The Duke's Gamble. Miranda Jarrett

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      Guilford shifted his hand from the place over his heart to the front of his shirt, as if he’d intended all the time to smooth the fine Holland linen. “Ahh, Miss Penny, Miss Penny,” he said, coaxing. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

      In the grate behind them, the last charred log split and collapsed into the embers with a hiss of sparks and ash.

      “If you knew me as well as you claim, your grace, you’d know that if you tried to compromise me or anyone else on my staff, or even Penny House itself, I’d do exactly—exactly—that.” Amariah smiled serenely. “Now if you’ll excuse me, your grace, I’ll see that your carriage is brought around to the door.”

      Guilford watched her go, the plume nodding gracefully over her head with each brisk step. She might have won today, but this was only the opening skirmish. He’d be back. He wasn’t going to let her get the better of him, not like this.

      And no matter how she felt toward him now, he still meant to win that blasted wager.

       Chapter Two

       “F orgive me, Miss Penny, but are you certain you’ll be well enough on your own here tonight?” Pratt, the manager of Penny House, lingered still in the doorway to her private rooms. Below his old-fashioned wig, his narrow face was lined with worry as he watched Amariah light the candlesticks on her desk. “I can ask one of the maids to come sit up with you if you wish.”

      As tired as she was, Amariah still smiled. “Thank you, Pratt, but I’ll be fine here by myself.”

      He pursed his lips. “But, Miss Penny, if—”

      “I told you, Pratt, I’ll be fine.” Amariah blew out the rush she’d used to light the candlesticks. “I need you far more as the club manager than as my personal broody hen.”

      “Very well, miss.” Pratt sighed with resignation and bowed, a fine dust of white powder from his wig wafting forward. “Good night, miss.”

      “Good night to you, too, Pratt,” she said softly. She really was fond of him, broody hen or not, and she certainly couldn’t have made Penny House the success it was without his experience and constant guidance. “And thank you again for all your extra work today with Miss Bethany’s wedding. Or rather, with Lady Callaway’s wedding. Oh, how long it’s going to take me to remember that!”

      She laughed ruefully. It would be difficult for her to remember the change in her middle sister’s name and in her rank, too, just as she still occasionally forgot to call her youngest sister Mrs. Blackley instead of simply Miss Cassia, and she’d been wed to Richard for months. But in Amariah’s mind, they’d both always be just her two little sisters Bethany and Cassia, turning to her the way they had ever since their mother had died nearly twenty years before.

      “You’ll remember, miss,” Pratt said, and bowed again. “Good night, miss.”

      He closed the door softly, and for the first time in this long, long day, Amariah was alone. Finally she let the weariness roll over her, and with an extravagant yawn she dropped into the chair behind the desk, pulling the coverlet she kept there up over her shoulders as a makeshift shawl. She kicked off her slippers and tugged the white plume from her hair and the hairpins with it, rubbing her fingers across her scalp as her now-loose hair slipped and fell down her back. She pulled the chair closer to the desk, poured herself a fresh cup of tea from the pot that Pratt had left her, and with a sigh she turned to the pile of unopened letters and cards and bills that needed replies. Though the club had been closed yesterday and today for Bethany’s wedding, the work involved with running Penny House never seemed to pause.

      Quickly she sorted through the stack of papers, dividing them into categories of importance. While handling her father’s correspondence for the parish and the rectory was hardly on the same scale as Penny House, it had prepared her for trade and bookkeeping in ways that most young women of her station weren’t. This was the special ability she’d brought to Penny House, balancing costs against expenses and remaining firm with tradesmen, just as Bethany’s gift with cookery had made the club’s suppers famous, and Cassia’s knack for finding treasures in secondhand shops had turned the huge sow’s ear that Penny House had been when they’d inherited it into the most fashionably appointed gaming house in London. The best part of all was knowing how much money they raised every night for charity, exactly as Father had intended. Running Penny House made Amariah feel like that ancient old rascal Robin Hood, taking from the rich to give to the poor.

      Amariah smiled as she dipped her pen into the ink, remembering how the three sisters from the country had proved the doubters so completely wrong. But now marriage had reduced the three Pennys to one, and the never-ending work of running the club would be in her hands alone. There would be even more late nights and early mornings like this one for her, and resolutely she cracked the seal on the next letter, determined to make more headway before she went to bed.

      But the harder she tried to concentrate on the sheet before her, the more the figures seemed to swim before her eyes, and the more, too, that her thoughts seemed determined to wander off onto the most unproductive path imaginable.

      A path that led directly to the too-charming smile of His Grace the Duke of Guilford.

      She put down her pen and groaned, rubbing her eyes with her hands. The duke was certainly not the first gentleman in the club to press his familiarity with her or her sisters, nor would he likely be the last, not with a membership made entirely of men from birth accustomed—and expecting—to have their own way.

      Guilford, however, had taken her by surprise. Oh, he was worldly and witty enough for this kind of foolish, flirtatious game; there was no doubt of that. But until now he’d always been careful to keep most of his considerable charm reined in where she was concerned. He’d tease her, compliment her, tell her jests and banter with her, but that was all. No wonder he’d become one of her favorite gentlemen. He’d respected her and her role at Penny House. He’d understood why she must keep herself more pure and honorable than Caesar’s wife for the sake of the club’s viability, and why it would be so disastrous if she didn’t. On one occasion, he’d even come to Cassia’s defense when another guest had cornered her and made untoward overtures.

      Now everything had changed. Of course, she’d try to give the duke the benefit of the doubt, and pretend the brandy had been speaking instead of him; but she could recognize a man half-gone with drink, and he hadn’t been like that. He’d behaved as he did simply because he’d wanted to, because he’d thought he would succeed, and she’d never be able to feel at ease with him again.

      With a grumble of frustration she shoved her chair back from the desk and padded across to the window in her stocking feet, drawing the coverlet around her arms like folded wings. She pushed aside the damask curtain and gazed out over the club’s tiny enclosed backyard and across the slate roofs and chimneys of London. Though the stars still shone here and there in the sky, the horizon was beginning to pale with the coming dawn. All across the city, there would be hundreds of people whose workdays had already begun—bakers, milkmaids, fishmongers, stable boys, scullery maids—yet, as Amariah stared out over those rooftops, she felt as if she were the only one awake in the entire city.

      You can’t do everything by yourself, Miss Penny….

      Why had he waited in the dark like that for her, turning the back parlor into his own seductively cozy lair? How had he known exactly the way to ruffle her usual composure, teasing her with that nonsense about being a virago? He’d smiled down at her, his single dimple punctuating his face and his dark hair falling carelessly over his forehead; СКАЧАТЬ