bundled into the waiting carriage, Sophie fell in step with their maid, happy to let Georgiana and her aunt take the lead and chatter away about the latest styles of shoe buckles.
Talk of fashion quickly faded to a faraway buzz as she contemplated the forbidden topic of rakes and rogues. Gently bred ladies were not supposed to know that such men existed.
Much less find them fascinating.
Sophie slowed her pace, letting the maid forge ahead a step or two. So, Cameron’s claim to being a hardbitten blade of the ton had some truth to it. The thought set her insides to turning a series of odd little flip-flops. Did that mean he kissed other women witless? Did he make their bodies thrum with sinful desires?
You witless widgeon, of course he does , she whispered to herself. The pleasures of London were there for the plucking. And he had made it clear that he had no scruples about grabbing what took his fancy.
“Including me,” she added aloud.
“What was that?” Georgiana turned, her brow angling up in question.
“Er, you aren’t including me in the plans to attend Mrs. Putney’s musicale tonight, are you?”
“I thought you enjoyed her daughter’s singing,” said Hermione.
“I do, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather retire early. It will be a long journey home and I’m feeling a little fatigued.”
Georgiana shot her a fishy stare, one that promised a more thorough interrogation once they were alone.
“But of course, my dear,” said Hermione, her guileless face wreathing in concern. “The city can be a little overwhelming.”
“Yes, I shall be happy to return to the quiet of the country.” Though with both Cameron and Lord Dudley to plague her thoughts, it was doubtful that she would find any peace of mind among the familiar surroundings of home.
Chapter Seven
C ameron lit a cheroot, using the flare of sparks to cover his quick survey of the hazed gaming room. He had deliberately chosen to arrive late, allowing no time for a private meeting with his friends before their plan was put into action. They had covered all the details during the short walk to Gryff’s printer. Connor knew exactly what was expected of him.
And Cameron had every confidence that the Wolfhound would not fail.
Intuition, cold logic, nerves of steel—Connor had an uncanny ability to win at cards. He claimed it had nothing to do with Lady Luck, but rather with studying his opponents and understanding their weaknesses.
Drawing in a lungful of the sweat-damp, brandy-scented smoke, Cameron listened to the soft slap of pasteboard on the felted card tables, the sharp rattle of dice against scarred wood. He had no illusions that he would be spared scrutiny by Connor’s steel-gray eyes. As for Gryff, he would likely be even more dogged in his determination to dig up the truth.
Damnation. Until now, he had managed to keep his past well buried. But now that his friends had a clue to go on, they would sniff and claw until the truth came to light.
A tap touched his shoulder, interrupting his mordant thought. “Well, well.” The low voice was edged with amusement. “I see your friend the Prodigal Wolf has returned for an evening.”
Cameron looked around and nodded a curt greeting. The Honorable Caine Oswald was one of the few people whose cynicism matched his own.
“Come to devour the Town lambs, no doubt.” Oswald cocked a brow. “Are you going to join the play at his table?”
Cameron shook his head. “Tonight I think I shall be content just to watch.”
“A wise move.” Oswald was a shrewd gamester himself. “Something about the Wolf’s look tonight tells me his teeth are sharpened for the kill.”
Straightening from his slouch, he gave a casual shrug. “Perhaps he’s hungry to show all the new puppies here that old dogs can still be dangerous.”
“Indeed.” Oswald eyed him for a moment longer before turning to light a cheroot from one of the flickering candle sconces. “Rumor has it that the Hellhounds
Talk of fashion quickly faded to a faraway buzz as she contemplated the forbidden topic of rakes and rogues. Gently bred ladies were not supposed to know that such men existed.
Much less find them fascinating.
Sophie slowed her pace, letting the maid forge ahead a step or two. So, Cameron’s claim to being a hardbitten blade of the ton had some truth to it. The thought set her insides to turning a series of odd little flip-flops. Did that mean he kissed other women witless? Did he make their bodies thrum with sinful desires?
You witless widgeon, of course he does , she whispered to herself. The pleasures of London were there for the plucking. And he had made it clear that he had no scruples about grabbing what took his fancy.
“Including me,” she added aloud.
“What was that?” Georgiana turned, her brow angling up in question.
“Er, you aren’t including me in the plans to attend Mrs. Putney’s musicale tonight, are you?”
“I thought you enjoyed her daughter’s singing,” said Hermione.
“I do, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather retire early. It will be a long journey home and I’m feeling a little fatigued.”
Georgiana shot her a fishy stare, one that promised a more thorough interrogation once they were alone.
“But of course, my dear,” said Hermione, her guileless face wreathing in concern. “The city can be a little overwhelming.”
“Yes, I shall be happy to return to the quiet of the country.” Though with both Cameron and Lord Dudley to plague her thoughts, it was doubtful that she would find any peace of mind among the familiar surroundings of home.
Chapter Seven
C ameron lit a cheroot, using the flare of sparks to cover his quick survey of the hazed gaming room. He had deliberately chosen to arrive late, allowing no time for a private meeting with his friends before their plan was put into action. They had covered all the details during the short walk to Gryff’s printer. Connor knew exactly what was expected of him.
And Cameron had every confidence that the Wolfhound would not fail.
Intuition, cold logic, nerves of steel—Connor had an uncanny ability to win at cards. He claimed it had nothing to do with Lady Luck, but rather with studying his opponents and understanding their weaknesses.
Drawing in a lungful of the sweat-damp, brandy-scented smoke, Cameron listened to the soft slap of pasteboard on the felted card tables, the sharp rattle of dice against scarred wood. He had no illusions that he would be spared scrutiny by Connor’s steel-gray eyes. As for Gryff, he would likely be even more dogged in his determination to dig up the truth.
Damnation. Until now, he had managed to keep his past well buried. But now that his friends had a clue to go on, they would sniff and claw until the truth came to light.
A tap touched his shoulder, interrupting his mordant thought. “Well, well.” The low voice was edged with amusement. “I see your friend the Prodigal Wolf has returned for an evening.”
Cameron looked around and nodded a curt greeting. The Honorable Caine Oswald was one of the few people whose cynicism matched his own.
“Come to devour the Town lambs, no doubt.” Oswald cocked a brow. “Are you going to join the play at his table?”
Cameron shook his head. “Tonight I think I shall be content just to watch.”
“A wise move.” Oswald was a shrewd gamester himself. “Something about the Wolf’s look tonight tells me his teeth are sharpened for the kill.”
Straightening from his slouch, he gave a casual shrug. “Perhaps he’s hungry to show all the new puppies here that old dogs can still be dangerous.”
“Indeed.” Oswald eyed him for a moment longer before turning to light a cheroot from one of the flickering candle sconces. “Rumor has it that the Hellhounds
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