringing forth memories involving Regina he’d tenaciously tamped down.
Then deciding to leave, heading for the door, he’d spotted her at the table in the far corner. Not for the first time. As a matter of fact, knowing she might be there, he’d deliberately glanced in this direction, a punishment, a reminder of what he might have had if the truth of him had remained unknown. In the past, he’d taken a few seconds to bask in the sight of her before carrying on. Tonight, he’d only wanted to be nearer.
Her blond hair was artfully pinned up with a few strands left to dangle along her neck, to tease a man into wanting to replace those soft curls with his warm lips, knowing the silkiness that would greet him. He also knew the scent of gardenia would be waiting justbehind her ear. On her wrists. And in the narrow valley between her breasts. Her emerald gown left her alabaster shoulders bared. They were no doubt dusted with some sort of powder because he couldn’t detect the three tiny freckles that had taunted him far too often, that he had kissed, envying the sun because it had kissed her there first.
He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful she was. To do so would be like forgetting the wonder of a midnight sky, the majesty of the vast blue ocean, or the prettiness of a butterfly. Even when they weren’t within one’s field of vision, it was easy to bring the images of them forth in one’s mind because at some point the sight of them had inhabited the soul.
Regina Leyland had long ago become part of him. Not carrying through on his promise to marry her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, because he’d known it would ravage her—and she’d not deserved the devastating blow he’d been forced to deliver. He had struggled to find a way to soften the impact, but the destruction of a dream offers no easy solutions. He imagined the severing off of a limb would have brought each of them less pain and torment. He’d tried to replace her hurt with anger, hoping she’d be determined to carry on with her life, to show him that he didn’t really matter at all. She would find another to bring her joy and happiness. And she had. Traveling the Continent, scandalously sampling the men of each country if gossip was to be believed. Her father’s failing health had finally brought her home.
Oddly, while he’d gone to the front of the church and announced thatshehad come to her senses andrealized he wouldn’t make a fitting husband—his reputation for enjoying the ladies was no secret—his esteem among the nobility had risen. He’d avoided being shackled to a lass of cloudy blue blood. Someone illegitimate, who would taint his own bloodlines. He’d been slapped on the back, bought drinks he’d not drunk, offered daughters’ hands he’d not accepted. Invitations to social gatherings had increased and he’d been sought after with an unbridled yet baffling diligence.
While she’d been left to suffer the brunt of the embarrassment and shame.
He’d thought it would fall to him, that he’d be ostracized for being proven unworthy. Instead, he’d been venerated.
However, he’d recently heard rumors she had an admirer and might soon be taking another trip to the altar, one that wouldn’t end in heartbreak, but the happily-ever-after she so deserved.
Selfish bastard that he was, Knight had wanted to be near her one more time. Wanted to defend the indefensible, explain the inexplainable. Hence there he was, sitting across from her while she concentrated on her cards as though they had the power to solve all the problems of the world... or perhaps to cause his demise.
“I’ve heard Viscount Chidding has begun calling upon you,” he said, laconically, striving to keep his true interest from inhabiting his tone.
Without taking her eyes from her cards, she set two down in front of the dealer, who promptly issued herreplacements before moving on to Lady Letitia. “I imagine you hear a good many things.”
“He’s in debt.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re not bothered by his circumstance?”
Slowly she lifted her gaze until it clashed with his. “I’ve learned, my lord, there are far worse failings to be found in a man.”
Her tone had a sharp edge to it, one that was out of place coming from her tempting mouth. He did not look away, or argue the point, but took the cut as his due. Perhaps he’d been wrong to steer clear of her, to deny her opportunities to put him in his place and enjoy her small victories.
“My lord?” the dealer prodded.
Forcing himself to break the hold of her gaze, Knight glanced over the table, noting two of the players had folded. His hand was atrocious, and he should follow suit, but he wasn’t yet ready to admit defeat. He cast off three cards, hoping for a miracle. Although years earlier he’d learned hope was not a strategy, and it proved true this time.
Regina was the first to bet. A quid. Could she have that good of a hand? The remaining two players folded, leaving only him against her. What were the odds she was bluffing? Her implacable facade was impossible to read. That hadn’t been the case when he’d first known her. Everything she’d felt was revealed in her sweet smile and dark brown eyes. Eyes that had been so innocent then, trusting.
Now they stated succinctly that she knew fairytales were a lie. He’d done that to her. The pain that knowledge confirmed nearly doubled him over.
He met her quid and raised her two. Without hesitation, she tossed in two quid and followed it with three more. Her gaze landed on his with an almost audible thud. Only now he could read the challenge in those icy eyes. If he didn’t match her amount, she wouldn’t have to show her cards; he wouldn’t know what she’d been holding.
It wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford to lose three more pounds. His coffers were flush. It was the principle of the matter. He didn’t want to be taken for a fool if she was bluffing. On the other hand, perhaps winning would give her a reason to smile. He was suddenly desperate for her smile. He slid three tokens, valued at a quid each, across the baize tabletop to the center pile. “I’ll call.”
With no alteration in her expression at all, she set down her cards, faceup. A pair of aces.
With a slow grin, he revealed his hand—an assortment of numbers and suits that failed to come together in any meaningful way. “I was hoping you were bluffing.”
“Unlike you, my lord, I never bluff or render a falsehood.” She began gathering her winnings and depositing them into a black pouch. “I’ll be calling it a night now.”
She stood, and he did the same, stuffing his few remaining tokens into a pocket to be used on another night, and grabbed his book. After she walked past him, he followed. “I’ll provide you with a ride in my carriage.”
“I have a carriage waiting.”
“Then join me in the library for a drink.”
