words,” one of the gents said, grinning broadly. “The softness of her voice is usually enough for me.”
The duke’s gaze landed on the viscount with an almost audible slap.
“Silence is good,” the poor fellow sputtered. “I like silence.”
“Perhaps you should practice it,” Kingsland suggested in a silky voice.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The lord began concentrating on his cards as though he feared they might fly away if not shackled by his attention.
The duke’s focus returned to bear on Griff. “You’re the Duke of Wolfford’s spare, are you not?”
“I am.”
“You have a sister, as I recall.”
“I do.”
“Is it her intent to send me a letter?”
Griff scoffed in a manner to imply he considered her fortunate to not have to seek the duke’s attention and favorable regard via post. “Hardly. She has captured the attention of the Earl of Chadbourne.”
“Ah, yes, I saw an announcement about their betrothal in the Times. Why, then, do you care what qualities I am seeking in a wife?”
“Mere curiosity, I assure you. You’ve taken a novel approach to courtship, and I wondered why normal methods weren’t to your liking. I thought perhaps you were searching for something rare.”
“I find the accepted avenue of courtship tedious and a waste of precious time. Why spend hours in a ballroom, suffering through one introduction after another, one dance after another, when I can simply read the attributes as I might a business venture I am considering for investment? Quicker, tidier, more efficient.”
“You view a wife as an investment?”
“Absolutely. Are you not familiar with women? They cost a bloody fortune. I’d rather not spend my coins wooing one who in the end is not going to pay dividends. Is it your intent to play or fold?”
Griff tossed his chips onto the pile, signaling he was playing. In the end, he won the hand and a good many of the hands afterward. Earned back the two hundred pounds he’d lost the night before. He didn’t want to consider that he owed Lady Kathryn for keeping him away from the roulette wheel and inadvertently guiding him toward the card table, that he might have to attribute some of tonight’s success to her.
Chapter 3
Kathryn couldn’t sleep. She shouldn’t have asked Griff for the favor. He’d capitulated far too easily which meant he’d tease her unmercifully for making the request of him, whether or not he saw it through. If he did have success at gathering the information she sought, he would make her pay a price for it. But it would be worth it to gain what she wanted.
Why hadn’t her grandmother simply left her the cottage outright? Why had she put a stupid stipulation on it? Was it because Kathryn had enjoyed spending time playing with the children in the village? Had her grandmother been worried that she’d move to the quaint dwelling and marry the blacksmith’s son or the baker’s? Why was her family so obsessed with their place in Society? Had it brought any of them happiness?
If her uncle or cousin didn’t see to her welfare, was she not perfectly capable of seeing to it herself? She could hire out as a nanny, governess, or companion. She wasn’t averse to work, considered that it might give her the freedom she longed for. Why among the aristocracy was marriage so highly valued? Shouldn’t a woman be wanted for more than bedding, breeding, and beauty?
The gentle rap on the door had all her thoughts scattering. It was nearly two. A little late for Althea to join her for some twittering about the Season or Society. Too early for Griff to have returned from his night of certain decadence. Had someone received word from her parents? Had something happened to them?
Tossing back the covers, she scrambled out of bed, raced to the door, and opened it. Her heart nearly skidded to a stop. It was Griff. While his neckcloth was undone, he didn’t look nearly as disheveled as he had the night before. Neither did he smell as ghastly. As a matter of fact, his fragrance was quite pleasant. She detected a bit of scotch on the air, but he wasn’t reeking with it. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him quite so relaxed. The tiniest of smiles reached up to make his eyes sparkle.
“I have what you requested,” he said, his words clear and concise. Not a slur to be found. He actually sounded happy, triumphant. She didn’t want to acknowledge how appealing a happy, triumphant Lord Griffith Stanwick was.
“You spoke with the duke?”
He