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  Cassandra made the introductions—at least to the two women she knew—while she and Fiona took their seats. The third was then presented, and everyone exchanged pleasantries.

  The dealer tossed three chips onto the center of the table before dealing the cards.

  The oldest player, Mrs. Montgomery, on the other side of the table from Fiona, inhaled sharply, her gaze on the doorway. She muttered something that Fiona couldn’t hear, but the woman to her left nodded.

  Cassandra picked up her cards and silently told Fiona to do the same, her eyes darting down toward the cards on the table in front of Fiona. Plucking up her hand, Fiona promptly dropped the cards again as soon as she heard the voice behind her.

  “Pardon me, but I’ve come to fetch my ward for the musicale.”

  Fiona’s blood turned to ice. She slowly turned her head, and her gaze connected with a rather inappropriate area of her guardian. Lifting her chin so she wasn’t starting at his crotch, she looked into his face.

  And immediately wished she hadn’t.

  His eyes were a positively glacial shade of gray, even though his mouth was curved into a slight smile. There was no humor in it, just a façade meant to convey something opposite to what he was feeling.

  For that, she was grateful.

  “My goodness, I didn’t realize it was already time.” She turned back to the table. “Forgive me, I must go.” She sent an apologetic glance to Cassandra before standing.

  Overton held her chair, then offered her his arm. She would have rather walked out without touching him, but to do so would invite curiosity—and probably his ire. More ire than he already possessed.

  Holding her head high and staring straight forward so she didn’t see anyone’s reaction to her being fetched from what appeared to be a ladies-only chamber by her male guardian, Fiona departed the card room on his arm. Prudence stood just outside, her lips pressed into a firm line and her gaze inscrutable.

  Fiona wasn’t sure what had happened, but she didn’t blame Prudence. “I lost track of the time, my lord.”

  The earl looked to Prudence. “We’ll join you in the drawing room.”

  With a slight nod, Prudence turned and left.

  The gallery was empty. Presumably everyone had gone into the drawing room.

  Overton pulled her along, then diverted into a small sitting room. He withdrew his arm from her grasp and closed the door.

  Fiona turned, her mouth open to apologize, but the earl’s features had grown even stonier since they’d departed the card room.

  “Don’t bother saying whatever you meant to say. Just what on earth did you think you were doing?” He shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you angry because I lost track of the time when you told me not to be late to the performance?”

  “Yes. I’m also angry because you apparently think it’s acceptable to gamble at loo during said performance.”

  “It was my understanding that playing cards, and even gambling, was acceptable, provided the stakes weren’t high.”

  “How were you even gambling at all? You have no money.”

  “Cassandra has money.”

  He wiped his gloved hand over his face. “I am beginning to think Lady Cassandra is a bad influence. I will speak to her brother at once.”

  Fiona stepped toward him. “Please don’t do that. I’m sorry I lost track of time,” she repeated, growing frustrated. “It looked like fun, and I‘ve never played cards before.”

  Some heat returned to his gaze. “They would have devoured you whole. It’s good that I interrupted you. Sometimes the ladies can be more vicious than the men.” He closed the distance between them, moving to stand directly in front of her. “Miss Wingate, Fiona, you must stop these…antics.”

  “I fail to see how—”

  He held up his hand. “Yes, you fail to see anything of import. Your behavior must be absolutely above reproach. A duke’s daughter will be excused for things that you will not. Following Lady Cassandra about will only get you into trouble. Then what will you do?”

  She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “What will you do if your reputation is ruined? You won’t be able to marry. Do you want that?”

  “I don’t want to get married.” There, she’d said it as plainly as possible, and it felt glorious. A weight lifted off her chest, and she nearly smiled.

  His eyes widened and then narrowed. “You’re being foolish and immature. You must marry.”

  “Why, because you say so?”

  “Would you prefer to return to Bitterley? I’m sure your cousin can still find you a nice country vicar to wed.”

  Her blood chilled. “Still?”

