Never Gamble Your Heart (The Secret Society of Governess Spies #2)

Chapter 37

F rankie watched with sick horror as Devon quickly racked up points. Devon’s lips curved under his drooping mustache as he neared the hundred-point threshold while Jasper trailed behind. The blood rushing in Frankie’s ears dulled the sounds of footsteps and accusations of misdeeds that were being shouted from the other side of the door. She was saved no matter what—Jasper had ensured that. Her heart fluttered at the thought that at the end of this, she would be his wife. No matter what happened, this shrewd, ruthless, and secretly-soft gambler was going to marry her . Yet she had no business lingering over the strange sensation that stirred in her chest, not when he still stood to lose everything.

She would not hate marrying Jasper, but she hated that she was being gambled for like a piece of property. Hated that being caught in the same room with a man unchaperoned had tainted her value .

Frankie trembled with the injustice of it, and all the while Jasper played as coolly as if he were not a matter of points away from losing his life’s work.

Jasper dealt the last hand just as a heavy fist thudded on the door.

“Who is in there?” a man shouted.

“Tell them you need a moment,” Jasper said to Frankie without taking his eyes off the cards. “Sound breathless.”

Frankie’s cheeks flushed but she called out, “I need a moment.”

Jasper’s concentration never wavered as he and Devon played the final hand.

Frankie thought she was going to be sick all over the floor when Jasper finally set down his cards. He lifted his eyes, and they bored into Devon as he announced his score.

Devon was sitting across from Jasper at the mahogany desk, and when he heard the score the blood ran out of his cheeks. “No,” he whispered.

Jasper leaned forward and said something to Devon that Frankie could not hear. Devon’s already bloodless face paled further, and he jerkily pushed his chair out, as if to get as far away from Jasper as possible.

Jasper turned eyes on her that were still dark with murder, and she lost some color herself. “Open the door… darling.”

Frankie twisted the key as the pounding increased, and the door swung open. In rushed a small gathering of people; the originally scheduled onlookers had attracted the attention of several other seekers, her mother and the duchess among them.

Lady Evelyn raced across the carpet to Frankie and looked as if she were going clutch Frankie’s hands before remembering herself. “Are you all right? Someone locked me in the adjoining room and I was only just now rescued. Who could have played such a nasty prank on us?” She turned to glare at Lord Devon. “Was it you?”

Devon appeared too shocked to answer.

Lady Houndsbury stood behind Evelyn, quivering with all the proper rage of a hostess whose party had been made tawdry. Flanking her were two busybody lords who loved nothing more than to fan the flames of gossip, along with Lord Wilson. Her mother’s face was flushed with humiliation. Lady Trathers, the queen of gossip herself, was also among the party. Her eyes darted gleefully over the scene, keenly taking in the scattered cards on the table and Lord Devon’s trembling form.

It had been a carefully cultivated crew, and it left no doubt in Frankie’s mind that every part of this setup had been meticulously planned.

Jasper swept the cards into his hand and tucked them into his jacket pocket as he stood from the desk.

“What is the meaning of this, Lord Devon and Mr. Jones?” Lady Houndsbury demanded.

Jasper looked pointedly at Lord Devon, who cleared his throat and said weakly, “I was searching upstairs and thought to check the duke’s suite. When I entered…” He faltered. Jasper gave him a steely glare. “I… discovered Mr. Jones and Miss Turner in a compromising situation.”

There were gasps from the busybodies inside the doorway, and Lord Wilson’s eyebrows flew upward. Frankie could practically see the calculation in everyone’s eyes as they wondered how they could be the first to spread the news.

She could not bear to look at her mother, so she focused on the duchess instead.

Lady Houndsbury drew herself to her fullest height and stared down Jasper with all the power and might afforded by her position. “Do you intend to do right by this woman, Mr. Jones?”

Jasper met the duchess’s eyes with calm assurance. “Yes, my lady. Miss Turner and I will marry as soon as I obtain a license.”

Lady Houndsbury studied the three of them as if they were naughty children caught with their hands in the biscuit jar. Everyone waited with bated breath. Lady Houndsbury was an important matriarch in society, and as this was her house and her legendary party, everyone would take their cue from her on how to react.

