The Missing Heir. Gail Ranstrom

glanced up to find Morgan studying her over his hand. He raised his eyebrows as if asking a question. She smiled, realizing he was flirting with her. Rather effectively, too.

      When she took the last trick for a total of ten, Lord Geoffrey smiled. “Well done, partner,” he said.

      “Well dealt,” she answered.

      Lord Reginald, completely unperturbed, gathered the cards and began to shuffle. “As it is my turn to deal, I shall try to give my partner likewise good cards.”

      Grace shot a quick glance at Lord Reginald. Was he intimating that he suspected Lord Geoffrey of cheating in the deal? There did not seem to be a challenge in his eyes.

      “Excellent!” Adam said, cutting through the tension. “Mrs. Forbush made rather short work of us, did she not? I’ll relish the chance to even the score.”

      “Nothing like a little competition,” Lord Geoffrey said. “It always sharpens the senses and adds excitement, wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Hawthorne?”

      Meeting Lord Geoffrey’s gaze, Adam gave a half smile, one that only lifted one corner of his mouth. “If the stakes are high enough,” he said with a hint of challenge.

      Lord Geoffrey nodded and returned his attention to the cards. Was there some sort of history between the men?

      The next several hands went more slowly than the first, but Grace wasn’t aware of the passage of time until she felt Barrington’s hand on her shoulder.

      “Here you are, Grace. It is time for us to go. Let’s fetch your wrap.”

      “Come now, Barrington,” Lord Geoffrey protested. “I’ve scarce had such good luck with partners before.”

      “Too bad, Morgan. Grace is coming with me.”

      Grace looked over her shoulder to see Barrington’s face. He was completely serious! She lowered her voice to a conciliatory tone. “As soon as I finish this hand—”

      “Now.”

      A hush fell over the table as the men looked from her to Barrington and back. She folded her cards and took a deep breath. Every instinct she had told her to avoid the scene—to do whatever she must to smooth this over and keep the peace, as she’d done with Leland her whole life—but she’d finally had enough of Barrington’s subtle bullying.

      “After I finish this hand, my lord. If you will fetch my wrap, I will be done by the time you return.”

      Barrington gripped her elbow and pulled her to her feet, tipping her chair backward in the process. She was so stunned by this maneuver that she was rendered momentarily speechless. Players at the other tables stopped to look in their direction. Barrington seemed oblivious to the attention they were drawing. She heard chairs at her own table scraping backward but kept her eyes riveted on Barrington and prayed for restraint.

      “My lord, it would be unforgivably rude of me to leave the game in progress. I am not the only one to consider here.”

      “Well, you are the only one I am considering, Grace, and you are coming with me.” He tightened his hold on her arm and pulled her away from the table.

      Adam, Morgan and Lord Reginald all stepped forward as if they would intercede. She lifted her hand to them, trying to avert the pending disaster. She must avoid a scene at any cost. All she could think of was her brother. Leland had always gotten what he wanted by bullying, demeaning and embarrassing her. She thought she had escaped that ugliness, and that she’d never be at any man’s mercy again, but here she was. She knew she should face him down, but still…

      But still the fear of Leland and of calling his attention was controlling her, forcing her compliance—at least in public. Choking on the words, she said, “Gentlemen, please excuse me. Allow me to—” she tried to open her reticule, dangling from her wrist, to withdraw the remainder of her counters “—to reimburse you for your losses, Lord Geoffrey.”

      “No need, Mrs. Forbush,” he said, a frown knitting lines between his eyes. “Our winnings far exceed our losses. In fact, I will owe you—”

      Barrington tugged at her arm and Adam took a step forward, his intent clear. Lord Reginald, too, gave Barrington a hard look and made a move forward. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. Be calm, she counseled herself. Softly. Breathe. When she spoke, her voice was so serenely controlled that she scarcely recognized it.

      “Thank you for a lovely evening, gentlemen, but I really must be going. I have just recalled that Lord Barrington is quite right. We are long overdue for an appointment.”

      Though it was the deepest part of night, traffic along the main thoroughfares did not stop. Drivers called to one another and the sound of hooves on cobblestones filled the air. The moment Barrington’s coach stopped moving, Grace did not wait for a footman, but threw the door open and hopped down. She had not spoken the entire ride, not trusting herself to remain rational. Mrs. Dewberry had waited up and stood just inside the foyer. She handed the housekeeper her pelisse and reticule. “You needn’t have waited up, Mrs. Dewberry.”

      “I like to be sure everyone is all tucked up for the night, Mrs. Forbush. I don’t mind in the least.”

      Before she went any further, Grace needed to be certain she and Barrington would not be interrupted. “Is Dianthe home yet?”

      “Aye, Mrs. Forbush. Retired an hour ago.”

      “Thank you, Mrs. Dewberry. Now please get some sleep.”

      “Shall I fetch more brandy for his lordship, Mrs. Forbush?”

      She headed for the library, peeling her gloves away as she went. “He will not be staying long. Now off to bed with you.”

      “Yes, Missus.” The woman hurried toward the coach house where she and her husband had separate quarters.

      “Grace—”

      She was already pouring herself a glass of brandy by the time Barrington caught up with her.

      “Grace, talk to me,” he pleaded.

      Grace had wanted to be safely home and out of the reach of society gossips and Leland’s informants before she gave vent to her anger. Her back to him, she gulped the brandy and braced herself as the fire seeped downward, relaxing her clenched stomach muscles and stilling her trembling. She rarely drank anything stronger than sherry, but this occasion called for it. The next few minutes were going to be extremely unpleasant and she would need fortification to get through it.

      “Damn it all, Grace,” Barrington snarled, red-faced. “I won’t have it. I won’t have you cavorting at hells and flirting with every man there. It cheapens you.”