  “That was his plan before I wrote to him requesting you come to London for the Season.”

  Fiona gasped. Her cousin hadn’t told her that. Her shoulders sagged as the victory she’d felt a moment ago evaporated like steam. “Is it terrible that I just want to have some fun for once?”

  Exhaling, he rubbed his hand along his jaw. “No. However, you must choose your fun wisely. Visiting the map room at the museum is acceptable. Gambling at loo during a musicale is not.

  “I still don’t understand how that will get me into trouble.”

  He leaned toward her, and his masculine scent of sandalwood filled the air around her. “Perhaps it won’t, but you aren’t where you’re supposed to be, and that’s when bad things happen.”

  A frisson of awareness danced up her spine. She tipped her head back to look up at him and swallowed. “What sort of bad things?”

  “Things like you leaving the card room by yourself and being dragged into a room by a gentleman who wishes to take liberties.” His gaze briefly dipped before snapping back to hers.

  Her breath caught as her pulse sped. “Like this?”

  “I am not taking liberties,” he said softly, his velvet tone making her think he very well could. “Nor would I. You are my ward. That would be highly improper. But you can see how easy it would be for someone to bring you here and kiss you.”

  Fiona swallowed again, suddenly feeling warm. He was embarrassing her again. He was quite good at that. Unless it wasn’t embarrassment. Because the image of him kissing her flashed in her mind, causing another blast of heat.

  She was definitely blaming embarrassment.

  He thankfully interrupted her wayward thoughts. “Then you’d be compromised. And if the gentleman refused to wed, you’d be ruined.”

  “I shall be more careful.” Her eyes met his for a charged moment.

  Nostrils flaring, the earl took a step back. “You’re damned right you will. And you’ll marry as soon as possible”

  She shook her head. “I won’t.”

  “You will. You can either find someone here in London or return to Shropshire and become a vicar’s wife. I’ll leave the decision to you.” He took a deep breath and smoothed his hand over his hair. “Let us attend the performance.” He offered her his arm once more.

  She glared at him instead of taking it, then she turned and stalked from the room. She wasn’t going to marry anyone, nor was she going to return to Shropshire. There had to be another option.

  Fiona just had to discover it.

  Chapter 6

  The last thing Tobias wanted to do after the discomfort of sitting through the musicale next to an angry Miss Wingate was visit White’s to have a drink with Aldington. However, doing so was crucial to the rehabilitation of his reputation, and so here he was scanning the room for the earl.

  Tobias ignored the cluster of gentlemen surrounding the table in front of the bow window where Brummel held court. Aldington wouldn’t be anywhere near there. When Tobias had visited a few nights ago, Aldington had made a point to disdain the spectacle that often clustered around Brummel. It had briefly occurred to Tobias that Aldington might actually prefer the more casual atmosphere of the Phoenix Club where no one behaved sycophantically.

  “Here again, Overton?”
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  Turning his head at the sound of his name, Tobias inwardly cringed at seeing Philip Trowley. Outwardly, he summoned a bland smile. “Evening, Trowley.”

  The older man stroked his hand over his rotund belly as he moved closer to Tobias. “I was just mocking a wager someone had entered about you marrying by Easter. Who would take that bet?” He chortled loudly, drawing the attention of others around them.

  “I haven’t looked at the betting book,” Tobias said with a patience he only barely possessed.

  “Coming here twice in one week after so long an absence following your fall from grace… I daresay you are trying to improve your reputation so as to make the best possible match.” He sidled closer, lowering his voice as his madeira-soaked breath wafted over Tobias. “Tell me, is that true?”

  “Perhaps I’m here to forge political connections,” Tobias replied mildly as he took care not to breathe through his nose. “I’m new to the Lords, and I’m taking my new position rather seriously.”

  Trowley stared at Tobias a moment, seemingly at a loss for words. Then he erupted in laughter once more and smacked Tobias on the back hard enough that he had to grind his heels into the floor to keep from pitching forward. “You almost had me! I’m for the betting book.” He took himself off, tottering a bit uncertainly.

