Lady Lilias and the Devil in Plaid - Julie Johnstone Page 0,60

asked.”

“Who’s within the room?” Nash asked. When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “I want to ensure no one you know is in there to give away who you are.”

Beckford listed six men, none of whom she knew. Nash nodded, satisfied. “Keep your cloak pulled up around your face until we are in the room and the door is shut.”

“If you need me,” Beckford said, “ask my sister for me. She’ll be the one who comes in to let the dealer know when any new players are to enter the Gold Room. That way, if someone is entering who might recognize you, you can put your cloak back on and depart immediately.”

She nodded, a thrill of excitement going through her. This was the sort of adventure she loved, the sort that would be lost to her as soon as she became Owen’s wife.

The Gold Room certainly lived up to its name. Everything in it glittered and was lushly opulent, from the gold velvet curtains, to the luxurious gold rug, to the gold plush chairs the players sat upon. There were six men in the room and one man who appeared to be in charge of the game, and every one of them paused to look at Nash and Lilias as they entered.

Nash grabbed her hand and pulled her close behind him, and the simple protective gesture caused a thrill that made her heart speed up and her stomach flutter. It was a reaction she could not stop.

“You’ll have to wait for this hand to be over,” the man who appeared in charge said, addressing Nash.

It irked her somewhat that most men rarely seemed to think a woman would be capable or interested in pursuits that men assumed required their “superior intelligence,” such as cards, but she held her tongue. A mistress would never state such an opinion in public, and for now, she was Nash’s mistress.

Nash helped her out of her cloak, and she felt the eyes of the men on her. Though she’d dressed the part of a paramour intentionally, the lecherous attention made her uncomfortable, so when a man dressed in gold livery approached them and asked if they’d like a drink, she said yes. She’d never imbibed before, but she’d heard talk of spirits having a calming effect.

“What will the lady have?” the footman asked Nash, which snapped her temper in two.

“The lady,” she said, locking gazes with the surprised footman, “will have—” What would she have? The only spirit she ever had was ratafia, and she highly doubted they had that here. “The lady will have her usual,” she finished, her face burning. She prayed the footman had no notion if she was a regular or not.

The game of vingt-et-un had resumed, so thankfully, no one at the table was paying them any mind.

When the footman stood there with a confused look on his face, Nash slid his arm over the back of Lilias’s chair and said, “Do not tell me you have forgotten my lady.”

His lady. If it was possible for a heart to lurch out of one’s chest, hers just did.

This is not real. We are not a couple.

“She is unforgettable,” Nash continued, and he sounded so believable that she found warmth flowing through her, followed swiftly by a piercing ache.

“Yes, my lord,” the footman rushed to say, to which Nash hitched an eyebrow. “I mean, yes, my lord,” the footman hastened to correct, “she’s unforgettable.”

Nash nodded, playing the part of a stuffy aristocrat perfectly, especially when he said, “But you have forgotten me, apparently.”

“My lord?” the poor footman squeaked. He looked to be no more than twenty years of age, and his ears had turned red.

Suddenly, a blond-haired man seated facing them said, “His Grace, you fool. You are addressing a duke. He is not ‘my lord.’ He is ‘Your Grace.’”

The men at the table all stood, and Lilias realized the hand was over. The head man was gathering the cards, and all the players exited. The door shut, and the footman stammered, “I’m sorry, Your G-Grace.”

“No harm has been done,” Nash replied to the footman, his voice taking on an understanding edge, but his gaze upon the man who’d spoken was hard. “Do we know each other?”

Bushy eyebrows arched over dark-brown eyes. “I’m surprised you don’t remember me, Your Grace.” But the man did not sound surprised, not truly. “My stepfather was hired by your father to teach your brother Latin when he failed to master it. I would know you