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His icy gaze felt like it burned her insides. “What is this place?”
Upon her husband’s death four years ago, she’d found herself with more than enough wealth to create her very own secret ladies’ club, very much in the manner of those popular gentleman clubs—White’s and Brooks, but with more elegance. Their members simply referred to their place of haven as 48 Berkeley Square.
All her clients were respectable ladies of society who felt confined by their family and the ton’s duties and expectations. Once upon a time, Theo had been one of those ladies, one who had been forced by her family to marry a man three times her age. A man with a reputation of being a libertine who liked to gamble. But he had been a viscount, one with a lot of money which her family needed.
Theo had created this club for ladies who were told they had only one purpose in this life: to be whatever their family and society decided. And that was to place all their hopes and dreams in a pretty box and lock it away. They should exist for their family’s needs and not their own. How dare they have desires and hopes for themselves. 48 Berkeley Square was a sanctuary of sorts. In this place, a lady could sneak off to relax, have more than one glass of claret, smoke a cheroot, remove their hair from the severe style arrangements, walk barefoot, and take part in wicked wagers and oftentimes harebrained dares. What was most important was they had fun, and every lady loved being here. This damned duke had no right to question that.
How dare he presume to judge her life, and in that insolent, condescending manner? “This is my home, Your Grace.”
“I will not ask again, Lady Winfern, and it is best you do not test my patience.”
Theo glared at him, not liking the shaky feeling winding its way through her heart. “What right do you have to demand anything of me, Your Grace? You are the interloper uninvited and trespassing inmy home. I implore you to state your business.”
It was clear the man was not used to anyone speaking back to him in such a bold and unconcerned manner. Theo drew on all the teachings she’d learned over the years to present a serene composure. Inside she was quaking and resented that he could stir such alarm within her.
“Your home,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
“Where you gamble on matters not concerning yourself?” he asked with chilling incivility.
“How hypocritical,” she drawled.
“Tread carefully, Lady Winfern.”
“Or what? You might bite?” Theo snapped provocatively.
He was so much taken aback for a moment he said nothing. Then his gaze narrowed on her, and he softly replied, “Yes, and I have large, powerful teeth.”
Theo returned his regard, trying to take a measure of the man. “I have it on the highest authority a bet placed at White’s only a few days ago was on who Lady Sophia Fairfax might choose as her suitor! Another speculation with an exceptionally large purse is on who the widowed Lady Twickenham will take as her protector. Is it Marquess Argyle or the more dashing Earl Raymore?”
“You compare your outrageous boards to the wagers set at White’s?” he demanded with an arched brow. “It is a gentleman’s club. Wagers are a bedrock of their activities.”
She smiled. “And at my home, my guests can do whatever they wish.”
“Guests like the countess.”
Of course, he hadn’t forgotten the countess’s state of déshabillé.
“It is of no concern of yours, Your Grace,” Theo said mildly, “Who I have as guests and what they do here. Now, how might I help you this afternoon.”
“How unflappable you are,” he drawled with a small curve to his mouth.
Theo almost gasped, for she felt that small smile way down in her belly, an unanticipated curl of heat that blossomed outward and set her heart to racing.How utterly absurd!
“I do beg your pardon, is there something I should be afraid of?” Without waiting for his reply but very conscious of his scrutiny upon her body, Theo walked to the mantle and poured brandy into two glasses. Padding over to him, she offered him one of the glasses, which he took. His gaze was shrewd, and she detected the cunning brilliance in his eyes. The duke evidently assessed what he knew so far, and though Theo thought it was extraordinarily little, there was knowledge in his eyes.
“The countess just now was very shocked to see me in this domain. The young miss beside her looked ready to faint. Walking down the hallway just now, the small glimpse into the rooms with open doors show a décor of feminine grace and beauty. There is no touch indicating a man lives here or that there are any expectations of any gentleman callers. That is why the countess appeared so shocked.” He walked over to the board, his expression inscrutable. “And you have a wagering board…very much like the wager books we have at White’s and Brookes. The winner of the wager will receive the sum noted here.”
“How astute,” she said quite blandly.
He took a healthy swallow of the brandy. “Your home is a meeting place for ladies of theton. A saloon of sorts…a club perhaps?”
Her composure, so laboriously acquired, trembled. How little effort it took to achieve his conclusion. “Whatever my home is, of what concern is it yours?” Theo asked, lifting her glass to her lip and taking a demur sip impervious to his outraged scrutiny.
The duke studied her with an air of befuddlement. “Any sort of club is a gentleman’s domain for a reason, Lady Winfern.”
“Surely you agree there are some things thatcannotbe exclusive to men.” Theo smiled. “Wagers are an amusing pastime that cannot only be owned by your sex. At least we ladies are sensible in our gambling. Only a mean-spirited beast would dare to censure us.”