  Exhaling, Tobias turned and continued his search for Aldington. At last, he caught sight of the man at a table near the corner. As with the last time Tobias had visited—just four days before—the earl was alone.

  “Evening, Aldington,” Tobias greeted him pleasantly. “Mind if I join you?”

  The earl’s hazel eyes narrowed slightly as he looked up at Tobias. “You’re here again?”

  “Yes. I am a member.” Tobias sat down, and a footman immediately offered him a glass of port, which Tobias accepted.

  “Who hasn’t visited White’s in years until a few nights ago.” He sipped his port, peering dubiously at Tobias over the rim of his glass. “And you sought me out then too.”

  “Because I intended to. Did I not tell you at the Edgemont ball that I would meet you for a drink here?”

  Aldington set his glass down. “You did. What’s your reason tonight?” Though he didn’t bear a strong resemblance to his younger brother, they shared the same hooded eye shape and thick brows, which could work in concert to make them appear both devilishly handsome and uncomfortably intimidating. Aldington was currently the latter.

  The truth was not only boring; it wasn’t something Tobias wanted to admit, particularly since others were wagering on his behavior. Instead, he broached a topic that was also important. “I wanted to speak with you about Lady Cassandra. She took my ward into the ladies’ gaming room this evening.”

  “Yes, I did learn my sister was in there. While I don’t personally find that to be an acceptable activity for an unwed lady, it is not my place to instruct her. Our aunt is managing such things.”

  “Yes, well, she even funded my ward’s participation. Miss Wingate is not the daughter of a duke whose debut has been anticipated for several years. She’s a...” Tobias stumbled over his words. He’d been about to say she was a provincial miss from the middle of nowhere, but that was grossly inadequate, as well as unfair. She didn’t deserve to be described in a way that would demand certain expectations of her. “Miss Wingate is new to London and is trying to make her very best impression.”

  “I understand. However, entering a gaming room is probably not the best impression.”

  Tobias nearly scowled but schooled his features into a serene expression. “No, which is why I’d like your sister—my ward’s newest and apparently dearest friend—to guide her more appropriately.”

  “You can’t expect Cassandra to act in the manner of companion or chaperone, let alone sponsor. Isn’t Lady Pickering managing your ward? I should think she’d be more than up to the challenge of bringing a country miss to heel.”

  Gritting his teeth, Tobias curled his hand around the stem of his glass. “She’s not a dog, Aldington.”

  “Of course not. My apologies.” Aldington exhaled and took another drink of port. “The musicale gave me a headache, I’m afraid. I would not have bothered to go if Cassandra wasn’t having her Season. Deuced annoying to shepherd these young women, but it’s our duty, alas.” He fixed his gaze on Tobias. “I imagine it must be even more frustrating for you since your ward isn’t even a relation. How did she come to be your ward anyway?”

  Tobias had been frustrated upon learning he had a ward, but he wasn’t anymore. He liked Miss Wingate, even if she had…frustrated him this evening. “She was my father’s ward. Her father was a dear friend of his.”

  “I will speak with Cassandra and encourage her to be mindful of her new friend and their differences as to how Society might view them and their behavior.”

  “I do appreciate that, thank you.” Tobias lifted his glass in a toast before taking a drink.

  Aldington laid his palm flat atop the table, his fingertips on the base of his glass. “I’d thought you were coming here to demonstrate you’d settled down and were ready to take on the responsibilities of your title.”

  “That is certainly an added benefit,” Tobias said with a smile.

  “And are you?” One of Aldington’s thick brows rose. “Settling down?”

  “Since I have inherited, I fear it’s time.”

  Aldington glanced down at his glass as he traced his finger around the base. “Have you given up your mistress?”

  Tobias was momentarily confounded. That wasn’t a question he would have expected from the man. “Er, yes.”

  “I was only curious. Many do not.”

