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СКАЧАТЬ felt another jolt of fear. The reason for the earl’s haste was clear—he wanted, nay, he needed, to find a husband for his youngest daughter. As soon as possible.

      That must mean his finances were in worse shape than usual. Eleanor was well aware of the two outstanding mortgages on the estate, the back pay owed to many of the servants, the accounts to various merchants that went unpaid. Normally the earl juggled his funds in such a way that each was paid just enough to keep the more aggressive creditors at bay.

      Something must have changed. Eleanor wished she had the nerve to ask him what had happened. Yet even knowing why the need for funds so suddenly arose would not alter the earl’s plans.

      He was going to arrange a marriage for Bianca to whomever he could make the best deal with, the deal that most benefited himself. He most certainly would not allow anything as petty as his daughter’s personal feelings toward her future husband to deter his decision.

      Poor Bianca. A chill feeling of dread crawled up Eleanor’s spine. Bianca’s sweet innocence was no match for the manipulating earl. Eleanor turned toward her sister and the dread escalated. Bianca was smiling with delight, completely unaware of her fate.

      “We shall have the best time,” Bianca exclaimed. “Aren’t you excited, Eleanor? It’s been many years since you’ve been to Town.”

      “Eleanor?” The earl turned a disparaging eye upon his oldest daughter. “Bianca, I have come to bring you to Town, not your sister.”

      “Not Eleanor?” Bianca’s face crumbled with disappointment. “Why won’t she be coming with us?”

      “She is not needed,” the earl said dismissively.

      Eleanor bit the inside of her lip, trying to remain as outwardly serene as possible. The earl did not engage in arguments with his daughters. He dictated and they obeyed. Yet with the proper approach, he could be persuaded.

      “But of course Eleanor must come,” Bianca declared, her voice shaking with emotion. “I shall be lost without her. Please, Papa?”

      The earl briefly glanced at Eleanor. She forced herself to lift her head and stare at his stiff shoulders, refusing to be reduced to an insignificant afterthought. Bianca needed her and therefore Eleanor wanted very badly to go to London. But she would not beg.

      Yet with each passing moment of silence, her fear heightened. What would become of her sweet sister if she were not there to oversee things? What manner of man would the earl choose for his youngest daughter? Eleanor shuddered. She had no confidence in their father’s judgment or motivation.

      “If you bring me, I can serve as both companion and chaperone,” Eleanor said quietly.

      “Please say yes, Papa,” Bianca implored, hurrying across the room. She sank gracefully to her knees in front of the earl’s chair. “I cannot manage without her.”

      Though it pained her to watch her sister subjugate herself in such a manner, Eleanor kept silent. Finally the earl raised one eyebrow and leveled a haughty, disapproving look at his eldest daughter.

      “If it pleases you, Bianca, then of course your sister may come along,” he declared in a cool, languid voice. “Provided she makes herself useful.”

      Peter Dawson’s fingers moved with elegant ease as he deftly shuffled the deck, then cheerfully dealt the cards. Sebastian, seated across from his friend, disciplined himself to appear calm and relaxed. After all, this was merely a friendly game of cards among gentlemen. Suspicions would surely arise if he appeared too anxious or agitated.

      The Duke of Warren’s ballroom was crowded and stuffy, making the card room a haven for the gentlemen needing a respite from the dancing and conversation. There were five of them seated around the table, but only one man truly interested Sebastian—the Earl of Hetfield. His prey.

      It had taken Sebastian two weeks of careful planning to reach this point. He had returned to Town a few days after his grandmother’s funeral bent on revenge, only to discover the earl was not in Town. Frustrated, Sebastian had spent his days waiting anxiously for the earl to return, honing his already impressive sword skills and perfecting his keen shot.

      Then finally some good news. The earl had returned to Town four days ago. Assuming he would soon be out in society, Sebastian had visited three different events tonight in search of him. It was somewhat of a surprise to locate Hetfield at the duke’s party, for it was far and above the most respectable entertainment of the night.

      “Cards, gentlemen?” Dawson asked.

      Sir Charles declined, Lord Faber took one. The earl took two, then drew on the stub of a cheroot. He looked younger than Sebastian had imagined, and to be fair, far less sinister. Though he had known for years the identity of his mother’s lover, Sebastian’s promise to his grandmother had rendered him powerless to confront the man. He had therefore avoided meeting Hetfield, worried he would be unable to restrain himself.

      Yet as he now gazed at the man who had driven his mother to suicide and forever changed his life, Sebastian was surprised at how calm he felt. Perhaps it was because his plan for revenge was so simple?

      Sebastian knew the course he must take had to be an honorable one. Hence a duel would be fought between himself and the earl.

      The practice of dueling had been employed for centuries by gentlemen throughout the world as a means to appease honor and exact justice. Though frowned upon by society, it occurred nevertheless and in far greater numbers than many believed.

      Sebastian knew he had the grounds to accuse the earl of causing his mother’s untimely demise, but he would not reveal the truth and sully her memory. Amazingly, his grandmother had managed to keep her daughter-in-law’s suicide a secret. There had never been a whisper of scandal attached to his mother’s name either before or after her death and Sebastian was determined to keep it that way. As far as society knew, this duel would be fought for a completely different reason.

      It would be fought for something foolish and ridiculous and false—an accusation of cheating at cards. The ironic justice of it all sat well with both Sebastian’s conscience and macabre sense of humor.

      It would actually be fairly simple to call the earl’s honor into question. After Hetfield had won an especially large pot, Sebastian would accuse him of cheating, demand satisfaction, set the duel, and thoroughly disgrace the man. Either swords or pistols would serve nicely, since Sebastian was an expert at both.

      “Benton?” With a practiced gesture, Dawson held out the deck. “Will you draw?”

      Sebastian gave his cards a cursory glance, declined any new ones, then tossed a coin in the center of the table. The key to winning at vingt-et-un was an awareness of what cards had already been played, coupled with the ability to calculate the odds as to which cards would next appear. It was something Sebastian excelled at doing.

      He watched closely as the earl lifted the edge of one card and stared down at it, contemplating his next move. Sebastian’s adversary was a strong player, his moves bold and decisive. Of all the gentlemen at the table he was clearly the most skilled. Except for Sebastian, who was deliberately tossing away most of his winning hands.

      At Dawson’s signal the players turned their cards face up. “Twenty-one,” Dawson said. “Lord Hetfield wins.”

      “Damn, Lady Luck is certainly СКАЧАТЬ