Page 43 of For a Scot's Heart Only
“I’ll bite.”
Count Aleksei Novikov, the morally ambiguous Russian envoy, discarded a six and a seven of hearts.
“You can take the risk, my friend, because you are both a player and the bank.” To the dealer, he flirted. “My dear, you must give me better cards, or I shall leave a pauper.”
Her smile was graceful. “I’ll do my best, my lord count.” She gathered his discards in one smooth swipe. “What about you, Mr. West?”
Heat pricked Thomas’s scalp. Miss Trevethan waited, impassive and pretty, her gray eyes measuring him. Saying his name was a nice touch. He should’ve known trouble was brewing when Ranleigh pulled her from the faro table to deal their game ofvingt-et-un. Miss Trevethan had an honest talent for taking men’s money.
In front of him were exactly ten guineas—the last of his funds. It was no accident that Ranleigh’s bet matched his coins. The cur.
“Come now, West. You’ve money to bet,” Ranleigh said.
“Which I’m rather fond of, these guineas.”
Novikov chuckled. “Money and women. They come and go, my friend.”
“Especially when a man visits Maison Bedwell.”
A scowling Ranleigh fiddled with a stack of coins. “We both know you’ve vast sums to wager.”
Thomas drummed his fingers on the baize. Bone tired and longing for his bed, he was not in the best frame of mind for patient disentanglements. Especially with surly nobles. When he’d arrived an hour past, the servant who took his coat warned him, “His lordship is in a black mood.”
“That makes two of us,” Thomas had muttered.
Eyes at half-mast, his jaw clenched, and the lethal Miss Thelen nowhere in sight, Lord Ranleigh was a puzzle. Their business dealings were all but finished. West and Sons Shipping was not for sale. But the canny lord was up to something, which was perfect timing for Thomas to pave the way for a friendly exit.
“Forgive my indecision,” he said to the table. “I’ve had a devil of a time wrestling a woman today. She wore me out.”
Ranleigh’s brows slashed. “What woman?”
Quite the surly edge in the dark lord’s voice. Interesting, that.
“You’ve never cared about who I keep company with.” Thomas made a show of studying his cards. “Or has a pretty piece finally gotten under your skin?” Going home with lighter pockets would be worth it if he learned the woman’s name. Henudged the last of his money forward. “My wager, Miss Trevethan.”
She reached for her facedown card, but Ranleigh’s arm shot out to stop her.
“The woman—what is her name?”
Thomas eyed his opponent. If syllables were swords, Ranleigh would’ve cut him in two. Thomas welcomed the sharpness, and the power coming ever so subtly to his side of the table. Shifting in his seat, he decided to play with it.
“TheMary Jane. I’ve mentioned her in the past.”
Ranleigh’s scowl deepened. “Mary?”
“TheMary Jane.” Thomas grinned, emphasizingthelike a tutor helping a daft ward. “You saw her when you visited my shipyard. She has the prettiest pair of... masts.”
Novikov laughed.
Ranleigh’s arm sank onto the table. “You speak of a ship.”
Thomas tucked his cards together, savoring the small victory. “Indeed. Don’t you recall her? The schooner I acquired from a Spitsbergen whaler. Her cinch broke this morning. It took all day and some hours into the night, but we saved her.”
“Such devotion,” the count said. “I think you must be an excellent shipmaster.”
“When it comes to women and ships, my lord count, a man does not take either one for granted.”
Novikov picked up his brandy. “Of late, ships consume me.”
