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“Ow!”
“Pray, Lord Lancaster, could you be more specific?”
For a moment, rubbing his stinging wrist, he considered teasing her further, but she was nearly vibrating in her slippers, and the tremors had made their way to her breasts. Much as he enjoyed the view, there were far too many other men around. He leaned closer, keeping his eye on her exposed flesh. “We are winning, Cyn.”
When she drew in a deep breath, the dress strained at the seams. So did Lancaster’s brain.
“Are we?”
“Yes. We’ve over seven hundred pounds now.”
“Oh.” She latched onto his elbow and leaned toward his ear. “Oh, Nick, I’m so relieved.”
“Yes.” Her breasts brushed his arm, then pressed even closer. “Perhaps I should get you a shawl.”
“I shall start to moo if you say another word.”
But he was distracted from his teasing again by the flush in her cheeks, and her pink lips, and the soft, soft skin that curved down her neck. He wanted to nibble there, work his way down to those generous breasts…
Lancaster glanced up and his heavy eyes focused on the nearest face. Lady Osbourne, who was watching him quite strangely. Lancaster stood straight and eased his arm away from Cynthia’s chest.
“If my luck holds, another hour of play perhaps. Are you enjoying the party?”
“Absolutely not,” she answered, but she smiled when she said it.
“Cynthia…” She was so lovely tonight, and he’d already told her, but what if she hadn’t believed him? “Cyn…”
An outraged voice floated above the crowd. A bad turn of a card perhaps. Cynthia glanced toward the noise.
“After we’ve paid your stepfather,” he started, but the voices grew louder. They seemed to be coming from the entry hall.
“What is it?” Cynthia whispered, anxiety threading through her voice.
“A player in over his head, I’m sure.” Except he was no longer sure. He put a hand on Cynthia’s arm. “Stay here.”
Moving slowly at first, he picked his way through the guests. But as more people swayed toward the front hall, a sense of urgency overtook him. He edged past close-leaning couples, and glided around larger groups. By the time he got to the crowd gathered at the entrance to the hall, he simply pushed his way through.
And found himself face to face with a nightmare.
Chapter 20
A decade had passed since Lancaster had seen him. Richmond did not frequent London. Not enough innocence to be had in town, perhaps, while the country offered a generous bounty.
The past ten years had not been kind to the man. He looked helpless and frail. But Richmond had never appeared a monster. He’d been the consummate wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing. All “hail fellow, well met” in public, before he turned into a demon behind closed doors.
Now he didn’t seem capable of even the smallest evil.
His pleasant face sagged at the edges. He hunched slightly forward, fingers clasped over the handle of a cane. The hand holding it still looked strong though. It still looked thick and ugly. Lancaster felt frozen as he stared at that hand, remembering.
He wasn’t aware that his ears had ceased to function until they began to pick up sound again. Richmond’s voice, hard with scorn, berated the butler. Two large footmen stood at his
shoulders, preventing Richmond from walking farther into the house.
Stepping forward, Lancaster broke free of the crowd at his back. As he moved closer, he saw Bram standing at Richmond’s back, his face impassive, as if he were staring at an empty meadow instead of a chaotic argument. Bram’s gaze touched on Lancaster for a moment, but no recognition flickered there.
“I won’t be kept waiting like a damned whore,” Richmond growled. “Escort me to a private room now.” His voice skipped down Lancaster’s chest, scraping at his skin.
For so many hours of his life, for whole days, that voice had been the only sound in Lancaster’s ear. That voice laughing and grunting and cursing. That voice issuing cruel demands and whispering vile thoughts.