  “Have you kept yours?” Tobias doubted the man had even had one but couldn’t help asking. If Aldington was going to be curious about such matters, he would have to expect the same in return.

  “I have never kept a mistress.” His tone was cool, but his eyes didn’t meet Tobias’s.

  Tobias didn’t know what to make of that. He didn’t know much about Aldington or his marital situation beyond the fact that he and his wife seemed to spend little time together. That fact and Aldington’s query about Barbara was why Tobias had considered that perhaps Lucien’s brother was not as staid as they believed him to be.

  Aldington finished his port. “You must excuse me. I’m afraid this pain in my head insists I retire.” He stood. “Will I see you here in another few days?”

  “Perhaps sooner,” Tobias said, wondering if he could bring himself to suffer another visit so quickly. It wasn’t that White’s was terrible, but the Phoenix Club was so much more than a club where men gathered to drink, gamble, and converse. And not just because Lucien had included women in the entire plan, though that was a large part of it. The purpose of the Phoenix Club was to include those who were often excluded, to offer a haven to those who had nowhere else to find comfort and camaraderie.

  When Tobias had been at the butt of a scandal two years ago, many people he knew, including some he’d thought were friends, had turned their backs on him because it was the fashionable thing to do. Lucien, on the other hand, had founded the Phoenix Club and made sure that Tobias was one of the first members, along with Wexford and MacNair, who were also treated as outcasts from time to time. Since then, inviting people who were often on the outside looking in had been one of the primary objectives of the club. Tobias was proud to serve on its membership committee.

  “Is there any information you’d like to impart that might help me win a wager?” Aldington smiled—a rarity in Tobias’s experience. “I jest, of course. I do not make wagers.”

  “Of course. And no, there is nothing to share.” Tobias picked up his glass as Aldington inclined his head and bade him good evening.

  Alone at the table, Tobias swallowed the rest of his port, eager to follow Aldington out. He’d done his duty for the evening. Now he needed a proper drink with proper company.

  A short while later, Tobias entered the library on the first floor of the Pho
enix Club and poured himself a glass of smuggled Scotch whisky. As he’d walked from White’s, his mind had turned to Miss Wingate. His earlier annoyance with her had faded, but he was still troubled by the events of the musicale.

  He hadn’t asked to be her guardian, nor had he promised anyone that he’d see her wed. Perhaps he’d really been annoyed with his father. No, not annoyed, livid. He’d completely tossed Tobias’s life into shambles.

  “Dipping into the whisky, eh Deane?” Lucien strode into the library. “Damn, I mean Overton. I was doing so well too.”

  “I’d insist you call me Deane, but I know you won’t. Do you want a drink?”

  “Yes, thank you. And I would call you Deane if you really want me to.”

  Tobias finished pouring and handed Lucien the tumbler. “Tempting. My loathing for my father is particularly sharp this evening.”

  “Has he visited some new horror upon you?”

  “No, just the same manipulation from his grave. I should have postponed bringing Miss Wingate to London until after I was wed. Then she could be my wife’s problem.”

  “Your poor wife,” Lucien said, smirking.

  “Why? Managing young ladies is far more suited to a wife than to someone like me.”

  “You just referred to Miss Wingate as a problem. That sounds like a…problem.”

  Snorting, Tobias went to the collection of chairs near the hearth and dropped into a wingback chair. “She’s out of her element completely.”

  Lucien sat opposite him. “Isn’t Lady Pickering schooling her?”

  “Yes, but in hindsight, I should have delayed Miss Wingate’s introduction to Society and given her more time to learn what’s expected of her.”

  Lucien shrugged. “You still can. Have her focus on her studies for a fortnight or however long. Then, when she’s more comfortable, she can reenter.”

  Stretching his legs out and clutching his whisky on the arm of the chair, Tobias pondered his friend’s suggestion. “Perhaps I should. I was so hellbent on seeing her wed so that I could focus on finding a countess that I failed to see she wasn’t ready.”