The Duke's Gamble

“I’m sorry, your grace,” she said generously. “But I shall be most happy to accept your contribution to our fund.”

He sighed glumly. “You may not choose to believe me, Miss Penny, but you are the first lady I’ve ever known to send back a piece of jewelry.”

“I’ll believe you, your grace.” She smiled, and finally turned back toward him. “Life is full of firsts. I suppose I should feel honored that one of yours involved me.”

“I hope only the first of many,” he said. “For both of us.”

His glumness gone, his face seemed to light with enough fresh hope that she felt a little twinge of uneasiness. Whatever was he thinking? She hadn’t promised him anything.

Had she?

At once she shoved aside the question as small-minded. It was only because she was still so weary from yesterday’s wedding and the possibility of a cheating scandal that she’d let herself even consider such an unworthy possibility. Guilford had just conceded; she should be using this as an opportunity to benefit Penny House, not to suspect his motives.

“If you wish, your grace, I would be glad to show you exactly how the funds we raise are distributed and employed,” she said. “It would be my pleasure.”

He raised his brows with a great show of surprise. “You have forgiven me, then, even if you returned my peace offering?”

She wished she didn’t have this nagging feeling that he was saying more than she realized. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t, your grace?”

He bowed his head, contorting his features to look as painfully contrite as any altar boy. “I’ve always heard it’s divine to forgive, Miss Penny.”

“It’s more divine not to sin in the first place, your grace,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Though I shall grant you a point for audacity, trotting out such a shopworn old homily for a clergyman’s daughter.”

He looked up at her without lifting his chin, his blue eyes full of mischief. “I always try my best, Miss Penny, especially for you.”

“More properly, your grace, you are always trying,” she said, unable to resist. They were falling back into their usual banter, the back-and-forth that she’d always enjoyed with Guilford. Maybe last night really had been no more than a regrettable lapse; maybe they really could put it past them. Because he’d always been one of her favorite members—and an important figure on the club’s membership committee—she’d be willing to shorten her memory.

He laughed, his amusement genuine. “Let me truly repent, Miss Penny. Explain to me these charities, and I vow I’ll listen to every word, and then make whatever contribution you deem fitting.”

“The price of that bracelet would be more than enough, your grace,” she said, feeling the glow of expansive goodwill. “But I’ll do better than a dry explanation. Tomorrow is Sunday, and, of course, Penny House is closed. If you wish, I’ll take you to one of our favorite charities, and show you myself what we have accomplished.”

“What an outstanding idea, Miss Penny!” he exclaimed, ready to embrace this plan as his own. “I shall be here tomorrow morning with my carriage.”

She paused for a second, then decided not to take the obvious jab back at him. Whether or not the duke chose to spend his Sunday mornings in churchgoing was his decision, not hers. She’d accept his money for her good works, true, but she knew better than to overstep and try to save his soul as she emptied his pocket.

“Later in the afternoon would be more convenient for me, your grace,” she said lightly, without a breath of reproach. “And perhaps hiring a hackney might be less obtrusive.”

“We’ll compromise, and take my chaise,” he said with a sweep of his hand. “That’s plain enough.”

Of course, it wouldn’t be, not with a ducal crest bright with gold leaf painted on the door. Then again, Guilford wouldn’t know how to be unobtrusive if his life depended upon it.

But she’d be willing to compromise, too. “Thank you, your grace,” she said. “I’ll be delighted to ride in your chaise.”

“And in your company, Miss Penny, I shall be…” He paused, frowning a bit as if searching for the perfect word. “I shall be ecstatic.”

He bowed, then turned away and into the crowd of other members before she could answer. Apparently that was farewell enough for him tonight, or perhaps that was how he’d chosen to save a scrap more face. Amariah only smiled, and shook her head with bemusement as she began to greet the next gentleman. Good, bad or indifferent, there’d be no changing the Duke of Guilford, and resolutely Amariah put him from her thoughts until tomorrow.

Guilford pushed the curtains of his bedchamber aside to look out the window, and smiled broadly. Sunshine, blue skies, and plenty of both: the gods of good luck and winning wagers were surely smiling on him today. Despite the romantic plays and ballads proclaiming that dark mists and fogs were best for lovers, he’d always found a warm, sunny day put ladies more in the mood than a chilly, gray one. With a cheerfully tuneless whistle on his lips, he turned around and let his manservant Crenshaw tie his neckcloth into a knot as perfect as the rest of the day promised to be.

“A splendid day, isn’t it, Crenshaw?” he declared, his voice a little strangled as he held his chin up and clear of the knot tying. “Would that every Sunday were so fine, eh?”

“As you wish, your grace,” said Crenshaw, his standard answer to all of Guilford’s questions for as long as either of them could recall. With puffs of wispy white hair capping perpetually gloomy resignation, Crenshaw was a servant of such indeterminate age that Guilford couldn’t swear if the man were forty or eighty; all he knew for sure was that Crenshaw had been a part of the family since before Guilford had been born. Guilford had inherited him along with his title when his father had died, and he expected Crenshaw to be there waiting each morning with his warm shaving water and razor until either he or Crenshaw died first. And Crenshaw being Crenshaw, Guilford wouldn’t bet against him to outlast the whole lot of Fitzhardings.

“It is what I wish,” Guilford said. “Not that I have any more say in the weather than the next man. Is the chaise around front yet?”

