He caught sight of her again, beaming up at Bertram, and his heart seemed to stop in his chest. There was a glow to her face, a vivacity to her manner, that made him smile just to look at her. The only thing worse than holding a hand this bad was wanting to win this badly with it. He couldn’t bow out, no matter how foolish it was not to. Some gambles were worth any odds.
For a fortnight he considered the problem. Events seemed to conspire against him—Lady Howard tried to refuse her money back, even when he told her he would tell her husband everything. She grew quite hysterical, throwing herself at him and tearing open her bodice. Anthony suspected she had expected a far larger return on her money than he had offered her, so she could return the full three thousand to her husband’s funds with no one the wiser. When he refused her bared breasts, she took to following him about town, always approaching him in public and threatening a scene at any moment. He stayed away from society for four straight nights to avoid her, even though it cost him the opportunity to see Celia again, too.
Could Celia come to care for him? The likely answer was no, of course. He acknowledged that as he sat in dark, smoky card rooms and tried to keep his mind on his cards. He gambled with people from the whole width of society, yet knew he was perceived as somehow worse than the rest. Anthony even curtailed his gaming for a while, trying out his new, morally upright life, but then the bill from his tailor arrived and he had to return to the tables. Even in his tight financial circumstances, the one thing he could not scrimp on was his clothing. If he began to dress like a man in dire straits, people would stop giving him their money, and then he would be truly sunk.
But he still thought about her. Six children and a pack of dogs. The image was growing on him.
Finally he decided the key would be winning the duke of Exeter’s consent. He had never asked permission to court a young lady before, and now—just his luck—he would have to ask the strict and grim duke of Exeter. But as Celia’s oldest brother and guardian, his approval was vital, and once gained, it would surely go a long way toward winning the dowager duchess’s approval, if not her blessing. To persuade the duke, Anthony planned to surrender at once: confess his sins, admit his failings, and swear a solemn oath to mend his ways. A lot of humility, he hoped, would go a long way.
He managed to get an invitation to the annual Roxbury ball, knowing that Exeter and Lord Roxbury were allies in Parliament and even friends, as much as Exeter could be said to have friends at all. He dressed with great care—more than any woman had ever done, he thought to himself in dark amusement—and set off.
After an hour, though, he had not caught even a glimpse of Exeter, his duchess, the dowager duchess, or Celia herself. Finally he located Celia’s brother, his old friend David Reece, near the card room. “Is Exeter about this evening?” Anthony straightened his shoulders, tense with apprehension.
“I believe so.” David Reece peered into the depths of his empty glass. “He won’t be in there, though.”
“Right.” Anthony glanced into the card room, automatically sizing up players. He turned resolutely away and walked back into the ballroom. Exeter was known to disapprove of gambling, and Anthony knew his reputation would hurt him in that regard. He hoped the duke would accept his explanation.
Reece followed him. “Do you have a particular question for Marcus?”
“What?” Distracted, Anthony scanned the ballroom for the duke.
“Why do you want to find him?” Reece repeated.
Anthony turned to look at his friend. “A question about an investment,” he said vaguely. “Someone recommended his opinion.”
Reece gave him an odd look. “Investments.”
“Er—yes,” Anthony said. “Of a rather delicate nature.”
His friend did not look convinced. “Right. Here, I’ll ask Vivian.” His wife was winding her way through the crowd toward them. Anthony went still as he realized Celia was with her.
“There you are, love.” David drew his wife close to his side, unabashedly affectionate. “Have you seen Marcus? Hamilton wants him.”
“I’m to tell you they’ve gone home,” she answered, a faint Irish lilt to her voice. “Her Grace felt unwell. They’re nearly home by now, I expect.”
“Ah. Bad luck, then,” David said to Anthony.
He made himself smile and nod as if he didn’t mind. “Another time.”
“Was it an urgent matter, Mr. Hamilton?” Celia gazed up at him with wide blue eyes. She wore a very fashionable gown of pale blue, perfectly suitable for a young lady making her debut. Its very modesty made him burn to see her without it. Just her slim figure, clothed only by a cloud of golden, lemony hair…
“No, it can wait.” But not long. He couldn’t see her many more times without giving himself away. Wouldn’t that give society a delicious spectacle: the notorious rake starry-eyed over a girl. “I hope Her Grace recovers.”
Her smile was so warm. “I shall tell her you wish her well.”
He nodded, and after a moment two young ladies came up to steal Celia away. The three girls departed, leaving Anthony alone with David Reece and his wife.
“I trust the delay won’t affect your investments,” said Reece.
Anthony started, tearing his eyes away from Celia’s departing back. “No. I shall call on him.”
The next morning he presented himself at Exeter House as early as was polite. The butler showed him into the duke’s study, where Exeter did not look overly surprised to see him. Perhaps Reece had said something.
“Hamilton.” The duke nodded in greeting. Anthony bowed. Exeter waved one hand. “Won’t you be seated?”
Anthony sat, feeling rather like he was sitting down in a high-stakes situation with his every farthing in the center of the table. Outwardly he was calm, but inwardly his nerves were coiled tight. “I have come to ask permission to court your sister, Lady Celia.”
The duke’s eyebrows went up. He looked shocked. Anthony took a deep breath and plowed on. “I am aware that my reputation will make you hesitant. This is not a lark to me, nor a passing impulse. I have known Lady Celia since she was a child and have always felt the greatest affection for her.”
“Er—yes,” said the duke, still apparently caught off guard.
“I am well aware that there is gossip attached to my name. Not all of it is true—in fact, a fair amount of it is completely wrong,” Anthony went on with his practiced speech. “You may be concerned that I will break her heart. I will not, to the very best of my ability. Whatever people say about me, I am a man of my word, and I give my solemn vow that I shall do everything in my power to make her happy and to avoid that which will make her unhappy. Your sister will never be disgraced by my actions.”
“Indeed,” murmured the duke. “Mr. Hamilton—”
“I will make amends with my father. We shall never be on the best of terms, but I am his only heir. I shall do whatever is necessary to ensure Lady Celia is received as a future countess.”
“Mr. Hamilton…”
“And my finances…” Here he paused before going on, more slowly. “I am not a gambler by whim, Your Grace. It is my income. The earl has not made me an allowance in several years, since our estrangement. I had to have means to live. I have investments, though still modest, and can support a wife. With her dowry as capital, I shall be able to give up cards entirely.” He realized he was gripping the arm of the chair, and uncurled his fingers as he waited for the duke’s answer.
“Mr. Hamilton.”