Page 1 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Chapter 1

The dice rolled across the green baize with a sharp, satisfying clatter.

Lord William Sinclair watched them tumble between the scattered coins, turning once, twice, before settling beneath the glow of the lamps.

A six and a five.

Across the table, Lord Huxley stared down at them with the hollow expression of a man who had just realized confidence was not a substitute for good fortune.

William leaned back in his chair. “I believe that makes the afternoon mine.”

Huxley looked from the dice to William, then toward the small pile of banknotes that had steadily migrated across the table over the past hour.

“You have the luck of the devil.”

“I have been told the devil is considerably better dressed.”

The gentlemen around the table laughed, and even Huxley managed a reluctant smile as he surrendered the last of his stake.

William gathered the winnings without triumph. He had never found much pleasure in humiliating another man, particularly one who had been foolish enough to wager beyond his skill. Huxley would recover. His pride, perhaps, before his purse.

“You will give me a chance to reclaim it next week,” Huxley said.

William slipped the notes into the inside pocket of his coat. “Certainly. Though I feel obliged to warn you that hope is becoming an expensive habit.”

Another ripple of laughter moved around the table.

Huxley pointed at him. “That is precisely why no one likes playing with you.”

“And yet you continue inviting me.”

“That is because we like you everywhere else.”

William rose, accepting the remark with a slight inclination of his head. Though the luncheon hour had long since passed, the club remained comfortably busy. Several gentlemen lingered around the card tables while others gathered near the fire or stood in small groups discussing Parliament, horses, and the latest scandals.

The room carried the familiar smells of tobacco, brandy, leather, and coal smoke. Conversations drifted beneath the high ceiling, softened by thick carpets and heavy curtains.

As he gently returned his chair to its place at the table, the empty seat opposite him caught his eye. It had not been occupied all afternoon.

Nor the afternoon before.

For years, Lord Eastmere had favored that chair. Edmund Carlisle claimed the light was better there, though William had always suspected the true reason was that the position allowed him to watch every man entering the room while keeping one shoulder toward the fire.

He had been absent for ten days.

Ten days was long enough for concern to sour into rumor.

William looked away before anyone noticed his attention lingering.

“Escaping already?”

Gabriel Frost approached with a glass in one hand and his gloves tucked beneath the other arm. His dark hair had fallen untidily across his forehead, though the carelessness was almost certainly deliberate. Gabriel spent far too much time before a mirror to achieve anything by accident.

“I have lost all my money,” Gabriel continued. “I had hoped you might remain long enough to lose yours in solidarity.”

William drew on his coat. “You should have asked before I won.”

“I did not anticipate your selfishness.”