“Well then,” she said with a sniff, “never let it be known that a Houndsbury house party is dull. This is, after all, the place where the infamous bachelor, Mr. Jasper Jones, became betrothed to his future wife.”

Frankie was amazed. Lady Houndsbury had taken a potentially delicate situation and turned it into an enviable coup for herself.

There were rounds of congratulations, all while Lord Devon stood in the corner breathing as if he had just run after his horse. He looked more frightened than angry. Was it Jasper he was so afraid of, or the Dowry Thieves ringleader?

Jasper cupped her elbow, and they filed out of the room behind the rest of the party. “I must speak with you,” Frankie whispered.

“Tonight.”

They returned to the drawing room, and after the others arrived from the sardines game, were roped into playing a number of other parlor games amid sly offers of congratulations. Throughout, Jasper’s heart did not slow. Each moment that had taken place in the grand guest suite was permanently imprinted on his brain. He had never felt such all-consuming fear as he had when he’d run into the room and realized what was happening. Only years of practice had allowed him to pretend indifference, when inside his organs had been wringing and squeezing until he’d been afraid he’d be sick.

When he’d thought Devon was going to turn down the wager, he had not known what he was going to do, but whatever it was, it would have destroyed the world he’d built. There was no way he was going to let Frankie marry the man: whether he admitted the dowry was a scam and suffered the hit to his gambling hell, or he grabbed Frankie and Cecelia and ran abroad.

Fortunately, Devon’s greed had outweighed his good sense, and he’d taken the odds. Those odds had not been in his favor. Jasper had cut his teeth on piquet.

As for the fact that he was now betrothed to Frankie… he could not even begin to wrap his head around it. All he knew was that she was finally safe from the Dowry Thieves.

While the guests transitioned into charades, Frankie pulled Cecelia to the side. Jasper watched from across the room as emotions flashed over Cecelia’s face: anger, worry, relief, and finally happiness.

Frankie’s mother was a different story.

As soon as Frankie turned from Cecelia, her mother was waiting. They exchanged low, furious whispers. Frankie’s agitation was written all over her: in the way she bunched the fabric of her skirt in her hand, how she worried her bottom lip, and the subtle hunching of her shoulders. Jasper knew her mother was worried about what sort of man he was, but there was something else going on between Frankie and Mrs. Turner—a dynamic that had crystallized within the first few days of her mother’s arrival.

For the rest of the night Cecelia was the star of the crowd. Still possessing the charm of a child, she thrilled the group with both her exuberance and innocence, and got away with the most outrageous comments as a result. At one point she asked Lady Houndsbury how much the marble mantel cost. Jasper hadn’t been raised in good company, but even he knew that was tactless.

Lady Houndsbury chuckled at Cecelia’s forthrightness, but Jasper pulled her aside and begged her to keep her questions about finances private.

“Why?” she wanted to know. “You talk about money with me.”

“I am not part of the peerage. These people will think you are common and coarse if you ask questions about money.”

Cecelia looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Perhaps I am common and coarse.”

“Indeed you are.”

Cecelia stamped her foot. “How dare you!”

Jasper snatched her wrist before she could flounce off. “You and I are cut from the same cloth, Cecelia. We have the same blood running through our veins. We cannot change our lineage, and we will suffer a fool’s failure if we try. We can live only by our own code of conduct, our own sets of values. You may be coarse and common, but you are also bighearted, curious, and humorous. I would take you over any one of these women, who are none of those things but happen to possess a lady before their name.”

Because she was an adolescent—and an angry, grieving one at that—Jasper expected his words to float in one ear and out the other. So he was stunned when she threw her arms around him and kissed him smack on the cheek.

“You are not so bad yourself, Uncle Jasper. I know you think you are, but it’s not true. My father used to say that you wouldn’t let him love you because you didn’t think you deserved it, but he did love you. He told me so. And I do, too.” Then she whirled away in cloud of lilac perfume and the dust she’d collected while hiding in the boot closet.