Free His Perfect Game by Jenn Langston Page B

she had already waited too long.
    “Lord Merrick and I spoke of the future the other day.” She paused as her mother’s hand covered her mouth. “A short time after we are wed, I’ll be moving to Merrick to live while my husband remains in London.”
    Her mother closed her eyes tightly. “Thank God. You will be spared.”
    “I spoke to Julia about it, and she knows of many married women who live in the same manner.”
    “Truly blessed women,” her mother whispered, opening her eyes. They were red, and Abigail suspected unshed tears burned them.
    “Yes, but do you not see? It’s acceptable. Father does not want us here. He could send you to Donetic, or even better, he could let you go back with Braiden to Hauney. I know Braiden would be honored to have you living with him.”
    The smile twisting her mother’s mouth was mocking. “You don’t understand. Your father does want me here.”
    “He clearly does not. Why else would he—”
    “Because he takes pleasure in it. He would never send me away. Doing so would make him miss the power he receives from keeping someone at his mercy.” She stood, encouraging Abigail to follow suit. “Now, enough about this. Lady Laramie’s ball is this evening, and I know how much you enjoy attending.”
    Abigail obediently exited the room. Although thoughts of the upcoming ball filled her head, she could not find any excitement in it. Her stomach twisted to think of her mother here, forced to face the duke’s wrath alone.
    She had to do something. She had to try to save her.
    Greyson surveyed the room, and, as usual, felt impressed by the lengths Lady Laramie went through for her guest’s enjoyment. Everything about the ballroom elicited feelings of cold, but it also spoke of elegance.
    The servant’s clothing and faces were shrouded in white as was every other surface he could see. The floor was dusted with a fine powder to give off the illusion of snow. From time to time, little flecks of white cascaded down from elaborately erected structures to add to the mixture on the floor.
    Following along the perimeter of the room, he discovered the rumors held truth. He counted four pieces of ice resting in basins large enough to hold a grown man. Each block of ice had one servant behind it, fanning the cool air toward the guests, and another to remove excess water from the basin.
    The effect proved extraordinary, but Greyson couldn’t fathom going through so much trouble and expense for one night. Although, seeing the number of guests crammed in the room made him reassess his thoughts. An unusual idea had the ability to draw people in, but as the son-in-law of the duke, he would no longer need to consider such plans.
    Stopping in front of the card room, Greyson hesitated. His fingers itched to play, to test his skill once again. For so long the game had only been about beating the duke, but now that feat had been achieved. Teetering at the edge of the room, he took a deep breath, knowing if he entered, he would be unable to leave until late in the evening.
    “Care to test your luck against me again?” the devil’s voice of temptation called from behind him.
    Turning, Greyson faced the duke. “Thank you, but I’ll pass.”
    “Afraid to lose? I have bested you before, I can do it again.”
    Working carefully to refrain from accepting the challenge, Greyson glanced back into the card room. The men inside were either drunk on the idea of winning, or disillusioned, yet desperate to hold one last winning hand. Greyson realized he didn’t belong to that crowd.
    “Perhaps another time.” Greyson swung his gaze back to the duke, who wore a smug smile.
    “I look forward to it. It will be an honor to show you who truly holds the power.”
    Greyson ignored the comment, stepping past the man and the no-longer-appealing card room. With His Grace present, he knew Lady Willimena had arrived. He decided that as soon as he heard a waltz, he would approach his betrothed and take her into