Page 71 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

Gabriel shrugged, hands raised in mock-surrender. “I have nothing to hide. Go on; the total should be seventeen.”

Giles moved to check the cards, but Isaac’s reaction could barely even be perceived. The cards seemingly appeared in his hands, his eyes flickering across the top before he offered a nod.

“Seventeen, then,” Tristan confirmed.

“And I had nineteen,” Giles spat. “Which means the odds are entirely in my favor. You’d be stupid to pull another card, Gabriel Harding, which means you knew ahead of time what the card was!” He pointed an accusatory finger, words practically venom on his tongue. “Admit it! You’ve had it out for me from the start, Duke of Stonewell! Why else would you take such a keen interest in my cousin, unless you wanted to spite me?”

Gabriel exhaled slowly, doing his best to remain in control. The urge to knock the man off his feet was intense, but he had a role to play.

“A cousin you all but washed your hands of, you mean,” Christian snapped. “You’d better stop now, before you cross a line you can’t return from.”

“He started it!” Giles shrieked, turning toward Sybella with a wild glare. “And I’ll prove it—I’ll prove to all of you what a two-faced coward your beloved duke is!” The little marquess barely took a step towards her when he was suddenly on the ground, face smashed against the floor as a small puddle of blood ran out from his mouth.

His arms were pinned tightly behind his back, legs briefly flailing before one was pressed beneath the heel of Gabriel, causing the other to fall completely prone. “Temper, little marquess,” he commented lightly. “Attacking a Devil is one thing, but their leader’s own flesh and blood?”

Gile’s face twisted with rage, spitting incoherently as Isaac moved protectively to his sister’s side.

“Gracious, but I hadn’t meant to cause so much commotion.” Sybella sighed, the damning card in question twirling between her fingers. “Here; if it will ease your mind, Lord Oslay, I’m happy to show you what you accuse me of.”

Giles’ face went deathly pale as a card was revealed; the king of hearts. “Y-You–you mean…?”

“Terribly sorry, Gabriel,” Sybella crooned, flicking the card away without a second’s thought. “Suppose tonight just isn’t your night.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Tristan finally spoke up once more, moving towards Gabriel as the pair worked together to hoist Giles onto his feet. “Since Lord Oslay here decided to act like an absolute fool, I’m marking this game as a win for the Orions.”

“I suppose that will make up for this slight against my honor,” Gabriel sighed, stepping away to brush his coat clean.

“What?!” Giles gurgled, blood still streaming from his mouth. “B-But I would have won!”

“You would have, yes!” Tristan’s expression appeared cheery, but his tone could cut through metal itself. “A shame you went and caused such an unforgivable scene. Gabriel, let me know if there’s any problems gathering up your winnings this evening; I’d hate for the Devils to gain a reputation of not paying their debts. Even if it’s from an ex-member,” he added, perhaps a bit too chipperly after the fact.

Some unseen rush of adrenaline charged through Giles, and he nearly tore free from Tristian’s grasp “No! Y-You can’t do this to me! It—those estates weren’t even mine to begin with!” Realization crossed his face too late, and all Giles could do now was clamp his mouth shut as angry chatter began circulating around the dining room.

“That money wasn’t, either!” a club member shouted out.

“You said you’d win me back twice as much!” another snarled.

“Seems as if you have quite a few debts to pay off, my little marquess,” Gabriel replied coolly. “That is, after the members of Arkley are finished with you. I don’t imagine you’ll be letting this one get away with attempted assault against your sister, Isaac?”

The duke of Arkley slowly shook his head, a cold murder building behind his gaze. He easily took hold of Giles, the man letting out a pained squeal as his arms tightened behind him.

“Well! That was a fun little detour,” Tristan beamed. “I’ll walk with Isaac and make sure Giles is fully acquainted with local law. Until next time, Gabriel!”

Gabriel offered a shrug in response, watching as Giles was practically dragged kicking and screaming. “Th-this isn’t over! You can’t do this to me!” The little marquess met Gabriel’s gaze, burning with an intense hatred never seen before within those icy-blue eyes. “You think so highly of yourself, but I still hold the card you want most. Once you’re done with my cousin, I’ll take her back, ruined and all.”

He wasn’t quite sure when it happened, but Gabriel quite suddenly found his fist plowed into Giles’ face, blood spurting from the man’s nose as red filled the duke’s vision. Isaac had no trouble regaining control of the weak-kneed marquess, seemingly ignorant as Gabriel grabbed the man entirely by the collar of his shirt.

“Speak of her again, and I promise you it will be the last use your tongue has,” Gabriel snarled.

Somehow, Gabriel paled further than before.

It wasn’t long after that Isaac dragged him from the dining room, the crowd of club members dispersing back to their tables or higher ranking members in hopes of retrieving lost funds. Gabriel exhaled loudly, suddenly feeling as if a massive weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He suddenly remembered the presence of his friend and, without missing a beat, turned to greet him properly. “Sorry—I hadn’t even asked if you lost the brooch or not.”

Christian stared at him for a long, hard moment, then broke out into laughter, slapping his friend against the back.

* * *

Thalia could hardly stand to look away from the clock. It was well past midnight, and she’d taken near-permanent residence in the drawing room closest to the entryway.

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