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“Come now.” He walked toward her, ends of the cravat still hanging free. As he drew closer, she could see that the blue was darkened with stripes of coal black. She wished she knew how to tie a neck cloth so that she could fuss over him.
“Cynthia, you are beautiful. Too beautiful. And every man will fall in love with you tonight, and I shall be quite distraught.”
“I don’t think it wise to draw attention to myself. The duke has already stuck his neck out for me, and I can’t imagine why he would allow me to waltz about tonight as if nothing is wrong. Someone shall tell my stepfather and—”
“Your stepfather has already written.”
“What? Why did you not tell me?”
“You were out in the gardens with Emma.” He turned to the mirror and began to execute an elaborate knot that looked as if it took years of practice. She could not keep track of the turns and twists.
“Well, what did it say?”
“It was excruciatingly deferential, as I’m sure you can imagine. ‘I appreciate Your Grace’s unbounded good will in taking in a wayward young girl,’ and so on. Seems your stepfather would like to come and retrieve you at His Grace’s earliest convenience. I believe Somerhart responded that his household would be fully occupied with social activities until late next week.”
“Did he?” she chirped.
“And I don’t expect your stepfather has the wherewithal to impose himself uninvited on a prince of the realm, do you?”
She allowed herse
lf the hope of one small smile. “So this could work? It could honestly work?”
“It could.”
“And if we lose all the money at the tables? What then?”
“If I lose all the money at the tables…” Cravat forced into an elegant sculpture, Nick slipped on the black coat he’d borrowed from Somerhart. “Don’t worry. I will see you free of him.”
“What does that mean?” she pressed, more than a little distracted by the picture he presented. Here was the Nick who’d spent the past ten years among the highest reaches of the ton.
“Come.” He held out his arm with a wink. “Let’s away.”
She kept her hand at her side. “I am not like these people, Nick. You said so yourself.”
He touched her cheek, fingers spreading to cup her jaw. “You are better than these people, Cyn, and they will love you.” When he pressed his lips to hers, she stayed still and breathed him in. Their time together was rushing toward a close. She could feel the breeze it created in its passing. I love you, she thought. I love you.
But she only nodded silently and took his arm.
He was winning.
Lancaster looked at his pile of coin, slightly larger than it had been at the start of the evening.
He’d avoided the games of pure chance like hazard. He’d also rejected whist as it left him dependent on the judgment of a partner, and he simply wouldn’t leave Cyn’s future in the hands of an acquaintance. And in his final effort to turn luck in his direction, Lancaster had studiously avoided any table where the Duchess of Somerhart was playing. That woman was a miracle at the tables. A miracle for herself, at any rate. A curse for others.
But the game of vingt-et-un was serving him well. His holdings had increased to 550 already, though nervousness had made his mouth dry as a bone.
Lancaster collected his winnings and set off in search of a glass of watered whisky. A muzzy head would do him no good tonight.
Before he’d taken three steps, he spotted Cynthia smiling politely at Lord Osbourne. She didn’t look quite at ease, but less than abjectly terrified now. Thankfully, Emma had sat him across from Cynthia at dinner, but all his encouraging smiles hadn’t seemed much help. She’d looked ready to bolt at any moment. Or toss up her accounts.
When he spied her laughing at one of Lord Osbourne’s jokes—they were new to her at least—Lancaster decided to leave her be. The only solution was to let her navigate the party on her own. He knew this, because he’d felt that terror himself on his first forays into London society.
Not only had he felt hyperaware of his lack of city polish, but he’d been sure he was marked in some way. A secret script feathered over his skin. A scent that permanently marked him as defiled.
But no one had noticed, not even those men known to prefer the company of their own sex.
Lancaster had watched them carefully those first few months, looking for some sign that he was a member of that forbidden club. And of course, there was the constant, exhausting guard against pursuit or attack.
