Free The Duke by Gaelen Foley

allowed herself the indulgence of gloating, but she had paid the price for her pettiness, hadn’t she? He had certainly managed to frighten and embarrass her, Bel thought with a shudder, trying to put her stroke of bad judgment behind her and get on with the night.
    Still, she couldn’t help but browbeat herself for overestimating her ability to manage him. Soon after arriving at the party, Dolph had seemed near tears, begging her to hear him out. Crocodile tears, she thought. Rather than cause a scene, she had agreed to talk privately with him in the alcove, but when he had cornered her there, it had quickly escalated into an ugly confrontation. At least, thank God, no one but that tall, scowling man, Dolph’s friend, had witnessed her humiliating moment.
    Still a bit shaken by Dolph’s violent outburst, but with her smile pasted in place, Bel put the baronet and his tall, dark, elegant friend out of her mind and sat down to play her favorite game, vingt-et-un.
    She was not a true gambler, but this simple little game always proved profitable for her. The stakes were in her favor: if Lady Luck let her beat her present opponent, a well-heeled pink of the ton, she would win his jeweled cravat pin worth fifty guineas. If she lost, all that she had to give him was a kiss—but she never lost, perhaps for the simple reason that the gentlemen were drinking while she was sober.
    Dozens of men had gathered around the table, cheering her on as she thwarted her opponent in the first of three hands. The young lord stroked his dimpled chin and frowned at his cards.
    Though she watched her opponent, Bel was wholly aware of the tall, saturnine stranger—Dolph’s friend—sauntering over to watch her play. A most august and imposing personage, she thought, studying him from the corner of her eye while she pretended to inspect her cards. Truth be told, she found him just a wee bit intimidating. Striking and cosmopolitan, he appeared in his mid- to late thirties, with the athletic physique and sun-bronzed complexion of an avid sportsman. His coal black hair was slicked back for evening, accentuating the stern, precise architecture of his face.
    He stood with his chin high, his wide shoulders squared. With an imperious air of high reserve, he swept the crowd with a sharp, unsmiling glance. His cravat was starched and impeccable, his formal clothes austere black and white—and he wore them like the colors in which he saw the world, she thought in disdain, heedless of the colorfully dressed dandies all around her.
    Unable to resist, Bel glanced over at him briefly just as he looked at her. He caught her gaze and held it frankly, sending her a faint, sly smile. For a moment, his velvety brown eyes utterly mesmerized her. She took one look into them and felt that she had known him all her life.
    “Your turn, Miss Hamilton.”
    “Of course.” Startled, she jerked back to face her opponent and smiled fetchingly at him while her heart beat rapidly. Arrogant blackguard! she thought, all her awareness focused on the stranger. How dare he stare at her? She didn’t care how attractive he was, she wanted nothing to do with him. He was Dolph’s friend. She knew because she had seen them talking briefly after Dolph had behaved so horribly to her.
    Besides, no man that good-looking could be a bachelor. Life wasn’t that kind.
    “One card, please,” she said sweetly.
    She played her hand and soon gave a bright laugh to find herself the new owner of a shiny jeweled cravat pin. The young fop took his defeat with a grin, knowing he could go to the pawn shop and buy it back again tomorrow if he liked.
    As Bel gave him her hand, he bent and pressed a gallant kiss to her knuckles, withdrawing with a bow. Suddenly, before she could protest, the dark stranger slid into the vacated chair, interlocked his fingers on the table and stared at her in placid challenge.
    Narrowing her eyes, she rested her chin gracefully on her knuckles and gave him a dry smile