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 T H E W AG E R O F A L AD Y

K AT H L E E N AYE R S

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Copyright © 2022 by Kathleen Ayers
All rights reserved.
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including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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 CONTENTS

Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Author Notes

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 PROLOGUE

L ondon, 1836

P redictability , L eo M urphy surmised , was what made E lysium so

incredibly successful.
As the owner of a gambling hell, knowing the odds of every game
played on the floor and predicting the outcome was of crucial importance.
He’d built an empire around the expectation that at any given time, the
titled of London would enter through the front door of Elysium and proceed
to lose every coin in their purse. Hazard. Piquet. Whist. Faro. There were
numerous opportunities to gamble away the night, drowning your troubles
in expensive scotch and brandy.
When one tired of cards, there were always the pleasures to be found on
the second floor of Elysium. Each room was stocked with various items one
might use to invoke pleasure or pain. The rooms and their accessories were
the only things Leo supplied his guests. One must secure their own
companion for the evening. He wasn’t running a bloody brothel.
He did have some morals.
Leo was the son of a duke, after all, albeit one born on the wrong side of
the blanket. His father, the Duke of Averell, had been the biggest rake to
strut into London in decades. Known for having the arrogance to keep his
mistress and duchess under the same roof at his country estate. But that was
before the tragic events at Cherry Hill which had resulted in the late
duchess’s death.
Leo placed his hand against his heart, conscious of the slight twist he
always felt at thinking of the late duchess. Many emotions ebbed over time.
Regret and guilt often did not. Finding out your husband was tupping your
lady’s maid beneath your nose had been bad enough, but the shock that her
husband’s bastard existed, a year younger than her own son, Anthony, had
distressed her so much, the duchess had tripped and fallen.
Leo could still see the blood coating the base of the stairs, the smell
caught forever in his nostrils. Until then, Leo hadn’t known he was
different. Had no idea his best friend Tony, the duke’s son, was also his
half-brother. Didn’t know the world outside Cherry Hill would shun him for
his birth or that in claiming him publicly, the duke would subject him to a
life of notoriety.
“Mr. Murphy.” Peckham, his man who managed the gaming floor,
approached the second-floor landing where Leo often stood. A vantage
point of sorts, so he could view all of Elysium.
“What is it, Peckham?” he said, relieved to have Peckham’s appearance
push away the horror of that day. The memory often struck him at the
oddest times.
“Lord Welles has arrived. He asks you to join him below when you’re
done fussing over your waistcoat.” Peckham immediately put up a hand.
“His words, sir, not mine.”
Leo looked down at his waistcoat, a very fine concoction of purple and
green swirled into what looked like sunbursts and outlined in gold thread.
His brother rarely wore anything but expertly tailored suits of indigo.
Society expected Leo to be a bit . . . garish due to his beginnings. He found
no reason to disappoint them. He liked a bit of color. People often mistook
him and Tony for one another from a distance, but not if they caught sight
of his waistcoat.
“Lord Welles has terrible taste.” He nodded to the gentleman below
who’d just come into view, a stunning redhead clinging to his arm. “As
evidenced by the fact that he’s allowing Lady Dunley to assume she might
one day become Lady Welles.”
Peckham nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Leo waved a hand. “I’ll be down shortly, Peckham.”
 Lady Dunley, a recent widow, had once been a brief indiscretion of
Leo’s. Proper ladies, trapped in marriages not of their liking, were often
bored with their lives. They enjoyed bedding London’s most notorious
bastard. Leo was always happy to comply. Lady Dunley had been very
upset when Leo broke things off, as he often did after a specific length of
time. No need to become too attached, after all.
She’d responded by telling Leo she’d done him a favor by lowering
herself to fuck him.
The lady had an overinflated opinion of her abilities in the bedroom.
Below him, Lady Dunley let out a shrill laugh, turning her head in Leo’s
direction.
He chuckled to himself. Leo wasn’t prone to jealousy; there were far too
many desirable women in London to care overmuch about just one.
