Page 18 of Her Ruse with the Rakish Duke
One side of his full lips tilted up, “That might be a little difficult.”
“And why is that?”
He shuffled the cards. “It would be unfair to you, my lady.”
“I will decide what is fair. Do you accept my terms?”
Daphne had had a lot of spare time after the seasons. Each one was longer than the last. She had taught herself card games, among many other minor interests. No one in her family could match her. She did not know the duke’s capabilities, but if he were anything like the stories, then he must have frequented these tables.
She just needed to win once. After that, she never had to deal with Victor Anderson again. A part of her revolted against the plan. She would be the last to admit that she enjoyed their spats. It was a welcome distraction from her mother who would have had her speaking to three different mamas otherwise, in a bid to link her with their sons.
In any case, Daphne met the duke’s amused gaze with her fierce one. This man was dangerous. It wounded her more that she had to pretend not to remember. That she had to recall everything he had said at the ball. He could grin at her all he wanted, but Daphne could not forget, nor could she allow herself to be fooled.
“Fine.”
“What if I win?”
“You will not,” Daphne replied, determined to wipe that smug grin off his face.
* * *
“You cheated! You are cheating!” Daphne accused, slapping her card down on the table.
Victor effected a fake frown and crossed his arms. “I won, four times in a row. Miss Keats, do you also think I have used underhanded means?”
The other girl ducked her head and mumbled something about a drink. She fled the table, leaving him with Daphne.
“She does not agree.”
Harry hurried over, worry etched on his face. Victor looked around to find that her little exclamation had attracted attention. Her mother whispered something hotly to Lord Wallace. Amelia was restrained by her father.
Victor leaned back and soaked it in. He was regretful that the peacock was not in the room. He had played slowly, so he would arrive, but the boy must have caught one of his feathers in a trap.
He should have come to see the passion in his fiancée’s eyes when she played. The fullness of her laughter when she neared a win. Her blazing eyes when she was annoyed. Or those freckles emblazoned on her pink skin when she was embarrassed.
Victor brought that out of her. The peacock could never share that claim. However, shewasglaring at him now as though he could be decimated with a glance.
“What…eh…what appears to be the problem this time?” Harry asked, dropping into the seat that had been vacated by Melanie.
“She thinks…”
“He cheated!”
Victor picked up one card and ran his fingers along the rim, “There is the problem.”
“My lady…” Harry started. She cut him off.
“Play with Lord Lutton. If you win two hands, I will concede.”
“Ah, how should I put this, my lady? Kensington hardly ever loses. Do not be offended; we all hate him for it. We think something went wrong in his head, which made him incapable of forgetting anything.”
“What?”
“I would rather not toil with him. I swore never to engage him in a game ever. It is a matter of pride at this point.”
Harry spoke nonsense of course. Victor should have mentioned to the good lady that on some weeks, when his father’s madness filled to the brim and spilled, he had to earn money.
He could not ask anyone for money; they would laugh at him behind his back. His mother’s happiness and face were already wounded by the man. The best Victor could do was to frequent those gaming halls and play like his life was dependent on the wins because it was.
