Devil in Spring

Damn it.

His annoyance drained away, displaced by a rampage of heat and delight. His heart began to thump with the force of his need to be alone with her. To be inside all that energy. Everything in him had just ignited like a bonfire, and he wanted her, wanted her, with all the reckless, self-indulgent desire he usually managed to keep contained. But it made no sense. He was a civilized man, an experienced one with sophisticated tastes, and she was . . . holy God, what was she?

He wished to hell he didn’t want to find out so badly.

Pandora’s amusement faded. Whatever she saw in his gaze caused a soft scald of pink to spread over her face. Her skin turned hot beneath his fingertips.

Gabriel drew his hand back reluctantly. “I’m not your enemy,” he managed to say.

“You’re not my fiancé, either.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever.”

Gabriel wanted to pounce on her. He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Instead, he said calmly, “Tell me that again in a few days, and I might believe you. In the meantime”—he reached into his coat for another engraved card—“I’m going to give this to Trenear.”

Deliberately he gave her a mocking glance, the kind that had never failed to drive his siblings mad . . . and held the card in front of her.

As he’d guessed, Pandora couldn’t resist the challenge.

She grabbed for the card. Gabriel made it disappear, seemingly in midair, before she could touch it. As a boy, he’d learned sleight of hand from cardsharps during his visits to Jenner’s.

Pandora’s expression changed, her eyes widening. “How did you do that?”

Deftly Gabriel made the card reappear. “Learn to ask nicely,” he told her, “and I may show you someday.”

Her brows lowered. “Never mind. I’m not interested.”

But he knew it was a lie. The truth was in her eyes.

She was interested, no matter how she fought it.

And God help him . . . so was he.

Chapter 3

Two nights after the Chaworth ball, Gabriel practiced at the billiards table in the private apartments above Jenner’s. The luxurious rooms, which had once been occupied by his parents in the earliest days of their marriage, were now reserved for the convenience of the Challon family. Raphael, one of his younger brothers, usually lived at the club, but at the moment was on an overseas trip to America. He’d gone to source and purchase a large quantity of dressed pine timber on behalf of a Challon-owned railway construction company. American pine, prized for its toughness and elasticity, was used as transom ties for railways, and it was in high demand now that native British timber was in scarce supply.

The club wasn’t the same without Raphael’s carefree presence, but spending time alone here was better than the well-ordered quietness of his terrace at Queen’s Gate. Gabriel relished the comfortably masculine atmosphere, spiced with scents of expensive liquor, pipe smoke, oiled Morocco leather upholstery, and the acrid pungency of green baize cloth. The fragrance never failed to remind him of the occasions in his youth when he had accompanied his father to the club.

For years, the duke had gone almost weekly to Jenner’s to meet with managers and look over the account ledgers. His wife Evie had inherited it from her father, Ivo Jenner, a former professional boxer. The club was an inexhaustible financial engine, its vast profits having enabled the duke to improve his agricultural estates and properties, and accumulate a sprawling empire of investments. Gaming was against the law, of course, but half of Parliament were members of Jenner’s, which had made it virtually exempt from prosecution.

Visiting Jenner’s with his father had been exciting for a sheltered boy. There had always been new things to see and learn, and the men Gabriel had encountered were very different from the respectable servants and tenants on the estate. The patrons and staff at the club had used coarse language and told bawdy jokes, and taught him card tricks and flourishes. Sometimes Gabriel had perched on a tall stool at a circular hazard table to watch high-stakes play, with his father’s arm draped casually across his shoulders. Tucked safely against the duke’s side, Gabriel had seen men win or lose entire fortunes in a single night, all on the tumble of the dice.

As Gabriel had grown older, the croupiers had taught him the mathematics of odds and probability. They had also shown him how to detect if someone was using loaded dice or marking cards. Gabriel had become familiar with the signals of collusion—the wink, the nod, the shrug—and all the other subtle techniques used by sharpers. He knew every possible way a man could cheat, having seen cards being marked, concealed, and packed. During those visits to the club, he’d learned a great deal about human nature without even being aware of it.

It hadn’t occurred to Gabriel until years later that bringing him to Jenner’s had been his father’s way of making him a bit more worldly-wise, preparing him for all the future occasions when people would try to take advantage of him. Those lessons had stood him in good stead. When he had finally left the safe environment of his family’s home, he’d quickly discovered that, as the Duke of Kingston’s heir, he was a mark for everyone.

Lining up five white balls at the head spot, Gabriel positioned the red cue ball for a straight-in shot to the opposite corner. Methodically he dispatched the balls in order, sending each one neatly into the netted pocket. He had always loved billiards, the angles and patterns of it, the way it helped to settle his brain when he needed to think clearly.