Pushing back from the railing, Leo jogged down the stairs to greet his
brother. Despite the myriad of reasons why he and Tony should detest each
other, the main one being that Leo’s existence had caused the death of
Tony’s mother, the two were closer than they’d been as children. Uniting in
dislike over a man who had caused them both so much grief, one deserving
of their loathing, had forged the bond between them.
Elysium belonged to both of them, but it was Leo who most enjoyed
watching London’s nobility swirl around a duke’s bastard to curry his favor.
He liked declining the requests for credit from men who, when they’d been
lads, had spat on him at that fancy boarding school the duke had forced him
to attend. Enjoyed fucking their wives behind their backs while they looked
down their thin noses at him.
Highly amusing.
Tony’s interest in Elysium, however, was purely to piss off the duke.
“Lord Welles.” A gloved hand appeared on Leo’s arm, along with a
burst of pomade to his nostrils and the smell of brandy.
“Oh, it’s you.” The speaker stuttered. “Murphy.” Lord Castlewaite’s
cheeks turned red, mustache quivering as he caught sight of Leo’s
waistcoat. “Pardon. I mistook you for Lord Welles.”
“Did you?” Tony wouldn’t be caught dead in this waistcoat. His brother
had no appreciation for color, as evidenced by the constant wearing of
indigo. “I can understand your confusion. The lighting is somewhat dim.”
Besides the waistcoat, Leo hadn’t an ounce of ducal arrogance about him.
That was Tony, who always looked like he’d walked out of a bloody
painting in some lord’s portrait gallery.
“I’ve never mistaken you, my lord, for anyone other than who you are,”
Leo said, knowing the older man would completely miss the thinly veiled
insult. Snobs like Castlewaite often did. He was a marquess with nothing to
recommend him but his title and his ability to make outlandish wagers
which were then recorded in Elysium’s Red Book. “You’re very distinctive,
my lord.”
Castlewaite nodded. “I’ve often thought so.”
Leo displayed an enormous amount of patience with Castlewaite,
considering the relationship Leo had once had with the man’s daughter.
He’d meant to revoke Castlewaite’s membership long ago until Leo had
found out the marquess was Imogene’s father.
If Castlewaite had ever suspected Leo had taken his daughter’s virtue,
he’d never given any indication. His opinion of Leo was formed purely on
the basis of Leo’s birth.
I can’t possibly have you drag me down into the muck.
No, he supposed he couldn’t. Leo hadn’t even realized he was the muck.
No matter; Imogene had quickly advised him of the fact after they’d taken
each other’s virginity. He’d been fifteen.
“Perhaps there is something I can assist you with, my lord.”
“A gentleman’s matter.” Castlewaite refused to meet his eyes.
“Pity I can’t help you then.”
Castlewaite often asked Tony to witness his wagers. Not Leo, because
Castlewaite didn’t consider him a gentleman.
Imogene hadn’t been Leo’s first lesson in how society viewed him, but
at barely fifteen, he’d still been coming to terms with what being a bastard
meant outside of Cherry Hill. After Imogene’s cruel dismissal even though
she’d declared her undying love for him, Leo had decided he would give no
one else the opportunity to decide his place in the world.
“I mean no disrespect, Murphy,” Castlewaite muttered.
Doddering fool. “Of course not, my lord. When I see my brother, I’ll
ask him to seek you out. Enjoy your evening.” He bowed slightly and
moved away, having no idea where his brother had wandered off to. No
matter. It was early. They’d find each other eventually. In the meantime,
Leo decided to check on the recently hired dealer for the faro table.
 Larkin was a former pickpocket, one who’d narrowly escaped hanging
when the pocket he’d picked had been Leo’s. Larkin had been half-starved.
Dirty. In need of a bit of kindness in the world. His mother had been a
whore. He’d no idea who his father was.
Leo had brought him to Elysium. Most of the staff were strays of one
kind or another.
