She’d spotted the three wicked sons earlier and watched as they made the rounds of the ball, dancing on occasion and then coming back together to discuss their conquests. When they strolled toward the card room, Nora followed ready to roll the dice. Ready to win back the deed to Henbury Hall. Or the tin mines. Or the horses.
And ready to sacrifice herself for the wager of a lifetime.
* * * * *
The lively card room was the only place to be at the Weatherby Mansion on the night of the Weatherby Ball. And the Weatherby Ball was the only ball not to be missed in London during the Season.
Unless one actually enjoyed dancing with conniving debutantes, avoiding scheming mothers and dodging inappropriate touches from practiced widows. And guessing the entire night who might be doing the conniving, scheming and touching.
Gabriel Sutter, Earl of Carlow, took his seat at the table along with his Eton chums. They obliged the evening’s hostess with the semblance of a costume. Gabriel wore a black mask, covering his cheeks but not his gleaming and rakish smile—part of his costume tonight, as he was in a flirtatious mood. He wore a thigh-length cape as well. What did he know about Venice? He’d spent his grand tour hunting in Scotland.
“Remind me again why we are sitting together when we could be stealing money from some of these old codgers who won’t miss it?” Nash Hildebrande asked. He was the newly minted Viscount Andover, and his mother was determined to find him a wife this Season. It was all about the grandchildren—childlessness was an affliction all of them shared and harping mothers thought they knew a quick cure.
“We must warm up first,” Gabriel said. “My fingers are tingling, though, to take whatever you will hand over.”
“Gentlemen, are you ready to begin?” the dealer asked. She was the reason Gabriel had selected the table he had. Her Carnival of Venice costume was exquisite with its vibrant blacks and reds. The butterfly wings were exposed as she dealt the cards. Her lips were posed in a permanent half-smile made more seductive by the painted-on sharp red color.
Ellis Rawden was only a few weeks away from his title. His father, the earl of Fromme and Rode, had entered the creative stage of consumption and his physicians thought it would not be much longer. There was little Rawden could do in the meantime except lose some of his father’s money to his friends.
“Drink up, Ellis. Lady Weatherby intends for you to enjoy yourself tonight,” Andover teased as he removed a simple domino mask.
The cards were dealt quickly.
“If only I could enjoy such temptations. Now is not the time to distress Mother by coming home smelling of whisky and women.”
“She’s in South Weald. I don’t think her sense of smell is that good,” Nash said, studying his cards.
“What? There are women to be had?” Gabriel said, glancing toward the mostly silent dealer. “Lady Weatherby did not mention that in the invitation.”
The dealer’s eyes flashed behind the mask. “Perhaps Lady Weatherby was afraid for her guests’ virtue. One cannot be too careful on such a night as this,” the sultry dealer said as she dealt the third hand—the blind vingt-et-un round.
“Is there safety behind a mask and a deck of cards, then?” Gabriel asked. “Enough to keep one’s virtue?”
“Keep? You assume I have virtue.”
Gabriel’s palms itched, and not because of the pile of coins in the middle of the table.
“She’s got you, Carlow. One can never be too sure about a woman’s virtue. Until it’s too late,” Andover said.
“Is that an insult, sir? I was speaking of Aristotle’s Virtues. Honesty. Fairness. Justice,” she said.
Gabriel cleared his throat as the cards were turned, revealing that Rawden had won that hand. “The lady has turned a clever trick, Ellis. Who are you, if I may ask?” He examined her again, believing he must know her, yet feeling as if she were a complete mystery.
“Another lady of the ton, looking to find virtue in the wrong places,” she said, proceeding to lay out the Sympathy and Antipathy deal in front of the players. “Your call, my lord.”
“Sympathy,” Rawden called, ignoring Carlow’s conversation with the tempting enchantress.
“Antipathy,” Andover added.
“Sympathy. On the night of the Weatherby Ball? Obviously, you don’t know the ball’s reputation. It’s my belief you will only find dishonesty, unfairness and injustice.” Gabriel peeked at his cards.
“Oh, my! You are so harsh in your judgments,” she said.
He leaned toward her. “I know these people. They all have hidden secrets. I would like to find out yours when you are ready to walk along the terrace. Later, perhaps,” he whispered.
“You know what they say about virtue and vice,” she said.
“Oh? What is that?”
“Virtue whispers; vice screams. No one cares about the scrupulous minister or the honest tradesman. But commit an immoral act and one can be the talk of the ton for many months to come.”
“We humans are not but contrarians.”
“Fools might be a better description,” she said.
“The lady doesn’t think too highly of us, Carlow,” Andover said.
“I think she may be right. Can you name a more foolish group than those of us who gather at Lady Weatherby’s ball every year, praying that there will be scandal but certain we are immune from the very thing we seek?”
“I wouldn’t mind a scandal,” Andover said. “Especially if she’s beautiful.”
Gabriel had the same thought. And he didn’t think he needed to look further than the chair to his left.
“Now that you have your title,” Ellis prodded. “I, on the other hand, must
