Chapter Thirteen #2
Georgie swallowed, then reached out for a glass of wine, taking a sip.
Perhaps a large sip. The two other contenders would make perfectly fine husbands.
Mr. Osbourne was clearly more concerned about his horses but was still a personable man she would never come to love, but she might be able to like.
Mr. Crowley clearly was taken with Miss Fairfax but also seemed like a reasonable man if the outcome of the game was not in her favor.
She set down her glass, determined not to give into her body’s traitorous need for Tom. She had a future to think of. In a few short hours, she would be forced to return to Ashcombe House. Marrying one of the mice that nested in the stables behind the Lyon’s Den would be preferable to Lord Sharpe.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon continued her explanation of events, her voice clear and calm, though Georgie thought she detected a hint of excitement from behind the veil.
“You will each be accompanied by a gentleman,” the woman continued. “They each will have a basket with them to collect the items and may assist you in your search.”
“Do you get to choose?” Miss Fairfax asked, her enthusiasm for the game—and Mr. Crowley—seemingly unabated.
“This is a gaming hell, Miss Fairfax,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon replied. “The luck of the draw will determine your partner.”
It took all of Georgie’s self-possession not to roll her eyes. In her experience, luck was not given to favor the Hawthornes.
“If you would follow me, we shall begin.”
Georgie along with the others walked out of the parlor, lists in hand, following Mrs. Dove-Lyon, who led them onto the main gaming floor where this entire affair had begun only a few days ago. There were a few midday gamblers, some of whom, no doubt, had placed bets on the winner.
They were guided to one of the gaming tables, where a dealer stood, watching as the gentlemen lined up on one side and the ladies on the other.
Georgie stood tall—or at least, as tall as someone of middling height could manage.
She squared her shoulders, pretending that this final game meant nothing at all, instead of her future happiness.
Tom stood across from Miss Fairfax, who was so red and flustered Georgie was worried she might swoon on the spot.
Miss Morehouse was on the other side, her natural ease and poise on full display.
Georgie couldn’t help but wonder if she’d surreptitiously scanned the hallways on her way there and located half the items on her list already.
“On the table in front of you are three envelopes, with three matching cards,” the dealer said. “Ladies, you may pick up the envelope in front of you, but do not open it.”
Georgie did as she was told.
“Gentlemen,” he said, producing a deck of cards which he shuffled expertly and laid out, face down, with a grand flourish. “Pick a card. You may turn it over.”
Each of the gentleman did as they were bidden.
Mr. Osbourne flipped over his card, revealing the jack of clubs. Mr. Crowley had chosen the six of diamonds. And Tom, the ace of hearts.
The dealer then turned to the other side of the table. “Ladies, you may open your envelopes. Your partner for this exercise will be the gentleman who has matched the suit of the card in your envelope.”
Miss Morehouse opened hers first. The queen of clubs.
“Mr. Osbourne,” she said, a serene smile on her face. If she had been disappointed, she gave no indication. But then, she wasn’t attached to Tom. She merely needed his protection. As long she won the game, her needs were met.
Georgie opened hers next, almost at the same time as Miss Fairfax, who was apparently too excited and forgotten to wait her turn.
The lady clapped as her card revealed the queen of diamonds.
Georgie flipped over her card, her heart nearly skipping a beat as she displayed her card—the queen of hearts.
She looked up at Tom, his gaze difficult to read. At least the two of them would have something to do, she supposed.
A bell rang, drawing the attention back to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the treasure hunt has begun. You have two hours to collect as many items on your list as possible. Some of these are unique, meaning there is only one, even if it appears on all your lists. The treasure hunt extends over all rooms on the lower floors, including the garden,” she said.
“Only my office is out of bounds. The lady to have collected more items than the others will win the opportunity to choose her suitor. Good luck.”
“Lady Georgiana,” Tom said, gesturing with an outstretched hand to the floor of the gaming hell, “shall we begin?”
His tone was businesslike, but was it her imagination or had she detected something else? A hint of softness, perhaps? Whatever it was, she had little time to dwell on it. She only had two hours, and this entire affair would be over.
“Mr. Worthington,” she said, staring at her list a moment, not entire certain where to begin.
“You’ve finally learned my name,” he said, then lowered his voice so only she could hear. “And yet somehow I prefer that you call me Tom.”
The warmth of his breath and the low rumble of his voice sent a frisson of desire straight down to her toes. Was he trying to be provocative, or was she just being weak?
“Indeed, it is all over the papers,” she said, trying not to look up at him too closely, lest she fall under the spell of his warm smile. “Shall we begin?”
He held out his hand. “May I see the list?”
She handed it to him, careful not to touch his fingers. Already her body was aware of him, and she cursed herself for her betrayal.
“I’ve seen the red silk scarf,” he said. “We can start there if you like.”
“Where would you have seen such a thing?” she said, thinking such an item would be utterly scandalous…
probably something left behind from the rooms on the floors above the stairs, which according to Lily had served as an exclusive brothel for some of the Lyon’s Den’s wealthiest clients, both male and female.
His mouth quirked just a little. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said.
“I absolutely wouldn’t,” she said. “But since I am interested in winning this game, why don’t you show it to me anyway.”