Page 13 of The Wager of a Lady (The Beautiful Barringtons 4)

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Georgina perched on the overly tufted, extra-wide settee of Leo’s office, shocked at how she’d come to be here.

She ran her fingers over the lush velvet of the settee’s cushions, marveling at the seductive feel and the crimson color, so stark against her pale hands. Would he take her later on this settee if she lost, or seduce her upstairs? Which was more tawdry?

The settee it is.

Georgina had spent the last two years romanticizing Leo Murphy and her unyielding attraction to him. It had been easy to fall into a casual friendship with him. Leo reminded Georgina quite a bit of her cousin Ben back in New York. Full of secrets and determined to be worse than he really was. Leo considered himself to be a cruder, coarser version of his brother, Lord Welles, because of the circumstances of his birth. But that wasn’t how Georgina saw Leo at all.

His blatant manipulation of the current circumstances notwithstanding.

She looked out the window behind the desk in Leo’s office. The panels of glass took up most of one wall, giving a glimpse out to the street in front of Elysium. Carriages moved up the wide gravel drive in a steady flow, stopping only to deposit their richly garbed occupants. She’d visited Elysium many times since the night she’d met Leo and never failed to be impressed by the extravagant gaming palace he’d created. She gently toed the lavish rug beneath her feet, as expensive as anything gracing her parents’ home in Lafayette Square back in New York. The contents of the office spoke of understated wealth—a great deal of it.

Leo Murphy, without a doubt, had to be the most overindulged, privileged bastard in all of London.

Her fingers stroked the decadent cushions beneath her. The settee’s appearance struck Georgina as overly sexual and belonged in a damned brothel. She was sure it was no accident Leo had this piece of furniture in his office.

Something stirred softly inside her. Naked skin. Mouths. Tongues.

Georgina jerked back her hand.

Masterson had returned home from Elysium a week ago with yet another of his young gentlemen, a barrister. Georgina barely paid her husband or his guests any notice. She had grown accustomed to Masterson and his propensity for blonde men barely older than herself. Her only hope was that the pair would be quiet.

But as her husband had made his way to the stairs, drunk on lust and scotch, Masterson had paused to inform Georgina thatsomeonemight be coming by in the next few days for the deed to his hunting lodge in Scotland. Did she have any idea where he’d put the piece of paper? The drawing room, perhaps? Possibly in the desk she favored for her correspondence? Oh, and the horses he’d recently purchased from Tattersalls would likely no longer be part of his stables. Would Georgina be a dear and alert one of the grooms?

Masterson’s subtle way of telling her he’d lost.

Georgina had watched her husband stumble up the stairs, arm in arm with the blushing young man, wishing Masterson would simply take a tumble and free her from this hellish existence. Two long years she’d been in London, hating every moment of her marriage.

Once Masterson disappeared, Georgina had walked into his study, a room she did not usually enter without good reason. Her husband rarely used the room as intended, and she’d accidentally witnessed things she would rather she hadn’t. Secretaries were not hired for their qualifications or skills with numbers, but whether or not they were open to being tupped by their employer.

Seven secretaries alone had quit this year.

Nonetheless, Georgina set out to do as Masterson had asked and find the deed to the property in Scotland. After rifling through her husband’s desk and finding no deeds, only a collection of unpaid bills, Georgina decided the best course would be to confront Masterson at breakfast. The following morning as she sat across the table from him, munching on a bit of toast, Georgina had pointedly asked how much had been lost at Elysium. Masterson had calmly sipped his morning tea and informed Georgina her beloved Beechwood Court, the hunting lodge, four horses recently purchased at Tattersall’s and, as he dabbed at his lips, Georgina herself, had been used to secure a line of credit at Elysium.

“Unfortunate, my dear, that I lost.”

Georgina had dropped the fork in her hand. She should have stabbed him with it.

Humiliation wasn’t something one should endure over breakfast. Georgina didn’t care for the way it made her eggs taste. Granted, she and Masterson didn’t have a real marriage, but at the very least, she’d hoped he wouldn’t go around offering the use of her body as one would a ripe peach. After stating she wouldn’t honor such a ridiculous request, no matter the damage to Masterson’s honor, her husband had only laughed.

“Murphy took your marker for a reason, you silly chit. And it wasn’t because he enjoys teaching you faro. Let him bed you, and we’ll get everything back.”

Then the vile cur had patted Georgina’s head as if she were twelve and left the table.

She had sat in the breakfast room until her tea went cold, replaying the conversation with Masterson. She was sure he was mistaken.

A week went by. No one came to claim the horses, Beechwood Court, or the hunting lodge. Nor was her marker returned. So now, she found herself at Elysium. And just as Masterson had predicted, Leo wanted to bed her. He’d plainly admitted as much. But that wasn’t why she was angry with him.

“Larkin will serve as dealer. Smith has gone to fetch him,” Leo informed her as he shut the door of his office. He’d conferred with Elysium’s large doorman for several minutes while she sat on the settee, contemplating her fate.

“Larkin is acceptable,” she answered, thinking of the young faro dealer she was friendly with. Still toying with her glass, Georgina’s eyes flicked to the marker with her name on it.

A different young lady, one who would never wager herself, would have taken the marker and thrown it into the fire when it had been offered and fled back to her husband. But Georgina had a propensity to do reckless things.

“Good.” Leo’s eyes, sapphire blue with a distinct ring of indigo, fell on her. His gaze trailed over the modest neckline of her dress before settling on her lips. Long, elegant fingers clasped the bourbon bottle as he poured another splash into her glass.

Georgina sucked in a shaky breath. Leo rarely wore gloves, and his bare hands were as beautiful as the rest of him. Well-shaped and graceful. There were small callouses on his palm as if he’d been doing something more strenuous than noting wagers in Elysium’s Red Book. She’d often watched in fascination as he gestured with his hands while speaking, wondering how those fingers would feel trailing along her skin.

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