“I expect it any moment, your grace.” Crenshaw gave a last gentle pat to the center of the linen knot, like a nursemaid to a favorite charge. “Shall I expect you to return to dress for the evening, or will you be going directly to Miss Danton’s house?”

“No, no, Crenshaw, I am done with Miss Danton, and she with me,” Guilford said, without even a trace of rancor. “May she ride to the hounds happily into the sunset, and away from me. Today I’ll have another fair lady gracing my side—Miss Amariah Penny.”

“The lady from the gaming house, your grace?” Holding out Guilford’s coat, Crenshaw’s amazement briefly overcame his reticence. “One of those red-haired sisters, your grace?”

“The same, and the first and the finest of the three,” Guilford said with relish as he slipped his arms into the coat’s sleeves. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d anticipated an engagement with any lady this much. “I shall return when I return, Crenshaw. I can’t promise more than that. There’s the chaise now.”

He grabbed his gloves and hat, and bounded down the staircase. He had always liked Amariah Penny, liked her from the first night he’d met her. He’d first visited Penny House for the novelty of a club run by ladies, but Amariah was the reason he’d returned. It wasn’t just her flame-colored hair and well-curved figure—his London was full of far more beautiful women—but her cleverness. She was quick and witty in the same ways he was himself, and because she always had the right word at the ready, she was vastly entertaining. You’d never catch her relying on a languid simper to cover her ignorance. She smiled wickedly, then came at you with all guns blazing, and Guilford had never met another woman like her.

Yet before this week, he hadn’t thought of her as anything beyond her place at Penny House. He wasn’t certain why; perhaps he just hadn’t wanted to tamper with a perfectly good arrangement between them. The wager had changed that. It was almost as if he’d been granted permission to consider her in bed instead of just the front room of Penny House, and now he could scarce think of anything else. He wanted to see the whole expanse of her creamy pale skin, and learn every exact place she had freckles. He wanted to explore the body her drifting, constant blue gowns hinted at, and discover the lush breasts and hips he suspected were there. He wanted her to laugh that wonderfully husky laugh just for him, and he wanted to hear her moan with the pleasure he’d give her.

Most of all, he wanted to learn if she could amuse him in bed as much as she did each night in the parlor at Penny House. No wonder he couldn’t think beyond such an enchanting possibility.

What was she doing now, at this very moment? Was she making herself ready for him, just as he had for her? He pictured her sitting before her looking glass while her maid dressed her hair. With the delicious torment of female indecision, she’d be choosing her gown, her stockings, her hat, all with him in mind, and he couldn’t help but smile.

The chaise was waiting at the curb, its dark sapphire paint scrubbed and shining. Gold leaf picked out his crest on the door, and more gold lined each spoke of the wheels, like spinning rays from the sun. As he’d ordered, the windows were open and the leather shades rolled up and fastened, leaving the interior open to the breezes and light. He didn’t want Amariah feeling trapped, or too confined; he wanted her comfortable and relaxed against those soft leather squabs, and wholly susceptible to his charm.

He climbed into the carriage and settled back with a happy sigh as the footman latched the door after him. This wouldn’t be like the night at Penny House. This would be his domain, not hers; he wasn’t about to grant her that advantage again. With the same tuneless whistle, he picked a white flower from the little vase bolted to the wall of the carriage and tucked it into his top buttonhole. He’d never known any woman this long before he’d seduced her—that is, excluding the cooks and relations and young daughters of old friends who were by nature unseducible—and he found the novelty of their situation at once intriguing and exciting.

The chaise had barely eased into the street when a rider on horseback came up beside them, the man reaching out to knock his fist imperiously on the side of the chaise.

Guilford pulled off his hat and thrust his head through the open window, the breeze plucking at his hair. “What, Stanton, will you raise the dead?”

“The dead are pretty well raised by this hour, Guilford,” drawled Lord Henry Stanton, “else all the knocking in the world won’t raise ’em further.”

“Very well, then, you’re raising the hair on all the living.” Guilford sighed impatiently. True, he’d been friends with Stanton since school, good friends and companions in considerable mischief over the years, but seeing him here, now, took a little of the luster from Guilford’s afternoon. Even a minute stolen from the time he wished to spend with Amariah was too much. “What are you doing here now, anyway?”

Stanton ignored him, his heavy-lidded eyes making a swift survey. “A carriage instead of your usual nag, and a posy on your chest?” he observed. “The lady will be pleased you made the effort for her.”

“The lady will be better pleased if I arrive on time.” Guilford knocked on the chaise’s roof to signal the driver to begin, but Stanton only followed, matching his horse’s gait to that of the horse in the traces.

“True enough, Guilford,” he said. “Rumor has it that Miss Penny is the very devil for promptness.”

That made Guilford smile in spite of himself, imagining how indignant Amariah would be to hear her much-practiced goodness linked to the prince of all badness. “You shouldn’t call her the devil anything, considering her father.”

“No?” asked Stanton, a leading question if ever there was one.

“No,” Guilford said dryly. “Not that I ever said I was even seeing Miss Penny today.”

“You didn’t have to say a word.” Stanton winked, and tapped a sly finger to the brim of his hat. “If you didn’t want the whole town to know, then you shouldn’t make your assignations in the middle of the crush at Penny House. Westbrook told me.”

Now Guilford’s sigh came out as more of a groan. “What I choose to do and where I do it are not any of your affair, Stanton.”