His steps slowed as he caught sight of the faro table. Not because
Larkin was nervously twitching, terrified he’d make a mistake in front of
the Duke of Windmere who sat at his table. No, it was because of a slender
back clad in powder-blue silk.
Gold ringlets hovered at the base of her neck. One had fallen loose,
cascading down the creamy expanse of her left shoulder. Her head tilted to
the right as she listened to something Larkin said. She smiled back at the
dealer, answering him in a flat, nasal tone.
American.
Something stirred inside Leo, wholly unexpected at the sound of her,
though it wasn’t the first time he’d heard an American speak. He came up
behind her, taken aback by the soft aroma of wildflowers. An entire field of
them.
Arousal, sharp and swift, wound its way down his thighs. And he hadn’t
even gotten a look at her face. Then there was the insane urge to run his lips
across her shoulder, maybe tug at that golden curl with his teeth.
Larkin looked over the woman’s shoulder, catching Leo’s eye. He
dipped his head. “Mr. Murphy.”
“Everything going well this evening, Larkin?”
The young lady seemed uncaring of his presence so close to her. She
didn’t turn or acknowledge him. Didn’t she know who he was?
Highly unusual. Everyone in Elysium knew who he was. Leo found
himself intrigued. A rare occurrence and something for which the odds
were very low.
“Very well, sir.” Larkin turned to Windmere.
Leo studied the delicate shape of the young lady’s profile as her brow
wrinkled in concentration. She was very young. Barely out of the
schoolroom. And yet, she displayed not an ounce of discomfort sitting at a
faro table alone at a gambling hell. A glass of wine remained untouched at
her elbow as she studied the cards in her hand.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Leo took the seat next to her.
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 “I sincerely doubt that.” She didn’t turn in his direction; instead, her
chin tilted so mulishly one might have thought she was bracing herself to
take a punch to the jaw instead of being offered aid by a gentleman.
Defiant little thing. “Are you sure? I’m rather good at cards.”
“Hmm. So claims every other lord in here.” The neckline of her gown
was almost indecent, giving Leo a glimpse of what was clearly a pair of
magnificent breasts. “Gentlemen say such things,” she continued, “so that
under the guise of looking at my cards to assist me, they might admire my
bosom.” Her gaze slid to his waistcoat; she shivered with what appeared to
be distaste before barely glancing at Leo’s face. Her attention returned to
her cards. She was completely uninterested in him.
Leo was struck speechless at her manner. A well-bred young lady
wouldn’t speak in such a way, and she didn’t have the look of a courtesan.
A courtesan would have been much more welcoming.
“You’re American,” he finally said.
“How astute you are, my lord.”
She wasn’t being coy. This girl had no idea who he was. Even if she
were to figure it out, Leo thought she might be even less impressed. “I’m
Leo Murphy. Not a lord. I own Elysium.”
“How lovely for you.” Her brow wrinkled between a pair of dark eyes.
Such a stark contrast against her gold hair and creamy skin.
“Are you intentionally being rude? Or is this the way all Americans
behave?” The odds of any female in Leo’s immediate vicinity ignoring him
were incredibly low. That is to say, it never happened.
She turned to face him with a sigh of exasperation. “Very well. I can see
you wish us to become acquainted and won’t leave me in peace until you
accomplish your aim. I am Lady Masterson.”
Leo took the small, gloved hand, giving the briefest brush of his lips
against her knuckles, shocked when his cock twitched at the slight touch.
Wildflowers caught in his nostrils again.
“Lady Masterson?” There was a rumor making the rounds that the
elderly Lord Masterson had finally taken a wife. Mostly out of fear of
impoverishment.
Her bravado faltered just slightly before she snatched back her hand. A
stubborn look came over her lovely features. “Yes.”
Masterson did prefer blondes, although they usually tended to be
footmen or lately, barristers. He was a member at Elysium, gambling poorly
and losing frequently before availing himself of the rooms on the second
floor. Masterson owed Leo a great deal of money. A stack of the earl’s
markers sat in the safe in Leo’s office. Masterson’s nephew, his heir, would
inherit much more than the title.
