Free The Duke by Gaelen Foley Page B

looked closely at him, trying to read his blank expression, then turned over a third card for herself, a five. This brought her to eighteen. If she took another card, the chances were she’d go bust. Best to play it safe.
    “Show, my dear,” she said archly to him.
    “You first,” he countered with a dark smile.
    That smile worried her.
    “Eighteen.” She turned her last card over.
    He leaned closer and inspected them, then nodded. “A respectable hand.”
    “Well?” she prodded, unable to decide if she was irked or entertained by the man. “Are you going to show your cards or not?”
    “Show! Show!” the spectators clamored.
    He glanced at them then looked down and slid his cards forward one by one, the two, the five, the four, totaling eleven.
    Oh no, thought Bel, her eyes widening.
    He turned over a ten and smiled wolfishly. “Blackjack.”
    “A kiss! A kiss!” the men shouted in uproarious cheer, calling for more drinks.
    Bel sat back, folded her arms over her chest, and pouted for a second, then pulled off his ring and rolled it back to him with a scowl. He gave her an innocent smile.
    Around them the men exclaimed and guffawed and hooted and drank.
    Serenely ignoring them, her tall, arrogant opponent leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, smug as any conqueror. He tapped his splayed fingertips against each other, regarding her in amused expectation. “I await my prize with bated breath, Miss Hamilton.”
    “Oh, very well,” she muttered, blushing. “Let’s get this over with.”
    “Tsk, tsk, sore loser,” he chided softly.
    She stood, braced her hands on the green baize table, and leaned across it to him, aware of the cheering growing to a thunderous volume. Her heart was beating rapidly, but for his part, he appeared thoroughly unrattled.
    Bravely she leaned closer, pausing in hesitation as she hovered in front of him, her lips mere inches from his. “You could cooperate,” she suggested.
    “But why should I, when it’s so much more fun to see you flustered?”
    She narrowed her eyes. Ignoring their raucous audience by a surge of will, she closed the distance between them, kissing him resolutely on the mouth. A moment later, she drew back, glowing pink, and unable to hide the sparkle of triumph in her eyes.
    He studied her skeptically, skimmed his fingers over the table, then drummed them boredly. “I thought you said you were going to kiss me.”
    “I—I just did!”
    “No.”
    “What do you mean? I just did!” She turned from pink to red as the men around them howled with laughter at his matter-of-fact reproach.
    He slid the ring across the table to her again. “Look at this ring. It’s worth ten of your new cravat pins. This is what I put into the pot. You can’t give me a kiss like that and call it fair. Rules are rules, Miss Hamilton. I want a real kiss, unless you want to become known as an unsporting young lady.”
    Her jaw dropped with indignation. “That’s the only kind of kiss you’re getting from me.”
    He scoffed and glanced away, scratching his cheek. “And you call yourself a courtesan.”
    “What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
    He shrugged, lounging in his chair. “I’ve had better kisses from dairy maids.”
    “Ooh!” cried the men, watching their duel in mounting suspense.
    Bel folded her arms over her chest and glared quellingly at him. She would have thrown his ring in his arrogant face if his eyes weren’t sparkling so playfully. She could see he did not intend to let her off the hook.
    “Really, don’t you owe these devoted gentlemen a true demonstration of your professional expertise, Miss Hamilton?” he drawled, toying with the ring, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.
    She glanced around uncertainly at her admirers, then glared at him. How dare the blackguard call her skills into question—threaten her livelihood? Little did he know he’d struck a nerve. Her chief worry, after all, was that her suitors, who had