A Gentleman's Gamble (Devilish Lords Book 3) Read online

  “Are you certain she was feeling well when she asked to be included?” Georgie, God love her, sounded concerned on her behalf. Eliza didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or give the younger woman a hug.

  Both Georgie and Mary had hearts as big as their mouths. No one could deny that they were kindhearted chatterboxes, to be sure.

  “I suppose it is possible that she’s suffered some sort of nervous breakdown,” Mary said. “She has been rather testy lately.”

  “More so than usual?” Georgie whispered.

  Mary seemed to mull that over. “That’s difficult to say. I suppose she—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Eliza could not hold back any longer. “She is sitting right here.”

  Georgie and Mary had the good grace to look abashed at having been caught discussing her.

  Georgie folded her hands in her lap. “I apologize for my rudeness, Eliza. Of course you are always welcome in our home. You never have to ask, I hope you know that.”

  Now it was Eliza’s turn to feel embarrassment. How utterly crass to be inviting herself into a duke and duchess’s home. But then again, Eliza was desperate and she had no other choices.

  So rather than make her excuses or wave aside the offer of an invitation, she lowered her head meekly. “Thank you, Georgie.”

  She was surprised when the settee sank beside her. Georgie had taken a seat beside her. Her voice was low and filled with concern. “Is everything all right, dear?”

  Eliza felt a pricking of something unexpected at the back of her eyes. Surely she wasn’t thinking of crying at a time like this. She rarely ever cried, and never without some physical pain involved. This was truly a low point in her life.

  But then again, it would only get more miserable before there was any hope of relief. She still had to propose…and to a man she detested.

  She swallowed down a weary sigh that would only elicit more concerned looks and gentle questions. She had enough of that from her own sister, she hardly needed more solicitousness from Georgie, of all people.

  After all, Jed was her brother, which hardly made her a proper confidante. Eliza forced a small smile instead of telling Georgie and Mary about her father’s threats or explaining her own admittedly insane plan to use a gambler’s roguish tendencies against him so he might wed her.

  “I am fine,” she said to the two young, pretty women who would never understand her predicament even if she talked till dawn. “I suppose I have been out of sorts lately. Perhaps it’s the weather.”

  She hoped that vague answer would suffice. While she still received some doubtful looks, the questions ceased so she supposed it had done the trick.

  Georgie reached over and patted her knee affectionately. “One more reason you must escape London next month and join us for the house party.”

  Relief swept over her at Georgie’s acceptance of her admittedly weak lie, not to mention the fact that she had successfully accomplished the first step of her plan.

  She had her invitation, now all she had to do was lay out her proposal in a way that a rake like Jed might understand.

  Smoothing down her skirts she returned Georgie’s smile. Or at least, she tried to. Georgie, like Mary, had an easy smile, as well as a quick laugh, light and tinkling.

  Eliza had neither. Her natural resting expression, she was often told, was too severe. Her laugh, on those rare occasions when humor got the best of her, was rough and ragged. More like a cough or a harrumph than a melodic laugh.

  She had an inkling that her attempt at a matching smile failed spectacularly. Georgie’s involuntary wince at the sight of it was what gave it away. She covered it quickly, and then Mary intervened. “Eliza, what on earth is the matter with you?”

  Oh for heaven’s sake. That was the last time she’d attempt a fake smile, even if it was a duchess sitting across from her.

  What was the matter with her?

  Where to start?

  Perhaps it was the fact that her father had gone from irritated to outraged to desperate over her lack of suitors. She’d rather hoped that her cantankerous father would begrudgingly come to accept her spinster status—Lord knew she had come to accept her fate nearly a decade ago during her first season.

  It hadn’t taken an oracle to divine that she was hardly a diamond of the first water. Thanks to her father’s fortune she had been admitted into society with a debut ball befitting a princess.

  But no amount of elegance and fine foods could convince the peerage to take her on. The only gentlemen to grace her sitting room that first season were fortune hunters who barely deigned to hide their motives.

  Her father had sneered at their ill-concealed greed.

  Though, he’d only sneered because the fortune hunters had not held a title. She suspected he would have sung a different tune if it were an earl who’d come begging for her dowry.

  But those first few seasons were inexplicably lacking in impoverished nobility and positively swimming with heiresses. Yes, she had the bad luck of coming out in a season chock full of wealthy, ambitious young ladies, all of whom seemed to be prettier and far more charming.

  And then as the seasons came and went, one of her few assets dwindled. That is to say, she grew older. Meanwhile, each season brought with it a new influx of debutantes, each more youthful and dewy-eyed than the last, it seemed.

  Her sister and Georgie were among those to steal the stage two seasons ago. Not that Eliza minded. She’d long since embraced her spinsterhood, and watching Mary enjoy her season had given her the sort of thrill she’d never experienced with her own debut.

  And then there was their father’s reaction. He’d been thrilled to finally have a successful daughter out in society and his satisfaction had meant relief for Eliza. She no longer bore the brunt of his harsh attention, as he now had a far more promising prospect with his second daughter.

  Poor Mary. Every time he looked at Mary, Eliza was certain she could see visions of the peerage in his eyes.