“And where is Lord Masterson this evening?” He should be here with
his very young bride. The decent thing to do whether or not he was
interested in bedding her.
“I’m sure you already know.” A tiny smirk hovered at her lips. “No
need for me to tell you, Mr. Murphy.”
“I can take a guess.” He gave her his most charming smile. Lady
Masterson was the most interesting person, man or woman, Leo had met in,
well, forever. “We’ve established you’re American—”
“Have we?”
Another bolt of arousal shot straight down between his legs. Dear God,
he had the inclination to throw her over the faro table and just inhale her.
“Where in America are you from, if I may ask, Lady Masterson?”
“You’ve already done so.” There was just a hint of mischievousness in
her dark eyes.
Flippant, sassy little thing. “Done what?”
“Asked me. I’m from New York.” The clipped flattened sound of her
vowels created bits of sensation across Leo’s skin. There wasn’t the least
inflection. He could listen to her for hours.
“Are you enjoying London?”
“Not in the least.” She gave him a sideways glance. “The Thames
stinks, the Hudson does not.”
Oh, she was quite something.
“Give it time, my lady.” He assumed the Hudson to be a river in New
York. He’d never paid attention much to geography outside of England.
One of his worst subjects at school. He nodded to the stack of chips before
her. “Are you familiar with faro, my lady? If you are not, I’m happy to
provide instruction.”
“Are you better at cards than you are at choosing waistcoats?” She
nodded toward his chest. “Although it does appear to be finely made.”
Disparaging comments about his waistcoats were a common
occurrence. He’d become immune to them. His sister Andromeda, who had
a flair for clothing and fabrics, proclaimed his waistcoats an affront to the
senses.
 “I take it you don’t care for my taste.” He looked down at the swirls of
purple and green splashes decorating his mid-section. “And you don’t get to
be the owner of a gambling hell without knowing how to play faro or cards
in general. Any game, really. Will you allow me to offer you some
instruction?”
“Why? You’ve already seen my bosom.”
Dear God, she was delicious. “Because you’re losing badly, my lady.”
His glance settled on her small stack of chips.
Leo had never once, not in all the time he’d owned Elysium, offered to
teach anyone how to play one of the games offered. He surprised himself by
doing so now. But he didn’t wish to end his brief acquaintance with Lady
Masterson. She looked in need of a friend. The fact that she also filled Leo
with the most wicked, lascivious thoughts was irrelevant.
“Perhaps I should try hazard.” She glanced across the gaming floor
where a group of gentlemen had gathered. “I’ve diced before. Looks fairly
simple.”
Of course she had. “No, I don’t think so. The odds aren’t in your favor.
They aren’t in anyone’s favor when it comes to hazard except the house.”
“You probably shouldn’t advise your patrons of that, Mr. Murphy.”
“I don’t as a rule. I’m making an exception for you.”
Her cheeks pinked just slightly at his comment. Lady Masterson was
really quite stunning. What a waste it was to have her wed to Masterson.
“Are you familiar with the laws of probability?” he asked.
“I don’t believe so.” Her dark eyes flashed at him, softening just
slightly.
Well, that was progress, wasn’t it?
Usually by now, Leo would have invited a lovely creature such as Lady
Masterson to have a drink with him before moving to one of the rooms on
the second floor where they could indulge themselves. But Lady Masterson
had an air of innocence about her, so at odds with her bold manner and
decadent necklines. He instinctively knew she’d refuse him.
“The law of probability states that one must look at the total number of
favorable outcomes divided by the number of possibilities one has. That is
probability. It is how odds for all games of chance can be calculated.”
She nodded slowly. “I didn’t realize there was a course of study
prescribed for gambling hell owners.” The tiniest tilt of her lips held him
enthralled.
 “Oh, there isn’t. I merely like numbers more than most.” Much more
than most. Leo considered and calculated odds or strategies for nearly every
possibility in his life. Except perhaps the appearance of Lady Masterson.
She was rather unexpected.
