all but healed, but the damn bite hasn’t. At least, not quickly enough.” He shook his head. “The doctor says I should be back as new in a couple of months. Can’t travel until the damn wound heals, though.”
“Snakes,” Finley said with a shudder. “That’s what you get for traveling to some god-forsaken country. You ask me, London is dangerous enough as it is.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Cabot said. “Besides, someone has to go out there and find all the treasures that the blokes in the other room like to look at in the museums. Might as well be me.”
Cabot was obviously some sort of explorer or archaeologist. Caroline couldn’t afford to be distracted by their conversation, as interesting as that might be. She kept her eyes on the cards and her mind in the game, keeping careful count with each hand.
“What’s the new gossip?” Erickson asked Finley.
Finley eyed the man, who was at least twice his size, and then shook his head.
“Come on, I know you’ve got something,” Erickson insisted.
“Very well,” Finley said after a long pause. “Lady Abernathy’s youngest daughter eloped with one of their footmen.”
Cabot let out a low whistle. “That will no doubt cause quite the scandal.”
“Yes,” Finley said. “Especially since it was said that the Earl of Burkfield had expressed intentions to court the girl.”
Caroline won another hand, as did two other players since the dealer ended up with only eighteen. She always loved it when Finley showed up and fed them gossip. It worked two-fold for her—kept the other players distracted, but also gave her that improper glimpse into London’s most elite families. She couldn’t help it; she truly loved to hear the gossip from this side of the stairs, as it were. If they only knew how the commoners spoke about them, laughed about them.
They played another hand in silence before Finley spoke again.
“It would seem Mrs. Williams, the housekeeper next door, had an affair with Lord Rochester’s brother,” Finley said. “She’s twice his age.”
The door connecting the main room to the back room opened. Normally, the only people who crossed that doorway were employees of Rodale’s. At the moment, though, another man stood in the room. A hush fell over the floor.
“What the devil is he doing on this side?” Finley asked.
“Looks gentry. Perhaps he’s looking for you,” Cabot said with a chuckle. “Have you been gossiping about him? Who is he?”
Finley ignored Cabot.
The man’s large frame was imposing standing there in his greatcoat, waistcoat, and cravat. Cabot was correct in his assumption. This man was quite obviously a gentleman. From where Caroline sat, she could not clearly make out his face.
“Your Grace,” another dealer said. “I believe you’ve come through the wrong door.”
The man shook his head. “No, I’ve come to play. Where’s the boy?”
His voice carried across the room and seemed to echo in the silence. Caroline knew that voice. Nerves fluttered to life in her belly. Her mouth went dry. She fought the urge to gather her winnings and run out of there. There, standing in the same room as her, was Monroe Grisham, Duke of Chanceworth, and her legal guardian. The man she’d once tried to give her heart to. The man who had turned her down flatly with nothing more than a no.
Ah, the foolish fancying of her youth. Thank goodness she had recovered from that particular folly. Still, she hadn’t seen him since she’d left London nearly six years before. But there he was, the very man who had taught her how to play this game.
The boy. She was the boy.
Damnation! Roe Grisham had come to play her.
Chapter Two
Caroline swallowed the lump in her throat.
“The boy?” the dealer asked him.
“Yes, the one who has been called the best in this room. Where is he?” Roe asked, surveying the room.
“That’s the Duke of Chanceworth,” Finley said through his teeth.
She looked up just as her dealer put his hand in the air motioning to their table, and Cabot came to his feet, swearing.
“There’s no need to bring the boy into this,” Cabot said. “I know you’ve truly come to see me. Of all the arrogant things to do, come in here to play! Of course you couldn’t be a true gentleman and invite me to your table out front. Nonetheless, I’ve told you, several times, that I will not work for you.”
Roe turned his attention to Cabot. Roe’s brows rose slowly. “And you would be?”
“B.D. Cabot.”
“Ah,” Roe said with a slight nod. “Yes, well, it is nice to