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ALASTAIR STIFFENED AS he and Kittredge entered the main room of the Dante Club, for he saw, sitting in a tall wingchair beside the hearth, the Viscount Devon. The man had charmed Mildred at the Château Follet, and Alastair shuddered to think what would have happened had he not been present to rescue her from the Viscount’s clutches. The man was known to seek virgins and had boasted to an acquaintance of Alastair that he enjoyed their screams and tears of pain when he tore through their maidenheads.

“That fellow must be a new member,” Kittredge said, following Alastair’s gaze. “You don’t appear too pleased to see him.”

“I am not,” Alastair affirmed.

“Who is he?”

“The Viscount Devon, a cad.”

“That would be the pot calling the kettle black,” Kittredge laughed.

Mildred had said something similar when he had attempted to raise her doubts of the man.

As if sensing he was the object of their attention, Devon looked toward Alastair. A flicker of recognition passed through his countenance before he returned to his friend.

“Shall we start with brag?” Kittredge inquired. “We can take the table farthest from this Devon fellow. Mr. Thistlewood has acquired some port that he believes to be the best the club has ever purchased.”

When they had sat at a card table and saw no signs of the manager, Kittredge rose to find the man. Alastair sat with his back to the fireplace but heard the Viscount approach the table.

“We meet again,” Devon said. “Alastair, is it not?”

Alastair returned a silent stare.

“May I?” Devon did not wait for a response before pulling out one of the chairs at the table. He sat down and spotted the cards. “What is your pleasure?”

To have you depart, Alastair thought. Aloud, he said, “Kittredge and I were to play brag.”

“Ah, I am not the best at that game, but shall we play a few rounds while we wait for your friend’s return? I will endeavor my best to give you some measure of challenge.”

As he was not interested in encouraging conversation with the man, Alastair started shuffling the cards.

“What is the ante?”

“You wish to bet?”

“Cards are hardly fun if nothing is at stake.”

“Name your bet then.”

Devon straightened, perhaps not wanting to name an amount too low for fear of appearing miserly or cowardly, nor too high to risk losing. “Will five guineas be sufficient?”

“If it pleases you.”

His indifferent response appeared to disappoint the Viscount. Alastair dealt three cards each.

“Have you been back to Château Follet since last we met?” Devon asked as he looked at his cards.

“I have not,” Alastair replied blandly.

“Nor have I.”

“Place your bet.”

“Ah, well, let me add another five guineas then.”

Alastair matched the bet.

“But I should like to return before long,” Devon continued, his brow furrowing as he pondered whether to bet again or fold. “I did not have the chance to inquire if Miss Abbey—your cousin, is she not?—had enjoyed her stay at Château Follet?”

Alastair clenched his jaw.

“She is a charming creature. How marvelous that you hail from the same family. It was quite the coincidence that you should both be there at the same time.”

“You may double the pot if you wish to see the cards.”

“Ah, yes, perhaps I shall. That would make it another twenty guineas then.”

“Forty.”

“Forty it is.”

Alastair laid down his cards, a run that edged out Devon’s flush.

“I forgot how quickly this game finishes,” Devon said as Alastair presented Devon with the cards to shuffle.

After a new pot had been established and the cards dealt, Devon asked, “Will Miss Abbey be returning to Follet?”

“No,” Alastair answered quickly.

Devon’s brows rose. “No? I pray she was not disappointed in Follet?”

“Her attendance at the château was a rare occasion, and she will not be returning.”

“You are in communication with her then? She has confided this to you?”

“You take an interest in Miss Abbey?”

“As you are her cousin, I will admit to you that I found her rather captivating. Say again the reason she will not be returning to Follet?”

“I had not provided a reason.”

“If she does not plan on returning, I can only hazard that she had a disappointing experience, and that is a travesty, for no one ought leave Château Follet unsatisfied.”

Alastair was tempted to say that she had been more than satisfied with her experience but kept his mouth shut except to say, “Your bet, sir.”

“Where does Miss Abbey hail from?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

Devon turned his study from his cards to Alastair. “It would seem you are protective of her.”

She needs protecting from wolves like you, Alastair thought. “As you are a frequent guest at the Château Follet, you must be aware that discretion is the value most honored.”

Devon placed a bet of five guineas and said, “I am more than aware, and during my tenure at Château Follet, I have never once divulged or let slip any indiscretion.”

Alastair put in another five. Devon contemplated before doing the same.

“I think I would like the pleasure of seeing Miss Abbey again.”

“Do you?”

“Indeed, I thought I might be able to find her here in town.”

Alastair felt his body tighten. “I find your interest in her surprising, for she is hardly the most captivating maiden.”

“I am not so shallow that a pretty countenance is all that matters to me. While Miss Abbey may not be a beauty in the ordinary sense of the word, I can see she has other lovely qualities to recommend her.”

“Such as?” Alastair asked, managing not to grit his teeth.

