The Darkest Sin by Caroline Richards Page A

so much as in his involvement with the Duchess of Taunton. In contrast, her intemperance had known no bounds, her emotions as transparent as glass. Most of London still whispered about the night she had publicly threatened to leave the Earl for Lord Rushford, creating a scene of epic proportion after a reception at Hawkesbury House. Liaisons were tolerated, but indiscretion was not. Worse still, full blown love affairs were regarded with all the approbation of a potentially rampant contagion, dangerous to the extreme. Many would concede, with lowered voices and thinned lips, that the Duchess’s untimely and scandalous death was not entirely unexpected—or unwelcome. Rushford’s arm instinctively tightened around Rowena’s narrow waist.
    He said, “However, I know that you will oblige me in indulging Galveston’s whims, just for one moment longer.” He insinuated subtly that it shouldn’t take more than a final hand to put the man in his rightful place. “After which you will have me entirely at your disposal.” Galveston was not far off from losing his composure. A moment longer, several thousand pounds lighter in his purse and heavy with humiliation, he would be ready to lash out. He would be easy to break, a soft man who had never been tested by life. Something that Rushford counted upon.
    Rowena smiled up at him from under her dark eyelashes and ridiculous wig. Rushford reminded himself to burn the horror first chance he could. “If you promise me that the next hand will be your last,” she said.
    Galveston shot daggers at them from across the mahogany table, a faint tremor appearing at the downward pull of his lower lip. “With your permission,” Rushford said to Rowena, relinquishing her waist and taking his seat. Galveston remained standing, wearing an ugly expression, his eyes darting around the room as though looking for a solution to his predicament. Then he found it, a satisfied smile slowly appearing on his face. “One moment, Rushford, if you will,” he said with a sudden and exaggerated politeness.
    Surrender was not forthcoming. “I should like to add to the winnings on the table. To make our gambit all the more interesting,” he said.
    â€œDon’t be tedious, Galveston,” Rushford said genially, cursing under his breath at what was coming next, aware of the importance of keeping Galveston in play. “Out with it.”
    â€œYour mistress.” The two words were stark, the implication unmistakable, as Galveston waved a palm in Rowena’s direction. Rowena’s hand on Rushford’s shoulder stiffened while he quickly ran through his options and the odds, neither particularly good at the moment.
    â€œWhat of her?” Rushford asked although he knew exactly where next Galveston was headed. His gaze, if not exactly lascivious, had a proprietary gleam. Not the worst turn of events after all, thought Rushford coldly. It had happened before in places like Crockford’s, wherein chattel had been won and lost with the toss of a dice or a flip of a card. Miss Woolcott would do well to pay attention to what she had unleashed when she’d decided, unilaterally, that she would play the role of mistress.
    â€œThis is highly irregular,” Rowena snapped as though reading his mind, the hand on his shoulder tightening.
    Galveston merely shrugged. “That would be for Lord Rushford to decide, no?” He shot a glance at his opponent, who was calmly contemplating the fresh deck of cards in the center of the table before turning to look over his shoulder at his mistress.
    â€œNo need to concern yourself,” he said to Rowena, watching the cascade of emotions on her expressive face. He saw that her youth and willfulness were proving impossible to contain. She appeared as though she was about to say something, but for her own good, Rushford imperceptibly shook his head before returning his gaze to Galveston.