like a goddess of war. Gabe really needed to take a firmer hand on her bridle or the girl would find herself dished before she had time to make an eligible marriage.
The thought of her married painfully pierced the wall of ice he’d built around his emotions. Really? Mentally, he shook his head. It wasn’t possible. He didn’t care what she did, as long as it didn’t ruin his friendship with Gabe. One of the very few people he valued. He focussed his attention on her young idiot of an escort.
The boy looked as if he wanted the floor to open beneath his feet. ‘I didn’t know. Secret wager. Written on paper. Held by the judge.’
‘I can imagine what you wrote on yours.’
The blush turned fiery. That was the trouble with fair hair and skin—there was no hiding your embarrassment. Freddy felt a grim sense of satisfaction as the discomforted young man swallowed hard. ‘Nothing terrible. I swear.’
The fact that Freddy had sympathy for Minette’s victim didn’t mean he would be let off the hook. ‘What? Are you a sheep to be led by the nose?’ Some other part of his anatomy more like. ‘You are fortunate I do not intend to report you to your colonel for conduct unbefitting.’
Resentment flared in the boy’s eyes at the slur. No doubt he was thinking his tormenter was a pot calling the kettle black, but Freddy held his gaze and knew he’d made his point when the lad’s shoulders slumped. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You can go. As a family friend, I will see Miss Rideau home.’
Granby looked at Minette in question.
An expression flickered over Minette’s face. If he had to guess at the meaning of that brief flash in her eyes, he would have said it was triumph. It didn’t make sense. Chagrin more likely. Annoyance at being stuck with him as an escort. She knew very well he’d not put up with her nonsense.
She gave Granby the nod of acceptance. He felt as much relief as Granby clearly did that she’d decided not to refuse or make a fuss.
He really ought to tell Gabe about this little escapade, but he wouldn’t, as long as she was reasonable. It would only worry Nicky, who he had heard was in a delicate condition. No, Miss Rideau would have to endure a lecture from him instead.
Freddy unlocked the door and opened it wide. ‘Lieutenant?’ he said softly, making sure the other man heard the authority in his voice. ‘Not a word of this evening to anyone. Do I make myself clear?’
The young man snapped a quick salute in reply. ‘Wouldn’t dream...’ he blurted. ‘Mum’s the word.’ He scuttled out.
Freddy closed the door and turned to face the real villain of the piece.
Taking in her false expression of innocence, something inside him snapped. Fear for what might have happened had she chosen some other club in which to exercise her need for adventure. ‘What the devil did you think you were doing? Did you want to marry the fellow, or simply ruin his career?’
She recoiled, the colour draining from her face, but, pluck to the backbone, she recovered in a second, squaring her shoulders. ‘I wanted to see inside a hell.’
He narrowed his eyes, instinctively sensing dissembling. ‘Why?’
The defiant gaze met his square on and, like the first time they had met, he was struck by her fragile beauty and the shadows in those beautiful doelike eyes. Secrets and pain. Once more, he was aware of a very real desire to shield her from a harsh world, even knowing she’d seen far more of it that any gently bred girl should have to witness during the years she’d wandered revolutionary France.
He gestured for her to take a seat. When she did so, he strode to the decanter of brandy and the two glasses on a side table. As was usual in the presence of a beautiful woman, he was aware of his awkward gait. He carried the glasses back to the table, taking care not to spill the contents yet not showing he was in any way conscious of making an effort. He’d had years to practise what other men took for granted. And while the slight halt in his left leg was so much a part of him it rarely discommoded him, it did demand more care in some of the simplest actions of life.
She looked at the glass he set in front of her with an expression of surprise.
‘You will find it to be the finest cognac,’ he said.
‘Smuggled, no doubt.’
He shrugged and sat down in the seat on the other side of the table. ‘Naturally. How else is one to obtain French brandy?’
Her shoulders relaxed. She sipped and nodded her approval. ‘Excellent.’
‘I am glad you approve.’
Her gaze shot to his face as if she suspected him of sarcasm. He was careful to show nothing of what he was feeling. Anger that she’d risked her reputation on a whim. The wish that she’d chosen some other club in which to play her games. No. He was glad she had come to Heaven. At least here she was safe. He took a mental inventory of those present in the subscription room who might know who she was and spread gossip. None sprang to mind.
‘What do you think Gabe will say?’ he asked. ‘Or your sister?’
His jab clearly hit home. Though she disguised her reaction well, the winding of the strings of her reticule around her fingers gave away her nervousness. She had small hands, neat and quick as they knotted and unknotted the delicate cord. Hands that would feel wonderful on his body, stroking and caressing— He cut the thought off, dragged his gaze from their restless twisting. He hated it that he’d made her nervous, but it was as he had intended.
‘Does Gabe know you own such a wicked place?’ she asked.
Wicked. His body tightened at the image of the sort of wickedness he’d like to engage in with this girl who had become a woman since they’d last met. A beautiful desirable woman he had no right to be near. But, of course, it was the gambling she was talking about, not the other vices rampant beneath his roof. He considered the other import of her words. ‘What makes you think I own it?’
‘Bah. I’m not a fool. The pugilist dressed as a maître d’ went to fetch you and stood back as if you were in charge.’
No, she wasn’t a fool. ‘I own a part share.’ He wondered what she’d think if she knew who owned the other share. Sceptre had thought it a grand joke.
Her head tilted. ‘An odd enterprise for a duke.’
He’d inherited his title a little over a year ago, six or seven months after he had invested in the Fools’ Paradise. He still had a nasty feeling in his gut it had been the last straw for his father. The last straw in a long line of them that had caused the apoplexy that had taken his life. He took a long pull at the warming liquid in his glass. ‘Why are you here, Minette? If you think I am fooled by that tale of a wager, you can think again.’
Women never did anything without an ulterior motive. Not the intelligent ones. And he had no illusions about the sharpness of her mind.
A crease formed between her straight brows as if she was trying to make up her mind about something. Probably whether she could trust him with the truth. She couldn’t, of course, but that was something he didn’t intend to point out.
‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Or explain it