“So, you know what the chance of rolling, say, a pair of sevens would
be?” Intelligence gleamed from her eyes. “Or the cards I might hold in my
hand if you are paying attention.”
Leo wanted to drag her off her stool and take her to his private quarters.
He might not even bed her immediately but spend the evening in
discussion. Few people grasped the concept of probability, and if they did,
their interest in such a topic was limited. Professional gamblers mostly, but
rarely anyone else.
His attraction to her increased, but this time it was her mind he wanted,
something nearly as appealing as her bosom. “Yes.” Leo shifted, discreetly
tugging at the edge of his coat to hide the erection tenting his trousers.
Lady Masterson didn’t notice. She did lean closer, however, her breasts
nearly spilling from her bodice. “Explain how you do so, Mr. Murphy.”

G eorgina R utherford M asterson , reluctant wife of E arl

Masterson, found Elysium to be marvelous. There wasn’t anything like the
gambling hell in New York, at least that Georgina was aware of. Her elderly
husband, Lord Masterson, after leading her to the faro table, had dropped
her arm and disappeared upstairs, leaving her to face the sea of sharks on
Elysium’s gaming floor alone. London society hadn’t been exactly
welcoming to Georgina. In addition to being American, the Rutherford
pedigree was a bit tattered, to say the least, which made everyone look
down their patrician noses at her. Admittedly, Georgina’s blunt way of
speaking, laced with the bitterness of being unfairly banished to London
and wed to a gentleman three times her age, didn’t help matters. She
supposed dressing somewhat flamboyantly didn’t endear her to anyone
either. That particular bit of rebellion had followed her to London from
New York and was now more habit than anything.
Luckily, Georgina possessed a backbone, one forged of steel. Her
adored grandmother, upon seeing her off to London, had taken Georgina’s
hand.
“You’ll survive, Georgie,” she had said. “But I doubt you’ll care for
London. There’s a reason we fought a war or two to get them to leave us be.
But you’ll survive until you can come home. Your behavior forced your
father’s hand, though I know you didn’t ruin yourself. But actions have
consequences. Remember that, Georgie, and act accordingly.”
Grandmother had died shortly after Georgina’s wedding to Masterson.
Something else Georgina blamed her father for—that she hadn’t been with
her grandmother at the end.
Learn to behave, Georgina, or else don’t come home.
Those were the last words her father, Jacob Rutherford, had said before
leaving her in England. Georgina hadn’t wept. Or thrown a tantrum. She
was made of sterner stuff. Accepting her marriage to the elderly earl had
taken all her fortitude.
Forgiveness for her father might never come.
Not only was Masterson ancient, but he also had little interest in
Georgina save her dowry. The consummation of their wedding night had
been a humiliating experience, leaving both of them near tears. Masterson
had barely succeeded in taking her virginity. If there hadn’t been a pinch of
pain and blood on the sheets, Georgina wouldn’t have known anything out
of the ordinary had happened. None of her curiosity about the act had been
assuaged. John Winbow, the reason for her banishment, had claimed there
was pleasure to be had between a man and woman.
I should have allowed him to ruin me. The result would have been the
same.
Tonight, when Masterson had informed Georgina she was
accompanying him to Elysium, Georgina had eagerly agreed. Entertaining
callers and gossiping over tea, as most ladies were expected to do, held little
interest. But she did like card games and had never been to a gambling hell.
Elysium was notorious. And it was absolutely splendid. Decadent in
unexpected ways. Her vision had been of a seedy, rundown building. A
space much less lavish and well-appointed. Certainly not the grand, elegant
mansion which had greeted her.
Elysium, all three stories, sat at the end of one of London’s older but
still fashionable neighborhoods. The mansion was well hidden behind a
circle of oak trees and surrounded by an expanse of lawn and manicured
gardens. The interior was sumptuous, done in glistening dark colors that
reminded Georgina of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Well-trained staff
hovered only a step away, bringing refreshments to members and their
guests. Delicious smells wafted out from the hall to her left where
Masterson had told her members could dine. The chef was French.
