Lord Sinclair had just won twenty thousand pounds.
The tall gentleman standing beside him laughed richly and gave the baron a friendly slap on the back. “Stap me, Damien, I vow you have the devil’s own luck. I don’t suppose you would care to divulge your secret?”
A smile claimed the beautifully carved mouth. “No secret, Clune. My rule is always to bet on a lady. In this instance, the queen.”
Just then Lord Sinclair’s gaze lifted. To Vanessa’s shock, he looked across the room, directly at her. His eyes were the striking color of silver smoke-and just as heated. She felt the sizzle all the way down to her satin slippers.
Dismayed to discover herself trembling, Vanessa turned away and took a sip of wine to bolster her frayed nerves.
“Damn Aubrey…” she murmured under her breath. Her scapegrace brother had put her in an untenable position, gambling away their family home to that man. But she was determined to get it back.
She spent the next hour wandering the card room and keeping a wary eye on Lord Sinclair, debating whether to find someone to afford her an introduction, or to contrive some other means to speak to him. It would not do to appear too desperate. Nor would she care to evoke gossip by accosting him in front of an audience. It was rash enough to have come to a gaming hell alone, using her brother’s membership subscription to gain entrance. Despite the half-mask she wore to conceal her identity, there were several of her late husband’s cronies here tonight who would recognize her if she created a stir.
In the end she decided it better to make any meeting look like a chance encounter and then ask for a private word with him. She did not relish the role of supplicant, but there was nothing left but to throw herself on his mercy and hope that he had a shred of human decency left in his dissolute soul.
The hour was nearly three in the morning when her opportunity came. Lord Sinclair had collected his winnings and was preparing to depart the card room.
Suppressing a display of haste, Vanessa managed to reach the doorway before him and paused long enough to drop her lace handkerchief on the carpet. It was an obvious ploy to gain his attention, but she hoped he would be flattered enough to overlook her artifice.
Like a gentleman, he bent to retrieve the handkerchief and offered her a graceful bow. “I believe this is yours, madam?”
As he politely presented the article to her, his long fingers brushed hers, whether by accident or design she wasn’t certain. More startling than the warmth of his touch, though, was his glance. Penetrating her mask, his gaze connected with hers and held her captive.
For a moment, Vanessa stood frozen, staring up at him. The half-smile on his sensual lips held a measure of his famed charm, yet his face was alert, the gray eyes filled with a keen intelligence. It would never do to underestimate such a man, Vanessa warned herself.
She forced a smile of her own and murmured her appreciation as she accepted the handkerchief. “How careless of me,” she replied, withdrawing her hand.
His look held a hint of doubt, but he let the lie pass without challenge. “I regret that I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance.”
“I am Vanessa Wyndham.”
He eyed her expectantly, as if her name didn’t strike any chords.
“I believe you knew my late husband, Sir Roger Wyndham.”
“Ah, yes. We were members of the same clubs.”
Roger had been killed in a duel over an opera dancer, but if Lord Sinclair knew of the scandal, he was too gallant- or too indifferent-to bring it up.
“So how may I serve you, Lady Wyndham?” When she remained mute, he added gently, “You obviously wish something from me.” His gaze was quizzical, probing, though his smile held a self-deprecating charm. “Forgive me, but I cannot fail to notice when a beautiful woman scrutinizes me all evening.”
Vanessa flushed at his forthrightness. Only a bold rogue would remark on a lady’s interest. “Truthfully…”
“Yes, let us be truthful by all means.” The lazy drawl held a hint of cynicism.
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“Truthfully, I hoped I might speak to you on a matter of some urgency, my lord.”
“Consider me at your service.” He gestured toward the door. “Shall I escort you to your carriage?”
“If you would be so kind.”
She moved through the door ahead of him, and he fell into step beside her.
“I confess my curiosity is aroused,” he admitted as they moved down the hall toward the sweeping stairway. “Your examination of me all evening suggested interest, perhaps calculation, yet it was not flirtatious or coy or in the least amorous.”
“I fear I never mastered the art of coyness,” Vanessa replied rather tightly, annoyed that he’d managed to put her on the defensive so easily.