  She’d thought that was all it was about for him. The desire to marry into a good family with the title he so desperately craved. But she’d been wrong. In addition to joining the peerage, it seemed marrying his eldest daughter was now another investment opportunity for the fiscally-minded tycoon. And nothing, and certainly no woman, came between Archibald Beaucraft and a profit.

  Fear gripped her at the thought of her last conversation with her father. Fear was always her first response when it came to her father. If he’d ever been anything other than an angry man, she hadn’t been old enough to see it. For as long as she could remember he was a man prone to shouting first and asking questions later…if at all.

  And then there were the days when his temper could not be tamed. Her blood turned cold at those memories and she surreptitiously wiped clammy palms against her skirts. He could be vicious when the mood struck, and in those instances, he struck her.

  Always her. None but her. It seemed even servants were worthy of more respect and better treatment than his eldest daughter, and she’d made sure his anger had always been aimed at her and not Mary. That was deliberate on her part. She would not see him raise a hand to her darling baby sister and if that meant being foul-tempered to draw his ire, she’d risen to the occasion.

  She had no difficulty disappointing him; in fact, when viewed in that light, she supposed she’d been quite successful. Her debut had been a bitter disappointment to her father. But it was not as though she set out to be a terrible failure as a debutante—and therefore as a daughter. It was not as though she’d meant to be shy, and surely it was not her fault that the only gentlemen who approached her were after her dowry.

  Perhaps she could have tried harder to catch the eye of a man her father would have approved. But it had not been in her nature. Or, if it ever had, it had been beaten out of her. Literally.

  Now that so many years had passed, and with the wisdom that comes from looking back at days gone by, she could ask herself quite honestly how hard she had r
eally tried. Had she done everything in her power to secure a good match or had she worn her surliness like a talisman to ward off suitors. Had she truly been unable to summon up a decent simper or had her silence and her scowls been a form of protest against her father.

  Feeble and useless, but a show of rebellion nonetheless.

  Ah well. It did not matter much now, did it? She could analyze her personal history—and her failures—for the rest of time, but it would not change her present dilemma.

  With each passing failure of a season her father’s interest in her prospects had dwindled and he’d developed an avid, and abnormally tolerant stance with her sister. She thought perhaps he’d learned a lesson with her. That perhaps he’d seen how his cruelty had made her hard, and maybe he intended to remedy his mistakes with Mary.

  These past two years he’d given Mary everything she could ever ask. He’d spoiled her, and Mary would be the first to admit it. Meanwhile, he’d ignored her entirely. She’d been so grateful for the reprieve that she’d let her guard down. She’d even let herself begin to hope.

  What a fool.

  She’d been so very mistaken in assuming he would give up on her prospects so easily. Even if he’d lost hope in her finding the match of his dreams, that did not mean he didn’t have a plan for her. One that was worse than any fate he’d had in store for her when she was still young and a marriageable asset.

  For now she faced a life with a man as cruel as her father. Maybe even more so.

  Fear threatened to strangle her in its cold, vicelike grip, but she fought it back with one thought—the one thought that had kept her moving forward in face of such a dire fate.

  She straightened in her seat. Her father might have a plan for her, but she had a plan of her own.

  She forced her attention back to the present. One moment at a time. She would see this plan through methodically and with attention to detail. And her first detail had been neatly secured.

  With a long quiet exhale, she forced herself to relax as she focused her attention on the conversation going on around her.

  Georgie had resumed her place beside Mary with the tea between them and the girls had gone back to their chatting, none the wiser that their friend and sister had been caught in the midst of a near nervous breakdown.

  As this latest season crawled to a close, Mary and Georgie felt it necessary to relive each and every highlight and scandal—though none had been more scandalous than Georgie’s engagement to the duke at the start of the season.

  Eliza forced herself to listen to the gossip, not out of any great interest in the love lives of society’s bright and shiny darlings but because she was keen to hear any news of Georgie’s eldest brother, Jed.

  When his name was finally spoken, she nearly bolted out of her seat. Lord, but she was on edge these days.

  But then again, it wasn’t every day she plotted and schemed her own ruination.

  Unfortunately the chatter about Jed was ho-hum at best. Nothing she hadn’t already heard. He’d left London already, gone back to the Cleveland estate. She eased back against the settee, assuming her job was done now that the topic of Jed had been abandoned.

  But she’d relaxed too quickly. He came up again in the most peculiar way. Talk once again turned to the house party and its participants when Georgie let out a sad little sigh.

  “I do hope Jed doesn’t come up with some excuse to stay at home.”

  What? Why? Eliza sat up straight again. Why would he do such a thing?

  She looked to Mary. Surely her sister would ask those pertinent questions. But Mary merely sipped at her tea and made a murmuring sound of agreement.

  Clearly Mary already knew the answers.

  Eliza would wait and find a proper moment to ask her sister for more information. That was the idea, at least. In reality, she found herself blurting out the question just as Georgie moved on to talk of her sister Anne’s new baby.

  “Why wouldn’t he come?” she asked abruptly, once again causing her sister and Georgie to turn and face her.