Chandeliers hung from the ceiling above her, bathing the gaming floor in a
warm glow.
“Larkin here will take care of you, my dear,” her husband had said
before leaving her to struggle her way through faro. “I’ve other matters to
attend to. Try not to lose too much.”
The only card game Georgina had even the least bit of skill for was
poker, a game not available at Elysium or probably anywhere except a river
boat on the Mississippi.
Winbow came to mind, and she pushed him away. She should have
known he’d wanted more than her virtue.
“Of course not, my lord,” she had answered her husband, but Masterson
had already been moving away from her, his attention taken by a tall, lanky
gentleman with large blue eyes and just the scruff of a beard. Probably
about the same age as Georgina. The pair disappeared up a flight of steps to
the second floor.
Georgina was not unaware of her husband’s habits. How could she be?
The gossip greeted her at every function she’d had the misfortune to attend.
Sitting at the faro table, Georgina had tried watching the other players,
hoping to grasp the strategy of the game. She had failed miserably. Perhaps
she could try hazard. How hard was it to throw a pair of dice?
“Perhaps I can be of assistance.” The ugliest waistcoat she’d ever seen
on a gentleman flashed before her eyes as a large, male form took the seat
next to her. Refusing to look in his direction, Georgina focused on her
cards. Sandalwood and leather surrounded her, along with the scent of a
cheroot.
Georgina did appreciate a good cheroot on occasion. Another bad habit
of hers.
“I sincerely doubt that,” she replied without turning to look at him. The
last thing Georgina required this evening was yet another lord offering her
assistance. Thus far, two earls and a viscount had offered to teach her faro,
mostly so they could peer down her bodice. The only thing different about
this lord was his incredibly poor taste in clothing.
“Are you sure? I’m rather good at cards.”
 “Hmm. So claims every other lord in here,” she said, finally turning to
look at him. “They say such things,” she said, “so that under the guise of
looking at my cards to assist me, they might admire my bosom.”
Good Lord, he’s beautiful.
Georgina struggled to force the air in and out of her lungs, struck dumb
by his looks. And those eyes. Sapphire with bits of gold floating in the
depths and a distinctive ring of deeper blue. His hair was the rich shade of
old, burnished leather, a bit long, the ends curling around his ears. A wide
mouth with sensual lips lifted in a half-smile at her brief perusal.
Her insides twisted in the strangest manner.
Goodness.
She was not a young lady who was easily rattled or struck speechless by
a handsome face. Stubborn to the core, Georgina refused to allow this
arrogant, albeit stunning, gentleman to see the effect he had on her. A man
like him likely already knew what he did to women with that seductive
smile and charming manner.
Always stand your ground, Georgie.
Grandmother had been full of wisdom.
She turned back to her cards, heart beating wildly in her chest, forcing
herself not to stare at his hideous waistcoat. Was the pattern supposed to
resemble the petals of a flower? Even with his eccentric clothing choices,
Georgina decided few women were likely to dismiss him.
But she would. Perhaps it would teach him humility. Every gentleman
with a title, she’d found, thought very highly of themselves. His arrogance,
however, was probably deserved.
“You’re American,” he finally said.
“How astute you are, my lord.”
His brows lifted in surprise. Had she addressed him improperly? She
couldn’t quite keep all the titles straight. Masterson had told her that with
the exception of a duke, everyone else could be addressed as ‘my lord’.
“I’m Leo Murphy. Not a lord. I own Elysium.”
“How lovely for you.” Masterson had mentioned Leo Murphy a handful
of times, mainly bemoaning the fact that he owed London’s most infamous
gambling hell owner a large sum. Murphy was the bastard son of a duke;
she knew that much. And he had terrible taste in waistcoats.
“Are you intentionally being rude? Or is this the way all Americans
behave?”
