Free Secrets of a Wedding Night by Valerie Bowman Page A

zinging to her most private place. “Because,” he whispered, “the secret to seducing a woman, dear countess, is to make her think she’s chasing you .”
    The hazy cloud of lust that had been obscuring Lily’s mind evaporated in a flash. She leaped from his lap and swung around to face him. Straightening her skirts, she gave both kid gloves a vicious tug. Her reticule bobbed dizzily from her wrist.
    “Nothing could be further from the truth. I am not chasing you.” She pushed the traitorous curl behind her ear and squeezed her eyes shut, hating herself for getting caught up in his game. And that’s all this was to him. A game. She needed money, security, and Colton offered neither. She could not allow herself to fall for a man who had promised to seduce her and wanted to punish her.
    For a moment, Devon looked as if he might reach for her again, but he didn’t.
    Lily spun around and stalked back toward the house, not giving him a backward glance.
    Colton’s confident voice followed her through the darkness. “Not yet, Countess. You’re not chasing me. Yet.”

 
    CHAPTER 8
    Devon eyed the shifty man who sat across the table. Gilbert Winfrey. An inveterate gambler. An inveterate scoundrel. And a more arrogant bastard Devon had never met.
    “What’s the matter, Colton? Too rich fer yer blue blood?”
    Devon pushed back his coat and consulted his silver timepiece. Quarter past midnight. He’d been right on time. He’d left the Foxdowns’ affair after his stimulating interlude with Lily, and made it here in plenty of time to lose to Winfrey.
    Devon shook his head, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of Lily. What had that business in the garden been? He’d begun with his goal of seducing her and had allowed himself to get too caught up, almost forgetting what she was, nearly falling for that false look of innocence in her eyes.
    She’d been the one to remind him, actually. “My compliments on your finesse,” she’d said. And thank God for it. Just like that, he’d remembered that nothing between them was real anyway. It never had been and it never would be.
    She was part of a game he was playing. Just like a card game. Nothing more. She was no different than a jack or a queen or any of the cards that sat in a pack, waiting to be played at the precise moment. And just like when he was playing cards, he must remember to keep his wits about him while he sought his revenge against Lily.
    Slipping the watch back into his pocket, Devon scanned the dingy room. His gaze returned to his opponent’s swarthy face. “It’s you I’m worried about, Winfrey. Do you have the money to back up that voucher?”
    A hush fell over the crowd. Devon eyed the slip of paper Winfrey had tossed onto the gaming table. The beady eyes of the other men were fastened on him. They were not in the gentlemanly quarters of St. James, but the seedy backwater of the Rookery, that squalid part of London where only the vermin of society dwelled. True gentlemen rarely came here, and when they did, it was for a purpose. For the sort of gaming they couldn’t play in Polite Society.
    Devon had been here many times. Too many times. And the stink of the place, the unwashed bodies, the rotting food, the refuse in the streets, the smell of the poor and the hopeless, never seemed to leave his nostrils.
    At least he’d put his time here to good use. Employing his skill with numbers, he’d parlayed the money he’d earned gambling over the years into investments that had brought him more wealth than he could spend in several lifetimes. He owned a fleet of ships and a hefty interest in the canal system. He’d rehabilitated the Colton estates and purchased additional properties. But, still, that wealth and security wasn’t enough. There was something else he wanted.
    “I’ve got the money, yer high-and-mighty lordship,” Winfrey sneered. “Besides, yer memory’s short, t’seems. I’ve heard ye’re the one what usually walks away wit’ ye