Page 68 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

And that level of respect hardly stopped at the duke himself, as his sister was just as well-known, and well-feared. Though, while Isaac’s harsh exterior helped to get his point across, Gabriel considered Sybella far more terrifying, reminiscent of a flytrap. Harmless at first glance, until you let your guard down around her.

It was she who greeted both Gabriel and Christian when they arrived at Arkley Hall at last, dressed in a rubescent gown to show her support for the Devils. Her rich, umber hair had been cropped short just past her chin, with a decorative tiara acting as a headband to keep the more stubborn wisps away from the sharp angles of her face.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she purred, her voice surprisingly deep and smooth for one as feminine as she appeared.

“Good evening, Lady Cecil.” Gabriel grasped her extended hand, careful not to kiss her wedding band. “Or, should we refer to you by Fitzroy?”

“I would appreciate the latter, if you please.”

Gabriel nodded, offering a nod of respect. “Thank you again for hosting our little clubs in your home this evening.”

“‘Little’ is not the word I would use for them,” Sybella chuckled. “I daresay you gentlemen will eat clean through our food stocks by the end of the hour.”

“Apologies for your poor food stocks,” Christian grinned. “Ensure that your groceries are billed to the Orions.”

“I may take you up on that offer,” Sybella crooned. “Though, you may not want to make such lofty promises just yet. From what I’ve been hearing, your men have been on quite the losing streak.”

“Well, let’s see if we can’t even the scales,” Christian said, offering a slight bow. “Until we meet again, my Lady.”

“Do let Louise know that I’ll be writing her back soon,” Sybella called after the gentlemen. “I simply must catch her for tea before the little one’s arrival.”

Once the pair were certain they were out of earshot, each exchanged a look of relief. “God, but she’s still absolutely terrifying,” Christian groaned. “I’m not entirely sure how the late marquess lasted as long as he did.”

“Fitzroy was simply a man of commitment and focus,” Gabriel said.

The winding halls of the estate eventually led both gentlemen to the dining hall, its once massive table exchanged for smaller round tops in order to accommodate as many players as possible.

A makeshift staging area had been set farther back, accompanied by a few booths where chips could be exchanged or cashed out. These had a number of burly-looking men posted, though there wasn’t a man within these walls that would dare try and steal within Arkley’s manor. Well… hardly a man.

Gabriel quietly passed through the room and towards the refreshments table, eyes glancing at the back of a particular little marquess’ head. Giles Tilbury looked right at home among the multicolored stacks of betting chips and emptied glasses of whiskey.

He held his cards close to his chest, laughing among Devils and Orions alike, having an infuriatingly large pile of chips at his side. It was incredulous, how such a worm of a man could seemingly command the entirety of a table’s attention.

“Suppose putting pressure on him didn’t work out,” Christian whispered under his breath.

Gabriel ignored the twang of panic in his chest. Robin had failed, which meant he no longer knew where Robin resided. Thalia was absolutely going to kill him when she found out… unless she refused to speak to him ever again. And just when he’d finally opened up to the idea of genuine courtship…

“Ah, Your Grace! I was hoping to see that ugly mug of yours tonight!” An arm clapped against Christian’s shoulder as the devil himself inserted himself between both gentlemen. Tristan Lovell looked positively tickled, his own glass in hand while he offered another toward Christian. “I’ve been saving you a seat at my table. Tonight’s the night I win that brooch off you!”

Christian offered a smirk of his own, accepting the glass and downing it with one swig. “From what Sybella tells me, your newer recruits are pulling in quite the haul.”

Tristan beamed with pride, as if his very own children had been given the compliment. He leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper while glancing toward Giles’ table.

“Honestly, I’m shocked Lord Tilbury is as good as he is. You’d think with how quickly he’s going through the late marquess’ inheritance, some of it had to have been lost via gambling.”

Curious indeed. “You think he’s playing fair?” Gabriel asked.

“Looking for any reason to gain the lead, Your Grace?” Tristan chuckled lightly, but it was clear the thought had occurred to him as well. “I haven’t had to break up any fistfights yet, so if he is cheating, he’s doing a terrific job of it.” He winced slightly at a victorious outcry, followed soon after by groans of discouragement; Giles cackled madly as he pulled a massive pile of his chips to his side of the table.

“Not exactly the picture of subtlety,” Christian quipped.

“Can’t blame him too entirely. I’d be equally thrilled winning so much; let’s see if he knows how to hold onto it.” Tristan finished his glass off as well, handing it off to a passing waiter while his arm wrapped around Christian’s shoulders. “Come on now, no more delays! The brooch, man, the brooch!”

Christian rolled his eyes, giving Gabriel an apologetic nod. “Excuse me, but someone is eager to lose the entirety of his estate.” As he allowed himself to be pulled away, he offered a reassuring nod to his friend; a reminder that there was nothing a Harding couldn’t accomplish, obstacles be damned. And he was right, of course, as Gabriel hardly planned to quit just yet.

Robin had only meant to make things easier, and the Duke of Stonewell had never grown accustomed to simplified tasks. And, thanks to Christian, he had an inkling as to how he could accomplish his task.

He quietly took a seat at the table opposite Giles, ensuring he faced away as to not arouse suspicion. The men seemed an even split between Orions and Devils, with many a brow rising to see Gabriel Harding himself join their little game.

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