 Murphy wasn’t the least put off by her response; in fact, he seemed
amused. The man possessed a great deal of charm. Combined with his
looks, she doubted he was ever lonely. She wasn’t entirely sure why he’d
chosen to speak to her. Georgina was well aware of her own appeal, but she
was hardly the most beautiful woman floating about Elysium tonight.
When Murphy began speaking of probability and odds, all of which
Georgina found fascinating, she couldn’t look away from him. Mathematics
had always been her favorite subject. Numbers were a sort of language to
her. Georgina could calculate the profit on a shipload of goods her father
imported, including the taxes which must be paid, in her head. She’d been
so proud, waiting for her father to heap praise upon her.
If only you’d been a boy, Georgina. Pity the only use you’ll have is in
who you wed.
Her final rebellion against her father had been short-lived, backfiring in
the most spectacular fashion.
Murphy seemed genuinely surprised Georgina not only found, but could
also follow, what was obviously his favorite topic. Dazzling her with his
presence, Murphy explained probability and how it applied to gaming while
sipping a glass of scotch. He spoke to her as if she were an equal. As if she
possessed some intelligence instead of treating her as if she were only
capable of designing a dinner menu.
She found herself leaning into him when he spoke, the skin of her arms
and chest humming with his words. Her eyes kept falling to his mouth,
knowing he would taste of scotch and a great deal of sin. Georgina was
already half in love with him by the time they were interrupted.
“There you are.”
A gentleman stopped at the faro table, took one look at Georgina, and
patiently waited for her to swoon in his presence. She did no such thing, of
course, though he was dazzling. There was curiosity as he looked at her
from a pair of eyes identical to Murphy’s.
“I’ve been looking all over for you, Leo. And here I find you at the faro
table. You don’t even like faro.” The man’s sapphire gaze ran over her once
more.
“I play at times.” Leo didn’t look pleased. “How is Lady Dunley?”
The other gentleman was studying Georgina as if she were of great
interest. “Tedious. Looks like you’re having much more fun.”
“Mr. Murphy has been kind enough to instruct me on gaming.”
 His eyes widened just slightly at the sound of her accent. “Introduce me,
Leo. I’d like to properly meet the woman you haven’t bored to death with
your talk of numbers.” He winked at her. “She hasn’t even nodded off yet.”
“Lady Masterson,” Leo nodded to her, “may I introduce Lord Welles.”
Murphy stood and waved his brother into the seat he’d vacated. “My
brother.”
Ah. Obviously. The two looked very much alike in addition to the eyes.
“Lady Masterson.” Lord Welles took her hand. Dressed all in indigo, a
perfect foil for such masculine perfection, Welles really was incredibly
appealing. But he didn’t cause a flutter inside her chest as Leo Murphy did.
“I had heard Masterson wed himself to a young American, and here you
are.”
“Yes, directly in front of you.”
Leo’s lips twitched.
“How interesting.”
“Not really,” Georgina said. “I can’t imagine I’m the only one roaming
about London. There’s bound to be one or two more. Americans, that is.
Not young ladies married to Lord Masterson. I’m the only one, as far as I
know.”
Welles looked at her a moment longer and then burst into laughter.
“You’re delicious, Lady Masterson. I’ll keep you company for a bit, if you
don’t mind. I like faro.”
Georgina had the feeling he wasn’t asking her permission but Murphy’s.
“Careful, Tony. She bites,” Murphy said smoothly, relinquishing her to
his brother’s company. Taking her hand, his fingers curled protectively over
hers, thumb rubbing gently over her wrist. He bowed and whispered, “It has
been a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Masterson. Should
you require anything, you need only ask.”
You. She almost whispered. I require you.
Lord Welles watched the exchange between them with open interest.
His mouth, just as wide as his brother’s, spread into a smile.
“Good evening, Lady Masterson. I’ll leave you in my brother’s care.”
“Mr. Murphy.” She inclined her head. “I enjoyed our conversation.”
He paused and took her in. “Then I’m certain we’ll have another.”
Nodding once more, Murphy strode off, the ever-increasing crowd on the
gaming floor swallowing him until she couldn’t see him anymore.
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