Page 7 of A Scoundrel in the Making

The man tossed a fifty-pound note on top of the money piled in the center of the table. He turned over his cards to reveal a queen of diamonds, three of hearts and a seven of spades. Without taking his eyes off the other player, Reade turned over his two cards, a ten of diamonds and an ace of clubs. His opponent drew a sharp breath and a loud murmur burst from the other men. His opponent shoved to his feet. His chair toppled backward. The room went silent.

“No one wins that many hands without cheating,” the man said.

Reade paused in scooping up the money—there had to be two thousand pounds—and looked at the man. “How might I have cheated?”

“I don't know,” the man snapped. “I am not skilled at cheating.”

Reade rose, and the man took an involuntary step backward. Something flickered in Reade’s eyes—disdain? She wasn’t certain, but the look vanished as quickly as it came. He calmly stripped off his coat, then extended it toward the man to his right.

“Mr. Billings, if you would, please search my coat.”

The man he’d addressed took the coat and shook it. He searched every pocket, then looked up both sleeves. “Nothing,” he said, and handed the coat back to Reade.

“That does not prove you didn’t cheat,” the accuser spat.

Reade took the coat, then laid it over the back of his chair and looked at Mr. Billings again. “May I impose upon you to search my person?”

Mr. Billings’ brows lifted. “I am not in the habit of searching a man.”

Sir Stirling stepped into their circle. “If I might make a suggestion.”

“Do you want to do the searching?” Mr. Billings asked with a laugh.

“Not I,” he replied. “Lady Buchman.”

Abigail froze in lifting her champagne glass to her lips, and Reade’s head snapped toward Stirling.

“What’s that?” one man blurted. “Lady Buchman search him?”

Mr. Billings laughed. “But, of course.”

“No one would doubt Lady Buchman, if she finds no cards in Reade’s pockets,” Sir Stirling said.

“See here,” the accuser exclaimed, “that isn't proper.”

“Are you impugning the lady’s honor?” Stirling asked in a mild tone.

The accuser snapped his gaze onto him. His mouth thinned. “Nae. But what lady would search a gentleman?”

“A woman of the world, such as Lady Buchman,” Sir Stirling said before she could reply.

He gave her the tiniest of winks and she understood the meaning: remain quiet. What she didn’t understand was what he intended. Did this have something to do with her mission? If so, where was The Raven?

“However, I do think it only proper that we introduce the lady to the gentleman.” Sir Stirling reached for her hand and pulled her to her feet. “My lady, may I present Lord Reade Murdock. Lord Reade, Abigail Durand, the Marchioness of Buchman.”

Reade took the two paces to where she stood and grasped the hand she extended. Eyes locked with hers, he brushed his mouth across her gloved fingertips with a light touch that contrasted the earlier rough kiss. He straightened and she realized he didn’t recognize her. This could prove more fun than she’d had in quite some time.

He canted his head and said, “At your convenience, my lady,” in a low voice that sent butterflies skittering across the insides of her stomach. The man was flirting with her—after engaging in a tryst with another woman in the garden. He was a rogue through and through.

Clearly, Sir Stirling wanted her to play along. Wasn’t that what she did best?

Abigail kept a straight face as she slipped a finger into the front pocket of Lord Reade’s waistcoat. Muffled laughter sounded behind her. She ignored the men and brought her fingers up empty. Next, she unbuttoned his waistcoat, then opened it and slid her fingers into the inside pocket. Again nothing.

Eyes on Lord Reade’s face, she lifted both his arms until they were extended at his sides. His eyes narrowed when she skimmed her fingertips along the top of his right sleeve. Abigail continued around his back, tracing her fingers across his shoulders and along the other arm. When she faced him again, he lowered his arms. This time, when Abigail stepped closer, Reade lifted his brows in silent question.

“In the name of justice,” she murmured.

Surprise shone in his eyes—then recognition.