Devon leaned in. “I suspect, as a fellow guest of Madame Follet, you understand what these qualities are.”

“I think my preferences differ from yours.”

“They cannot be too different or we would not both find ourselves at Château Follet.”

“You had the company of Miss Abbey for but a small amount of time, hardly enough to form a substantive impression of her qualities.”

“Au contraire, I am quite good at making an assessment in a short amount of time.”

Alastair would have liked nothing more than to have Devon lose a sum sizable enough to compel his departure, but he held a poor hand. “I will see your cards.”

Devon also held only a high card, but his queen of diamonds beat Alastair’s jack of spades.

“Shall we up the ante to augment the excitement?” Devon asked, handing Alastair the deck. “Say, ten guineas?”

“As you wish.”

After placing their ante, Alastair shuffled and dealt the cards.

“I wish I had had more time with Miss Abbey. I wondered how she had spent the remainder of the evening at Château Follet?”

“She arrived at Château Follet in error. I kept watch over her till I could see her safely departed in the morning.”

“Then she did not have a chance to partake of the château’s offerings.”

“As I said, she came in error,” Alastair said without looking up from his cards, a pair of threes.

Devon placed ten guineas for his bet. “She seemed quite at ease with the activities of the château—and eager to participate.”

“Nevertheless, her time with Château Follet is done.”

“You are her guardian?”

“I am not—”

“Then how can you be certain?”

Alastair put in ten guineas. “I think your efforts would be better spent attending to other ladies.”

“Miss Abbey intrigues me.”

“She would not suit your preferences.”

“You presume to know me, my lord?”

There was a slight edge in his tone, but Alastair cared little if he should offend the man.

“I have heard of your preferences from my friend, the Baron Rockwell.”

Devon frowned at this. “I mean no disregard to your friend, but Rockwell makes a great many presumptions. He is not always right.”

“Do you deny you are partial to virgins?”

Devon put in twenty guineas before responding with lifted chin, “I do not. Virgins are delightful, and I consider it an honor to introduce them to the pleasures of the flesh. When you say that Miss Abbey would not suit me, do you mean to say that she is not a virgin?”

“I mean to say that you will stay away from Miss Abbey,” Alastair glowered.

“That has the ring of a threat, my lord.”

“Then consider it a threat.” Alastair folded his cards. “Our game is at an end, sir.”

Devon smirked as he displayed his cards, surprising Alastair. He held only an eight for a high card. “It would seem I am better at brag than I thought. I suppose I ought not be underestimated.”

He collected his winnings. “I would have provided Miss Abbey an unforgettable experience at Château Follet. It is unfortunate I had not the opportunity to do so. But...perhaps another time.”

“You will deem me more presumptuous than Rockwell, but I doubt you are up to the task of satisfying Miss Abbey’s expectations.” Alastair had the satisfaction of seeing Devon’s nostrils flare. “Take care you do not overestimate your appeal.”

“Your cousin found me appealing enough. Had you not intervened, she would have—”

Alastair had risen, prompting Devon to rise to his feet as well. The two men regarded each other tensely till Kittredge appeared, holding a decanter of wine. “Your pardon. I had not intended to take long...”

“Thank you for the play,” Devon said without taking his eyes off Alastair. “And the winnings.”

With a bow, the Viscount took his leave.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Kittredge asked Alastair when Devon had left. “You look ready to pummel the man.”

Alastair sat back down. “You took a damned long time looking for Thistlewood.”

“Found him in the cellar. He wanted my opinion on some Madeira. What the devil happened between you and this Viscount? Did he cheat at cards?”

“No, though I would not put it past him to do so,” Alastair answered as he watched Devon across the room.

Kittredge sat down and filled two glasses with wine. “Hm. Then I can’t imagine what he could have done to earn your ire. Did he criticize your family? No, that would not trouble you. Is he your competition for the Lady Sophia?”

Alastair turned to his friend.

“He is a handsome fellow, to be sure,” Kittredge continued, “but you outrank him, and that is no small matter for the daughter of a duke. The betting book at Brooks’s has you in the lead for the fair damsel’s hand, though there are just as many bets that you will not marry for at least another five years.”

Taking the glass of wine from Kittredge, Alastair drank it without tasting the port. Though he had paid more attention to the woman, Lady Sophia, than was his custom, his mind dwelt at present upon Millie. If Devon knew she was his cousin, he could easily discern that Miss Abbey was none other than Miss Abbott.

“Is that not a fine port?” Kittredge asked, refilling his own glass before it was even done. “I say we drink of it as much as we can and sleep well past the noon hour before we depart for the hunting grounds of Suffolk.”

“The grounds at Edenmoor are good for hunting this time of year,” Alastair thought aloud.

“Eh?”

“My aunt’s estate.”

“Not sure your aunt would be pleased to have my company, as she thinks I encourage your vices, but do as you please, Alastair. I will go wherever a good glass of wine can be had.”