Page 34 of Love Unraveled
Gaston searched Bentley’s face for innuendo, but the man’s eyes twinkled, and his face was guileless. “The countess was distressed after an argument with the duke. I was nearby. I wish it were more complicated than that, for she is a beautiful woman.”
“Whatever did they argue about?” Bentley asked, waving for a server and ordering two more drinks despite the fact Gaston had yet to lift his glass to his mouth.
“I have no idea. And I don’t know her well enough to have asked.”
“But well enough to not have returned to your rooms last night.” Bentley looked absurd, raising his eyebrows up and down.
Gaston was taken aback by the man’s keen interest but did not show it. “Why would you assume such a thing?”
Bentley casually scanned Gaston head to toe and back up again. Gaston had chosen trousers for the ball last night, so other than a change of jacket before leaving again with Bentley, he was now dressed as he’d been last night. Heat warmed his cheeks as he scrambled for an explanation that did not include spending the night with Sophie.
“I enjoyed watching the countess play faro. I had a yearning to play myself. So I went gaming.”
The footman interrupted and set two glasses down, taking Bentley’s empty one and eyeing Gaston’s full one. Still disconcerted by Bentley’s astute observation, Gaston obligingly tossed back the contents and handed the empty glass to the footman.
“Oh, how disappointing. And here I thought someone had finally made inroads with the countess. I was living vicariously, you see.” He grinned. “Still, I wish I had known. The ball was deadly dull. I would have joined you. Where did you go?”
“Saint James Square. The name escapes me at the moment. Blocked it out, I’m sure. I didn’t fare well.”
Bentley chuckled appreciatively, and Gaston was relieved he didn’t probe any further. Gaston could name the gaming hells—it was his business to know these things—but his presence or lack thereof could be easily verified if, on the off chance, he was reading Bentley’s interest wrong. Which he didn’t think he was. He was confident it was idle curiosity. There wasn’t an iota of seriousness in that golden-locked head of his.
“Here comes the devil now,” Bentley said, looking toward the doors. “And looking as bearish as he did last night.”
Gaston glanced over his shoulder. The duke was in conversation with another man and oblivious to the tide of men who parted as he marched through the room. He did not look Gaston’s way as he passed and took a seat at the next table. Gaston discreetly shifted in his seat so his back was facing the duke. No need to cause a scene…again.
“Back to the filly. I’m considering buying her. I’ve never had a horse in a race.” Bentley droned on, and Gaston smiled at what he hoped were appropriate moments. In reality, his ear was attuned to the duke and his companion. He wanted to know more about this man who had cornered Sophie’s attention, both good and bad.
“I am hesitant to put forth another bet. You lost the first of the season in Newmarket. You have not settled your accounts,” the duke’s companion said.
“I will,” the duke bit out. “I’ve not had a moment.”
“They adhere to jockey club rules and will not bend easily.”
“Place my wager for Chester under a different name.”
“So it would be great fun, don’t you think?” Bentley sat back in his chair, clearly awaiting an answer.
“It would,” Gaston replied, trying to refocus on the duke and his companion, but they’d dropped their voices, and he could no longer make out what they were saying.
“Splendid,” Bentley said. “I will speak with Walford. The ladies are as thick as thieves, so if one agrees, they will all agree.”
“Très bien,” Gaston said, although he had no idea what he was approving. But if it included Sophie, he wasn’t going to argue. After those grueling years apart, there could never be enough time with Sophie.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The truth may run fine but will not break, and always rises above falsehood, as oil above water.
—Miguel de Cervantes, The History of Don Quixote
“Icannot eatanother bite.”
Stratton pushed his plate away and patted his midriff as though he had a large belly rather than the trim waist he sported. Sophia had always found him attractive. Like a fine port, he was aging well, with only a touch of gray in his auburn hair, his laugh lines as appealing as the man himself. Despite all his charms, she’d never been interested in him. Nor he in her.
“But I have some delicious desserts planned,” Sophia said, pouting playfully.
“I’d much prefer some of the fine cognac you hide in your cellars.”
His moss eyes looked more the color of a deep forest in the light from the candles. Catherine had gotten those eyes. Sophia loved them both, father and daughter, but even Stratton did not know her whole story. It was a pain she’d borne alone. Or thought she had until Gaston’s return.
