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“Why did you forfeit that hand in brag?” she directed at him as the carriage lurched forward.
Settling into the plush seats, he did not disavow her accusation. “Because I could, Miss Herwood.”
“Is my situation that apparent?”
“You presume my action to be one of philanthropy?”
Taken aback, she could not voice her query: Why else?
Confused, she replied, “My prospects are not as bleak as you would believe.”
“Indeed? You frequent a gaming hall merely for sport.”
She could not tell if he mocked her for amusement or to make a point. He sat away from the window and the light of the carriage lantern, and his dry tone was too difficult to interpret. It was she who sat in the glow of the light, her every expression visible to him.
“I do not intend to be a regular for long,” she said.
“A wise choice. In the interim, might I suggest you lower your consumption of port?”
Her cheeks grew hot. She almost retorted that she was not wont to drink such quantities until he appeared. Instead, she rebuffed, “You have an affinity for playing my guardian, Lord Rockwell.”
She thought she heard a smile in his response. “It is a role in need of fulfillment.”
“Ah, that is why you have returned to our humble gaming hall—that or the company of Miss Walpole drew you.”
Despite the gaiety in her voice, she wished she had not uttered that last refrain. She had thought herself better than that and was disappointed to find that she could be as jealous as the most petty of women.
“She draws many a patron,” she fumbled. “The gaming hall is quite fortunate to have her company.”
“How fare your mother and your aunt?”
“As well as can be. Better. Thank you,” she replied, relieved that the query saved her from further embarrassing babble. She would have asked after his family, but she knew his parents to have passed.
Rain began pelting the carriage window.
“And you, Miss Herwood? How fare you?”
The gentle eagerness in his tone warmed her. They were no longer lovers, but perhaps they could be friends.
“I am well, especially now that I sit sheltered from the elements due to the foresight and insistence of one very patronizing baron.”
He chuckled and stretched out his long legs.
Encouraged, she continued, “If you intend to make a habit of losing at brag, I shall have to ensure my frequent attendance at the gaming hall.”
“That would not do. A gaming hall is hardly an appropriate den for a young woman.”
At six and twenty, she was considered a spinster by most, but she replied instead, her words coming out more breathy than intended, “Yes, as one might come across questionable rogues with outlandish propositions.”
He shared in her mirth. “Precisely.”
When the carriage pulled up in front of the townhome she shared with her mother and aunt, Deana could not help but feel disappointed they could not continue their tête-à-tête.
Rockwell assisted her from the carriage. Taking the umbrella from the footman, he walked her to the door.
“I suppose I should be much indebted to you,” she remarked as they reached the threshold.
“You owe me nothing, Miss Herwood,” he affirmed.
