Page 22 of A Stranger’s Gamble

“Is Miss Shaw not from the country?” Adam asked.

“That does not mean she wishes to live there forever.”

She did, in fact, plan on living at her home in the country forever, but that didn’t mean she wanted a husband who would abandon her. She suspected this notion of living in the country was a ruse on the marquess’s part to make her think he wanted a country life when, what he truly intended was to install her in the country so that he could go on just as he always had in the city.

“Is the marquess so cruel as to force his wife to live in the country?” she demanded.

“Cruel?” He said the word as if tasting it. “He has been called many things, but never cruel.”

“He’s been called many things? Such as?” She winced inwardly at the obvious curiosity in her voice.

He looked down at her. “Why? Has your mistress sent you to spy on him?”

A beam of moonlight caught his face and for a moment, she stared at the beauty of his face. Glittering eyes, a square jaw…full lips. Masculine perfection.

He lifted a brow.

She blinked. It took her a moment to recall his question. “Spy?” Hadn’t she asked him a similar question? “Hardly,” she said. “Miss Shaw scarcely spares the man a thought. She’s obligated only to meet him at the ball and dance two dances. Beyond that, she doesn’t care to think of him. Why should she? She will not marry him.”

“Has she ever met him?” he asked.

“She does not have to meet him. He is a fortune hunter.”

To her surprise, he laughed, deep and rich. The sound caused her stomach to do a somersault.

“Perhaps Miss Shaw has a brain after all,” he said. She started to reply that Miss Shaw had more of a brain than did the marquess, but he gently squeezed her hand, and said, “But why are we speaking of them? Is not this night ours?”

She’d never heard a man speak with such a…smoky quality to his voice. The weakness in her knees caught her off guard and she stumbled. He caught her to his side. She snapped her head up and met his gaze.

He frowned. “Are you well?”

She nodded, unable to speak. Laughter danced in his eyes. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. He was laughing at her.

Sophie pushed away, and he released her. “A crack in the sidewalk,” she said.

“What?”

“The sidewalk.” She motioned to the sidewalk. “I stumbled on a crack.”

He glanced at the walkway, then looked back at her. “How fortunate for me.”

The man was a rogue! She turned her attention forward and they began walking again. A carriage drove past, its interior lit with twinkling lanterns that illuminated its singing occupants.

“Do you think they’re headed to the oyster party?” she asked. Her voiced sounded breathless and she hoped he attributed her tone to the excitement of attending the party. “I wonder who will be there.”

“Who they are remains a mystery at Luckie’s, lass,” he said. “That is the beauty of the oyster cellars. Edinburgh’s fashionable lay down their titles at the door.” He grasped her hand. “Let’s take a shortcut, shall we?”

Sophie nodded and tried to ignore the warmth of his long fingers gripping hers. He pulled her through a cobbled square and down several narrow, twisting lanes. Laughter and song echoed from the alleys as they passed. Within minutes, they emerged onto the street where Luckie’s tavern lay directly ahead. As they arrived, three more carriages trundled down the street to join the line forming in front of the building. A small crowd of partygoers chatted in front of the tavern, men dressed in elegantly cut coats topped off with intricately tied cravats, and women wearing fine evening gowns of taffeta and shimmering silk. Lords and ladies, all of them.

Sophie couldn’t hide the bounce of excitement in her step. “I cannot believe I am here.”

“You are, indeed, here,” he said with a wink.

He placed his hand against the small of her back and guided her through the crowd. Once or twice, she thought someone called his name, but his gaze remained straight ahead. They ducked inside the tavern.

Smoke hung heavy in the air as they continued deeper into the tavern's gloomy interior. Men and women sat around rough-hewn tables and drank from pewter mugs while muffled music emanated from somewhere below. Adam hurried her through the taproom where the music and the din of conversation grew louder. At the back, in front of a door, a young man with a full brown beard sat on a barrel. When Adam and Sophie stopped, the man held out his hand. Adam dropped a coin into the man’s hand, and he waved them through.

“After you.” Adam stood aside and motioned her to precede him. “Have a care. The steps are steep.”