A Regency Earl's Pleasure: The Earl Plays With Fire / Society's Most Scandalous Rake. Isabelle Goddard

      Sir Julian’s interest increased. ‘I knew that certainly but I had not realised that Rosings had been featured in such a well-known journal.’

      ‘You are too modest, Sir Julian. You must know that you own a most famous property,’ Sophia cooed.

      Feeling that the subject had now been exhausted, Sir Julian was eager to discover his beloved’s whereabouts.

      ‘Christabel?’ Sophia responded carelessly. ‘She’s not here this evening.’

      ‘How is this? Surely she was invited?’

      ‘Naturally she was invited, but she didn’t care to come.’

      Sir Julian’s well-bred eyebrows rose slightly and Sophia saw her chance.

      ‘You must know that Christabel is invited everywhere, Sir Julian. She is the toast of the ton, I believe. She picks and chooses as she wishes.’

      ‘I must admit I am a little disappointed. I returned from Rosings today on purpose to see her and was sure she would attend the rout.’ He breathed a small sigh and looked slightly wounded.

      ‘She probably didn’t give a thought to your being here tonight. She isn’t the most reliable of people.’

      ‘Miss Tallis has always been most scrupulous about keeping appointments,’ Sir Julian said a trifle sharply.

      Sensing that she might have gone a little too far, Sophia carefully backtracked. ‘Ah, now I recall— she was not feeling too well earlier this evening. She must have thought it best to stay at home.’

      ‘Not well? How is this? She was perfectly well when I last saw her.’

      ‘There’s nothing to worry about, I assure you. The family attended a picnic today in Richmond Park and we were all caught in the rain. It meant nothing to me, of course, I’m built of stronger stuff, but Christabel is a little fragile.’

      ‘Yes, indeed, almost ethereal, I sometimes think.’

      This was not the effect that Sophia had hoped for, but she recovered quickly. ‘I’m sure her decision to stay home was right. She would not have wanted to attend with blotched cheeks and a red nose.’

      Sir Julian looked aghast at this unimaginable picture of his loved one and sought reassurance. ‘I trust that Miss Tallis is not seriously unwell.’

      ‘She will be greatly improved in the morning, I’m sure. She is some years older than me, you know, and needs a little time to recover her spirits. And if she had come tonight, I doubt she would have had the energy to dance,’ Sophia finished pointedly as the orchestra struck up for a country dance.

      The Seftons had decided that though refreshments and conversation were normally deemed sufficient for a rout, their guests would be treated to a little informal dancing if they so wished. Sir Julian, mindful of his duties as a gentleman, immediately begged Sophia to grant him the favour of a dance. She accepted primly and only spoilt the effect by scowling at her brother who was leading Domino de Silva down the opposite line of country dancers.

      ‘Is that not your brother I see, Miss Sophia?’

      ‘Yes’, she admitted in a bored voice, ‘he’s supposed to be my escort though he chooses rather to dance attendance on some foreigner.’

      The foreigner was putting on a good show of enjoying herself despite an aching heart. Ever since the evening at Almack’s, when Richard’s lack of interest had been made so brutally clear, her happy spirits had been slowly and surely evaporating. The dance came to an end and Benedict, tired of having his feet crushed by an inattentive partner, said hopefully, ‘You don’t want to dance any more, do you?’

      She shook her head and looked around the room in search of her aunt. Even her chaperon appeared to have deserted her.

      Sensing her dejection, Benedict tried a diversion. ‘Have you ever gambled?’

      She opened her eyes wide. ‘My father used to gamble sometimes in Buenos Aires, but he said the clubs were not fit for young girls.’

      ‘There are clubs like that in London too—’ Benedict grinned ‘—but you don’t have to go to them to gamble. There’s usually the chance at most parties.’

      ‘Really? You can gamble here?’ She was genuinely taken aback. To be offered gambling in what seemed the wealthiest and noblest of settings was curious.

      ‘Let’s find out. I think they’ve set up a hazard table or maybe faro in the next room. Would you like to watch the game?’

      It was a distraction. She would go and watch until her aunt found her. They strolled into the adjoining card room and saw that a game of faro was in full swing. The bank had already amassed what looked like a fortune in rouleaus and the expressions on the players’ faces ranged from boredom through irritation to downright vexation. It took little time for Domino to understand the simple rules with Benedict as her willing tutor. As she watched card after card emerging from the spring-loaded faro box, heard the click of tokens changing hands and felt the building tension as losses and wins followed in quick succession, she began to forget about the interview with Richard. Gambling, it seemed, was the perfect antidote for a broken heart.

      ‘I want to play too,’ she whispered.

      Looking into her glowing face, Benedict stifled any misgivings and deftly inserted her into the circle. Very soon she was in the thick of the play. Her flushed face and sparkling eyes spoke of pleasure, but Benedict began to feel uncomfortable. She had taken to the game rather too enthusiastically, he thought, and now, looking around the table at their fellows, he didn’t like what he saw. To Domino they appeared unexceptional. The women perhaps were showing too much décolletée, but they were sumptuously and fashionably dressed and hardly differed from their sisters dancing just a few yards away; the gentlemen were very correctly attired in evening dress and treated each other with a jokey politeness that spoke of long-term intimacy. But from Benedict’s limited knowledge some of those gathered around the table were hardened gamesters and whispers of compromised virtue swirled around a number of the women. There was at least one wholly disreputable rake in the room.

      Lord Moncaster lazed at the head of the table in charge of the faro bank. It was customary for the wealthiest of patrons to take turns in running the bank and Leo Moncaster enjoyed riches enough to run a hundred faro banks and still have plenty left to indulge his every whim. At that moment his whim was turning to Domino. His weary eyes rested gratefully on her, savouring her youthful beauty and unsophisticated delight in this novel entertainment. As his eyes ran over her assessingly, she looked up from the table and caught his glance. She wasn’t sure what to think of him. He certainly made a splendid figure, looking as though he could have stepped straight out of one of Byron’s poems, but there was something in his glittering gaze that disconcerted her and she looked quickly away. Benedict had seen that gaze too.

      ‘Let’s go back to the salon and find a cold drink,’ he suggested.

      ‘Not yet, Benedict. Just one more wager. Next time I’m bound to win.’

      ‘That’s what everyone thinks, and you won’t.’

      ‘How do you know that? Just because you always lose.’

      ‘I don’t always lose—well, not all of the time,’ he finished lamely.

      ‘There you are, then. It’s my turn to win.’

      ‘I should take you back to the salon. Your aunt will murder me if she knows I’ve brought you in here.’

      ‘If you’re afraid of my aunt, you’d better go.’

      He was getting heartily bored with this recalcitrant girl. Perhaps if he upped and left she would follow. ‘I’m going, then, and if you’re wise you’ll come too,’ he whispered rather too loudly.

      Lord Moncaster raised a quizzical eyebrow, causing Benedict to flush with annoyance and make haste to leave. Once out of the room, he shrugged