Free Deeply In You by Sharon Page Page A

selected a table that included a pair of gentlemen. He drew out a chair, sprawled elegantly on it, and motioned to the one across from him. “Sit, Caldwell.” Introductions were made swiftly. Their opponents were the beefy Earl of Brace, and his partner, Viscount Deverell: tall, slender, blond.
    Champagne was brought to their table by Melman, who yanked out the cork with a resounding pop. He filled flutes, placing them around the table. A fresh deck of cards was laid in front of Greybrooke.
    “This should prove entertaining.” Greybrooke split the deck. “This will be George’s first attempt at whist.”
    Deverell and Brace nodded, impassive, but she saw the gleam of anticipation in their eyes. At a table behind them, a man suddenly moaned, “Damnation, I’m ruined .” His chair scraped, and he staggered toward the door. No one appeared to care.
    How could they be so cavalier, so heartless . . . so ruthless? Luxury and excess surrounded her—in polished wood, exquisite art, extravagant champagne. She should feel anger at the men that owned places like this—who had made all this wealth on the back of naïve young men like Will. But she understood them. They had a living to make, just like she did. It was Will who made her furious. How had he faced these merciless gentlemen and believed he had even a chance of winning?
    Greybrooke dealt with controlled flicks of one hand. The cards fell swiftly, and when he was finished, she stared at the ones in front of her.
    “Wagers first,” Greybrooke said, picking up his own hand.
    She had no idea how to play whist, and they were playing for money. What happened when she caused the duke to lose? Would he expect her to pay? Unless—
    Unless her debt to him was going to grow and grow.
    “The wager is a night with a half dozen ladybirds of their choice,” Greybrooke said.
    She made a choking sound—and quickly took a long sip of champagne to cover her shock.
    Bother, she’d drunk half of it. At once.
    “You’re blushing, Caldwell,” murmured the duke.
    She pushed her glass away from her as if it were the devil. The last thing she should do was get drunk.
    Cards flew quickly. Helena had played hundreds of games with children, and she caught on promptly, following the duke’s lead. After several hands she could understand how he played—not in a wild or daring way, but aggressively, as long as he was confident he had the cards to back his strategies. With a quiet word to Melman, he replaced her champagne with water. She was thankful. Their opponents downed glass after glass of alcohol, seemingly without effect.
    Ruthless play and hard drinking. Her brother had been far out of his league.
    Greybrooke threw down his last card, winning the trick and that game. Leaning back in his chair, he winked at her, then gazed over her head and crooked his finger. She knew he was up to something devious, but she coolly looked over her shoulder.
    A large bosom heaved into her face. Two fleshy mounds the size of watermelons wobbled above the low neckline of a crimson velvet gown. Helena looked up into the childishly pretty face of a dark-haired girl with a button nose, plump cheeks, and large blue eyes. The girl giggled her name, which sounded like Ellie, and suddenly her voluptuous bottom settled on Helena’s lap. “How handsome you are, Mr. Caldwell!” Ellie grasped Helena’s hand and plopped in on her huge left breast.
    She was touching a girl’s bosom. What in heaven’s name should she do?
    She glared at Greybrooke. He looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
    “Sorry, Ellie. I have to play my cards,” she muttered, trying to make her voice sound gravelly. Ellie giggled and wriggled her bottom.
    Helena bit the inside of her cheek. She was definitely going to spank Greybrooke after this.
    A blonde plunked down on his lap, legs spread, skirts hiked up to reveal plump legs and stockings.
    A strange pain spiked through Helena’s belly as she watched the girl—then