Free Darker Than Love by Kristina Lloyd Page B

piquet.
    It was unusual to find a place so shamelessly boorish in a house with such pretensions to grandeur. But, thought Alec, it was perfectly apposite to Octavia Hamilton. She knew how to keep men happy – it was her trade – and that skill had taken her from gutter to glitter. Remarkably the woman hadn’t lost a shred of vulgarity on her way up. Quite a feat.
    He rocked his chair back and yawned. His contemptuous eyes surveyed the unruly stacks of coins either side of the long table. The stakes were tediously low and the men, excepting Julian Ackroyd, lacklustre players. He stretched to take a decanter of whisky from the chiffonier, poured himself a measure, then drank it at a draught.
    Lucy, sitting opposite, glanced anxiously from him to Julian. He smiled inwardly, gratified to have unnerved her. Loyalty was not a concept he set much store by and it was amusing to see her so protective of a cousin. He wondered, with idle curiosity, how far she would go in her bid to keep him entertained. The woman was renowned for her free and easy ways. It would be interesting to see if she could take her pleasures without that spirited air which dogged her social persona. More interesting, at least, than playing baccarat with buffoons.
    With a smirk, Sir Julian scooped up his winnings and flicked the used cards into the wastebasket.
    ‘I find the banker’s lucky streak somewhat dull,’ said Lord Marldon, addressing Julian at the head of the table. ‘Perhaps you’d be prepared to change your coinage. Mrs Singleton would prove a more enticing wager than a handful of sovereigns, don’t you think?’ As he spoke he surreptitiously levelled his cane beneath the table and touched its jewelled head to Lucy’s belly.
    Lucy inhaled sharply and silence fell upon the table. Lord Trimmingham screwed a monocle to his eye and the assembled company turned their gazes to her. She stared at Marldon in astonishment, her mouth agape, her bare shoulders lifting with her quick angry breaths. Marldon’s lips twisted in a half-smile and he lowered the cane a few inches until it nudged into the juncture of her thighs.
    Animosity flickered in Lucy’s sharp, green eyes before, with hasty determination, she softened her expression. She smiled evenly and gave a defiant toss of her curls.
    ‘Very well,’ she said, nodding at Julian’s winnings. ‘I do not see a man about to lose.’
    Clarissa stood on the patio listening to a heavily powdered woman prattle about the latest beauty to find herself in the Prince of Wales’ bed.
    Gossip and flirtation, it seemed, were fashionable society’s two modes of communication. At that moment, Clarissa didn’t much care for either.
    Foolishly, she’d fancied that Gabriel was different. But, shortly after the kiss they’d shared, a kiss which even now lingered on her lips and glowed in her sex, he had made his excuses and left. He would, he’d said, leave his card ‘sometime’ and perhaps, if she were willing to sit for him, they could agree upon her fee – ‘sometime’.
    Clarissa struggled for an explanation. He had appeared so genuine, interested in her, and as desiring as she had been. Did being Lucy’s cousin mean she was to be shunned by certain people? No one else seemed to mind overmuch, so why should he? Perhaps she could not kiss properly. But no, her body and the way he’d responded said otherwise. She could only conclude that he was the same as all the other men, all those who’d pressed her to sit on the stairs awhile, come look at the stars, dance one more time. He was a cad, a rakehell, seeking quick pleasures and nothing more.
    Clarissa wanted to go home, but finding Lucy had proved impossible.
    She asked the powdered woman to please excuse her – though she need not have bothered – and drifted away from the gaiety in search of quieter, darker parts. She would be alone. She would bide her time until their carriage returned; and she would not think on Gabriel. She wandered over to