Duke of Decadence (Lords of Scandal 9)

A trickle of pleasure snaked down his spine at the sound of his name on her lips. He straightened up to keep his wits about him and his thoughts from more carnal imaginings. “That’s right.”

She nibbled at her lip. Which did little to h

elp his wandering mind. “I’ve always been good at cards and…”

He let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. “That wasn’t good. That was perfect. A level no normal person could ever play at.”

“I told you you weren’t normal,” the other woman grumbled.

That made him step back. They were not acting like two people who’d just cheated. They were acting like…well…like they were perfectly innocent.

“I am too normal!” His vixen fired back. Then she drew in a deep breath. “And thank you for having all those men return our winnings to us. It means a great deal.”

He crossed his arms. “I haven’t decided if you’re keeping them or not. That’s what we will discuss in the back room. With my associates.”

The other woman straightened. “Sir. You can’t mean to drag two unattended ladies into a back room with unidentified men.”

He cocked his head, cracking his neck. This was getting ridiculous. “First,” he grated out, running a hand through his hair. “I need to know your names. And second…” He gave them both a hard stare. “You should have thought of that before you dressed as a man, came to a gentlemen’s club unattended, and sat down to gamble for several hours.”

His delicate vixen swallowed and then looked down at her feet. “I’m Isabella and that is a fair point.” Then she lifted her eyes again and they pleaded. Hellfire and damnation but sympathy dug deep into his soul turning his insides to squishy pudding. “But please understand. That was still a public place. We were more or less safe in a crowd—”

He made a noise of dissent deep in his throat. “That’s what you consider safe?”

She took a half step closer, nibbling on her lower lip. “But this feels very dangerous and…” Her gaze cast down, her long dark lashes sweeping across the pink stain of her cheek. “We can’t be alone in a closed-off room with men we don’t know.”

He sighed. He understood her objection, he supposed. But it had to be done. “You have my word that you are under my protection. No man in that room, including myself, will lay a finger on you.”

“But we don’t know you,” the other one huffed. “How can your word mean anything?”

He shrugged. “My word will have to do. As I said, I didn’t make your choices for you. You did.”

They both dropped their chins at that. Damn but Bash felt like his father again. Stern, tough, unyielding. He hated this version of himself. But he couldn’t let them go either. He needed some answers.

Chapter Three

Isabella twisted her hands together. He had a rather good point. Still, she didn’t want to follow him.

“We don’t have a choice,” Eliza said as she pushed Isabella in the back. Then she looked at Bash. “I’m Eliza and Isabella is my sister.”

He looked at Isabella again, his gaze sweeping from the top of her head to the tips of her boots. “Take off that silly hat.”

“Is my hat silly?” Isabella asked as she dutifully removed it from her head. Even in the dark, he could see her hair was a thick rich brown, just like her eyes. Pins created the illusion of side whiskers while a ribbon held the hair back. It had been folded over to give it the appearance of a short queue.

With a quick hand, he pulled at the ribbon and the rest of the length tucked in her shirt came tumbling out, curls spilling down her back.

“Sir,” she said as she drew in a sharp breath and then slapped his hand back. “You just said you’d not touch me.”

He winced. “Apologies. And the hat is ridiculous on you.”

Eliza smirked. “The Honorable Stanley Frecklemeyer surely thinks the hat is very fashionable.”

Isabella held back a groan. Why was her sister revealing such information now? But Bash said nothing. “The night is waning, ladies. Shall we?”

Isabella swallowed down her fear. Much as she thought this a terrible idea, she didn’t see another choice, so she gave a quick, stiff nod. They needed to leave with that money. He turned and she followed.

She was tall, but this man dwarfed her. Easily more than six feet tall, his shoulders were incredibly broad, his arms massive, his thighs… She swallowed again, a dry lump clogging her throat. She’d felt those thighs. Powerful. That was the word.

Beautiful. That was another one.