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Prologue
“Do not think even for a moment that you can fool me!”
Lord Monteforte chuckled under his breath as he watched the two men battle against each other, the cards on the table holding fortune for the one and poverty for the other. He had long been out of the game, having deliberately played foolishly and even more deliberately pretending to drink far too much so that the others would lower their guard, and now, it seemed, it was to pay off.
“I have been lucky!” one of the gentlemen protested, his hand slamming down hard flat on the table. “The cards do not lie.”
“The ones up your sleeve do!” the second gentleman cried, pointing one bony finger at the first. “I know you much too well, Thornrake! You are known to be nothing more than a liar and a cheat!”
This sent the first gentleman into a frenzy of anger, and he not only threw himself across the table at the first but began to beat him hard, forcing Phillip to thrust himself back from the table as glasses of liquor, cards, and money went flying across the room. He did not prevent the two gentlemen from fighting, however, but rather merely brushed himself down and shook his head, turning away from both as though he could not bear to watch.
“They do not appear to be enjoying their game,” he murmured wryly to another gentleman as he wandered through Whites to sit down opposite the fellow. “How unfortunate.” He arched one eyebrow, a rueful smile on his lips. “Although I still regret losing my money.”
“Indeed,” the gentleman replied, with a smile of his own. “But at least you had the decency to admit that you had lost, Lord Monteforte.”
Phillip let out a long, pained sigh, pressing one hand to his forehead. “It injures me more than I can say,” he said dramatically. “I shall know not to play with those two oafs again in future.”
“A wise decision.”
Phillip’s hopes began to flare bright as he clicked his fingers and gestured for a footman to bring him a whisky. This had been his singular intention for this evening and, thus far, everything had gone just as he had intended. Lord Dayton was clearly just as amused at the antics of the other two gentlemen as Phillip himself was pretending to be, and Phillip had to pray that the invitation he had been longing for would soon be offered to him.
“Might I get you a whisky also?” he asked, as Lord Dayton – whose grey hair and long, grey moustache did nothing but reveal the number of his years – watched him carefully. “Or a brandy, mayhap?” He had to raise his voice in order to be heard over the furor that Lord Thornrake and Lord Stratton were still making – although various gentlemen and footmen were now attempting to pull them apart.
Lord Dayton considered for a moment, then inclined his head. “Brandy,” he said, as the footman nodded and moved away. “I thank you, Lord Monteforte.”
“You are most welcome,” Phillip said, with a broad grin. “I must say that I have chosen my company poorly this evening, which speaks very ill of me.” He sighed and threw a glance back towards the two gentlemen, who now, finally, had been pulled apart. “I shall be much more careful in the future as to whom I sit down with.”
Lord Dayton tilted his head just a little, watching Phillip with cool, blue eyes that, had Phillip been a lesser man, could have brushed a chill over his skin. Instead, he simply closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, making sure that he gave every impression of being quite at his ease.
“I think you might be interested in a game of cards that takes place each week, Lord Monteforte,” Lord Dayton said slowly, sending a thrill up Phillip’s spine that he forced himself to hide. “It is not something that every gentleman is aware of, but I think that you are the kind of man that might be more than suited to such a game.”
Phillip opened one eye lazily, then the other. “Oh?” he said softly, trying not to show too much interest. “There are many card games and the like that go on in London almost every week,” he said, with a small shrug. “Is this one of any particular importance?”
Lord Dayton laughed, the sound a little harsh and cold, but Phillip merely gave him a small smile, his eyes fixed on Lord Dayton’s face.
“It may be of some interest, yes,” he said, with a small shrug. “It is only a few gentlemen that are invited, and we speak of all manner of things, Lord Monteforte.”
Phillip tilted his head just a fraction, showing as much interest as he thought sufficient. “What do you speak of?” he asked, sounding a little doubtful. “I am not certain that I have anything of particular interest nor intelligence to impart to anyone!”
Again, Lord Dayton laughed. “You do yourself an injustice,” he said, waving a hand. “You and I have been acquainted for some months, have we not, and I have always found you to be quite wise in your remarks.”
“That is good of you to say,” Phillip began, “but still, I–”
“As I have said, I believe you would find it an interesting evening,” Lord Dayton finished, with a slight shrug. “I will come for you on Wednesday evening, unless you are already otherwise engaged?”
Frowning, Phillip regarded Lord Dayton carefully, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to recall if he had anything that might previously engage him. “I am sure that, whatever it is that I might have as a prior arrangement, I can remove myself from it,” he said, eliciting a smile from Lord Dayton. “This game of cards sounds to me to be quite intriguing.”
Lord Dayton nodded, smiled, and lifted his glass in a half toast. “I am sure that you will find it very enjoyable,” he said, not for the first time. “Wednesday evening then?”
“I look forward to it,” Phillip answered, before lifting his brandy glass and throwing it back in one mouthful.
Chapter One
“Why must I wear this gown?”
Miss Olivia Spencer sighed heavily, as she shifted her weight from foot to foot. The gown was much too drab for someone of her coloring, she decided. For whilst her aunt had insisted it was silver, Olivia was quite certain it was nothing more than grey. Her own complexion seemed to be almost dulled due to the color of the gown, and her grey eyes matched the dress entirely, pulling all the color from her cheeks. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a most elegant style, but given that it was almost white in its fairness, she was left with nothing more than a white crown on top of a pale face and grey gown. All in all, Olivia decided, she was entirely unattractive and no one at this evening’s ball would give her more than a second look, even though her father had been an earl and her uncle, with whom she now resided, had laid claim to the title some seven years a
go.
“There is nothing wrong with this gown,” her aunt declared firmly. “And you know very well that your cousins will be wearing equally suitable gowns – and you shall hear not a single complaint pass their lips!”
Olivia held back her sharp retort, knowing very well that her aunt did much more for her own daughters than for Olivia. Olivia had been presented to them as nothing more than a burden and, even though she fit in very nicely with both Margaret and Louisa in terms of age, they had never truly made her feel welcome. Her cousins would be given the very best of everything, whilst Olivia would be given barely a moment of consideration. Complaining did nothing. Tears made no difference. Anger was dealt with in a swift, sure manner. And every day, without fail, Olivia would be reminded of just how grateful she ought to be to her uncle and aunt for what they had done for her.
“You will finish your preparations and meet us in the drawing room in half an hour,” Lady Dayton finished, a proud look lifting her chin just a little. “And we shall depart for the first ball of the Season, and you shall not make even the smallest amount of fuss, Olivia. Am I quite clear?”
