The Companion's Secret. Susanna Craig

Fox teased.

      “She won’t.” Of this, Gabriel was quite certain.

      His friend eyed him suspiciously. “It’s hardly gentlemanlike to use your past, er, acquaintance with Lady Montlake to—”

      “Lady Montlake has no past acquaintance with my ‘blade,’ if that’s what you’re insinuating. Gad, the woman must be fifty! Even I have limits.”

      “Do you?” One skeptical brow rose. “I confess I am glad to hear it.”

      “Stow it, Foxy. If your brothers did not teach you the dangers of poking the bear, I shall,” he warned.

      One footman opened the door and lowered the steps, while another held up a second umbrella.

      “So what is your hold over the old dame?” Fox asked when the servants had left them under an awning and gone to assist the party in the next carriage.

      “Oh, young Montlake got into a spot of trouble.”

      “In over his head at the tables, was he? I rather thought you preferred to teach those foolish puppies a lesson.”

      Gabriel had ruined more men over a hand of cards than he cared to count, and if he had wished it, he could have been entering Montlake’s house tonight as its owner, rather than a guest. But something about the beads of sweat on the young man’s brow, the way his eyes had shied in terror from the cards as they fell, had persuaded Gabriel that the viscount had learned his lesson, beggaring not required.

      Unlike, say, Lord Trenton.

      Gabriel shrugged. “Makes a nice change from grinding them under my boot heel.”

      “And you expect Lady Montlake’s appreciation to take the form of a warm welcome tonight, do you?”

      “Warm? Perhaps not.” Gabriel stepped over the threshold and handed his cloak to a footman. “But welcome, nonetheless.”