  “Pardon me?” Georgie asked. Her tone was polite but there was no hiding her surprise, or Mary’s, for that matter. Mary was gaping at her as though she’d grown a second head.

  Eliza cleared her throat. “I was merely wondering…er, that is…” She pursed her lips and took a moment to collect herself. “You’d mentioned that Jed might cry off for this house party?”

  After another moment of stunned stares, Georgie cast a quick look in Mary’s direction and Eliza had the uncomfortable feeling that the two close friends had just engaged in some sort of silent communication.

  Whatever was decided, Eliza decidedly did not like it. Their combined gazes spoke of empathy and…oh blast. Pity.

  “He’ll likely join our group,” Georgie said with a reassuring tone that bordered on condescending. “I am sure Jed will be there, and I am certain he will be pleased to see you.”

  Mary, who’d long since moved on from her childish infatuation, was even less subtle with her condescending reassurances. “Indeed. The house party will be a wonderful venue for you and he to become…better acquainted.”

  They wore matching looks that were hard to describe. Pity was there, because they obviously did not truly believe she could catch the eye of a handsome rake like Jed. But more than that they looked…hopeful. Almost encouraging.

  Beneath all that she spied determination in their combined gazes, and Eliza had the uneasy sensation that there was some scheming going on behind those intelligent eyes.

  These girls might be chatterboxes, but no one with an ounce of self-preservation should ever doubt their intellect. To underestimate them would be foolish.

  It came as no surprise that when Mary spoke next, her gaze was moving over Eliza’s gown and her hair with a critical eye. “I do believe that with a little effort he will notice you above all others.”

  Eliza tried to keep from blushing, but if that ability fell within the powers of mere mortals, she had never learned it. Her fair skin tended to flush with any excess of emotion, but none more so than embarrassment.

  She knew what her sister meant. Attractiveness had never been her goal when it came to dress or hairstyles. But it wasn’t as though she was hoping to lure Jed into loving her.

  She hoped to appeal to his greed and weakness, not his base desires.

  But she stopped herself before she could protest. After all, for her plan to succeed she could very well use Mary and Georgie’s assistance to find time alone with him.

  She eyed them just as critically as they were assessing her. Yes, these two would be more powerful allies than an entire army at her side.

  Shifting in her seat, she tried to compose herself, ignoring the flames licking at her cheeks at their close scrutiny. Her first instinct was to deny, deny, deny.

  Surely her own sister couldn’t believe that she had honest affections for that knave. But then again, while her sister had happily lost interest in Jed—apparently her feelings for the knave weren’t as deep as Eliza had feared—she never had learned of his dastardly actions that day two years ago.

  She hadn’t had the heart to tell sweet, naïve Mary that the man she’d found so gallant and handsome had nearly seduced her to capture her hand in marriage.

  And all to win a bet.

  She shook off the old anger that threatened to rattle her calm. Now was not the time to revisit those misdeeds. After all, her current plan wouldn’t work at all if she wasn’t aware of his weak moral character. She should be grateful that he was such an ethically challenged fop. It would make her job that much easier.

  She forced herself to say the next words without cringing. “Perhaps I could use your help with these…efforts.”

  Mary’s eyes lit up as though her every dream had come true in that instant. Her voice was breathless. “Oh, Eliza, do you mean it?”

  She didn’t wait for a response, perhaps afraid that Eliza might change her mind.

  For years she’d been thwarti
ng Mary’s attempts to make her more fashionable, and now she had done it.

  Eliza had let loose a mighty force of fashion, who even now was turning to chat with Georgie about what colors might accentuate Eliza’s fair skin, and what style of gown would best enhance her admittedly plump figure.

  The conversation was once more focused on Eliza but this time she allowed herself to ignore it. She had no more interest in gowns or color schemes today than she’d had yesterday. But it did give her a certain satisfaction to know that she now had two allies in her quest to win over Jed.

  She wouldn’t tell them that their attempts to make her pretty were all in vain. To disabuse them of their silly notions seemed cruel in the face of their girlish joy. Besides, if these silly romantics believed her to be in love with Jed, they would move heaven and earth to give them the kind of privacy she required to make her proposal.

  Yes, this was certainly for the best, she told herself as she sipped her tea. She ignored Mary’s less-than-subtle comments about how best to enhance her cleavage and focused instead on the fact that she now had allies. That was what mattered now.

  Let them do what they would to her wardrobe.

  She’d been wrong to feel so content. A little over one month later, with time moving ever forward to carry her toward the fateful house party, she found herself the object of her dearest friend’s frightful stare.

  “Do I truly look so hideous?” she asked Lady Henrietta Bloomfield, whose pretty mouth was parted in shock and whose lovely figure posed dramatically in the doorway, as it had done from the moment she’d entered the drawing room and caught sight of Eliza.

  Or rather, Eliza’s new wardrobe.

  That question seemed to jar Henrietta out of her stupor and she rushed forward with wide eyes. “Not at all, Eliza.” She drew Eliza in for a tight hug, the kind Eliza relished for its strength and brevity.

  Sure enough, Henrietta pulled back quickly, her expression already composed into one of tranquility as she gestured for Eliza to take her seat.