The Duke of Diamonds (The Games of Gentlemen Book 1) by Windsor Emily

Author:Windsor, Emily [Windsor, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Senara Press
Published: 2020-04-01T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

The Golden Touch.

“No.”

“But–”

“No.”

“If you just liste–”

“No. And that is an end to it. Lord Sancroft merely wishes to fleece some misguided fool of his inheritance and that will not be you.” Casper lit another study candle and then poured his scheduled after-dinner port as the clock chimed seven.

Ernest’s eyes flashed with uncommon ire as he thrust papers concerning stud pedigrees back within his leather-bound folder. “It is you who drives a man to vice, brother. To escape from the languor of idleness.”

“Don’t be so bloody melodramatic, Ernest. Those gutter press novels are pilfering your good sense.”

His brother removed his glasses, eyes narrowed. “How did you know that was from a novel?”

Damn, and Casper folded his arms in the most disdainful and superior manner possible, leaning against his desk with a practised air. “I know everything.”

“You’ve been reading Udolfo.”

“I wouldn’t read that turgid histrionic nonsense if you paid me. Now leave me to sort out these accounts, and once again, no. Your stud venture is doomed to fail. Projects such as this need to be researched, detailed and cogitated, with a reasonable reserve and forecasts for two years…in your case, three.”

Pent anger shimmered the air until Ernest replaced his glasses, spun on his heal and stormed for the door, on this occasion slamming it with such force that it recoiled to open.

The miniature of Mother toppled forward once more.

Heaving a breath, Casper strode over to firmly shut the door, then returned to his seat, opened the uppermost desk drawer, removed a book and flicked through to find his silver mark.

The adorable, but prone to swooning, Emily had just been threatened by Signor Montoni and he refused to allow any more interruptions.

Not a moment later, he scowled, distracted by a shadow that paced back and forth across his closed curtain.

No doubt Ernest venting his frustration on the garden path or Uncle awaiting some tryst.

Or perhaps…

Evelyn Swift, come for some fresh air. Without chaperone or sister to shield her.

He placed the book back in the drawer.

Mrs Swift had appeared healthier at dinner tonight – fewer black shadows shrouding her eyes and a blush of rose to her cheeks. He’d requested the chef to prepare a magnificent feast but with hindsight it might have been too rich, and maybe the pudding had been somewhat flamboyant.

Surreptitiously, he strolled to the French doors that led direct to the garden and drew back the curtain a slither.

The sunset this eve was magnificent, a crimson that lit the sky to fire. And haloed in its glorious burn stomped Mrs Swift.

What was he to do with her?

She twisted him in knots with her forest-green gaze, sharp tongue and beguiling lips. He enjoyed her wit and appreciation of art, her compassion and bravado, and yet he knew naught about her. Mrs Swift could be a thief’s daughter or a gambler’s whore, a fallen lady or a destitute widow.

And none of it mattered.

How galling that after having many a woman offer liaisons in the past, it should be she who tempted him.

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