Free Too Dangerous to Desire by Cara Elliott Page A

flowers, roses signify love.”
    “No wonder their scent makes me ill,” said Cameron, crossing to the sideboard and pouring himself a glass of brandy.
    “It seems the Sleuth Hound still has a bloody thorn in his arse,” said Connor, ignoring the earlier needling.
    Gryff shrugged. “Considering all the foul holes he pokes around in, it’s no wonder.” To Cameron, he added, “If you’ve come merely to snarl and gnash your teeth, why not trot off elsewhere until whatever is ailing you has passed?”
    Cameron quaffed a long swallow of his drink before replying. “Actually, I have come to ask a favor.” The words did not come out easily. Early on, he had learned that the key to survival was to make himself impervious to emotion. Even to his fellow Hellhounds, he hated to show any chink in his cynicism.
    “Ah.” To his relief, Gryff did not reply with a barbed jest. Perching a hip on the table, his friend merely arched a brow. “Well, do go on.”
    After refilling his glass, Cameron looked to Connor. “Are your gaming skills still sharp?”
    “You may think me a domesticated lapdog, but my teeth have not lost all their edge,” replied the Wolfhound. In the past, he had kept The Wolf’s Lair in business through his uncanny luck at cards. “I take you want some sheep fleeced?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” Cameron spun the glass in his fingers. “I was hoping you might consent to play a few hands with one, or perhaps two, of regular patrons at the Lair.”
    “Who?” asked Connor.
    There was no avoiding the answer. “Dudley is my first choice. If he is not there, then Morton,” he growled.
    “Dudley—the fellow involved with the mysterious Miss Lawrance?”
    As Cameron feared, Gryff pounced on the information, like a hungry dog scenting a meaty bone.
    “Ha, ha, ha.” A low chuckle followed the question. “It seems that despite all his protests to the contrary, the sardonic Sleuth Hound has finally been bitten by love.”
    “Love has nothing to do with it,” muttered Cameron. “I have my own reasons for wanting to know more about what those two varlets are up to.”
    Gryff’s laugh grew louder, but Connor’s expression remained serious. “What is it that you have in mind?”
    “I’d like you to win—and win big. According to my sources, their play is reckless and their debts are mounting.”
    Connor tapped his fingertips together. “That may not be easy. With all due modesty, my reputation makes most of the regulars at the Lair loath to risk playing against me.”
    “I’ll take care of that,” replied Cameron.
    “And what shall I do with Dudley’s promissory notes when I win them? Feed them to my goats?”
    Cameron allowed a faint smile. “Hand them over to me.”
    “And then?” asked Gryff.
    “And then, I shall make Dudley pay through the nose.”
    “What has he done to earn your ire?” pressed Gryff. “Aside from bullying your Miss Lawrance.”
    “I’d rather not reveal that quite yet.” He turned to his other friend. “What say you, Wolf?”
    “Very well.” Connor raised his own glass in salute. “I must say, life in the country is idyllic, but the prospect of raising some hell with my fellow Hounds is rather appealing.”
      
    The soft knock on her bedchamber door was not unexpected. Sophie set aside her hairbrush and sighed into the looking glass. Georgiana had been grimly silent on the Green Park encounter throughout the carriage ride home and the evening’s card party with her aunt’s friends.
    But she was under no illusion that the matter had been forgotten.
    “Come in,” she murmured, though in truth she wanted nothing more than to slip between the bedsheets and pull the coverlet over her head.
    Not that quilted cotton would keep unsettling Pirate dreams at bay.
    Georgiana padded across the rug and plopped down on the pillowed windowseat. With a small cough, she cleared her throat. “You are still in love with him, aren’t you?”
    “No.” Yes . “No.