Regency High Society Vol 7: A Reputable Rake / The Heart's Wager / The Venetian's Mistress / The Gambler's Heart. Diane Gaston
bounds of correct behaviour, just the reason he should stay away.
He forced his gaze elsewhere and Lady Cowdlin caught his eye, giving him a meaningful smile and inclining her head ever so deliberately towards her daughter.
Sloane inwardly groaned. He let his gaze travel past the woman, as if he had not noticed her blatant signal to dance attendance on Hannah. Coming to this dinner party only put him in deeper with the Cowdlins—as well as bringing him back in close company with Morgana.
He looked over to her again. Her eyes met his, looked away again, and very slowly glanced back. She again fingered that lock of loose hair that had been driving him to madness with how it caressed the soft ivory skin of her neck.
He might as well go mad in her company as by staring at her across the room. He walked over to her and sat in the chair next to hers.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, Morgana?’ Enjoying your torture of me, he meant.
She turned her magical eyes upon him. ‘Shall I be honest, Sloane, or do you wish me to say what is proper?’
The thought of how improper Morgana Hart could be put his senses on high alert, the very sort of reaction he needed to avoid. ‘I do not expect what is proper from you.’
Her smile froze on her face and he kicked himself for his illchosen words.
‘I will be proper, then, to spite you. I am having a delightful time. And you?’ Her eyes glittered with anger, which merely caused the blood to race faster through his veins.
He met her gaze. ‘I think it is a dead bore.’
She laughed, an unaffected sound that caused one or two of the company to look over at them. ‘Me, too,’ she whispered.
More guests were announced. ‘Lord and Lady Rawley.’
‘Deuce,’ muttered Sloane, as his brother and sister-in-law entered the room. He glanced at Morgana, ready to apologise for his profanity, but was taken aback by the sympathy in her eyes.
‘Tell me, Sloane,’ she said quickly. ‘What did you think of the kaleidoscope? Was it not remarkable?’
He peered at her, then realised she was trying to distract him and give him a reason to avoid his brother’s pointed glare of dislike. Such kindness surprised him in light of their hot words that morning.
‘Very remarkable, Miss Hart. I’ve rarely seen such beauty.’ But he spoke of her beauty, not the bits of coloured glass.
She fingered that stray lock of hair, and he longed to feel its silky texture between his own fingers. Putting her hands in her lap, she gave him an intent look. ‘Some day, Sloane, if you should ever need a friend’s ear, I would listen.’
There was no curiosity lurking in her offer. He examined her face and found only concern. When had anyone last been concerned about him, especially someone he’d so pointedly hurt with his sharp words?
‘Good evening, Sloane.’ His brother stood before him.
Sloane stood. ‘Rawley.’ He turned to Morgana. ‘Miss Hart, may I present Lord Rawley.’
Morgana offered her hand with a gracious expression. ‘We met at the musicale. Lord Rawley.’
Rawley shook her hand, barely grasping her fingers. He gave her a knowing leer. ‘You live next door to Cyprian.’
Sloane’s hand curled into a fist at the use of his given name and the insinuation towards Morgana in Rawley’s expression.
‘Yes.’ She managed to sound admirably ingenuous. ‘I do indeed. And where do you live, sir?’
Well done, Morgana, Sloane thought.
Dinner was announced and protocol separated them. Sloane wound up seated next to Lady Hannah, his nephew on Hannah’s other side. Rawley and his wife were above them, and Morgana was on the other side of the table, not quite across from him. Sometimes when he glanced at her, she quickly looked away. Sometimes she engaged in conversation with the gentlemen on either side of her, both husbands of Lady Cowdlin’s friends and not the best dinner companions for an eligible young lady. Lady Cowdlin ought to stand in place of Morgana’s mother, see her well situated, instead of neglecting her.
But the idea of Morgana with a serious suitor did not quite please Sloane. He stabbed at a piece of meat and glanced around the table at the two dozen guests as he chewed. His nephew and Morgana were the only two whose presence he could tolerate for more than half an hour. He ought to admit to himself that he found society a dead bore. Why the devil had he made that infernal bet with himself?
He caught his brother watching him. Rawley quickly averted his eyes, but Sloane had not missed the contemptuous expression on his face. It must rankle with Rawley indeed that this bastard brother was seated at the same table. And rankle with his father as well.
By God, that was reason enough to persist in his plans to make a place for himself among these tedious people.
‘Do you like the potatoes?’ Lady Hannah asked, bringing him back to the present.
‘Delicious,’ he muttered.
Hannah smiled. ‘My mother shall be so pleased.’
She turned back to her plate. Hannah was a sweet girl. The perfect bride, he thought, as he studied her profile for a moment.
But not for him.
He’d been bored with her after a fortnight, he realised. Think what would happen after years together. All her promise of becoming a warm and responsive woman would wither like a rosebud in early frost. She deserved better.
Heronvale might advocate the connection between them, but ruining Hannah’s life was too high a price to pay for a career in politics. Sloane would be better off marrying a woman like Morgana.
He dropped his fork and it clattered against his plate as it fell, causing a few heads to turn. He stared at Morgana. By God, why had he not realised it before? He did not have to act the rake towards her; he could be her husband. He could marry wild, unpredictable Morgana. Who cared if she leaped over the bounds of propriety? He’d jump with her and have a vastly better time than he’d had these past few months. He wanted her.
She looked over at him as well, her eyes lingering as she again fingered her hair. He wanted to tuck that lock up where it belonged before it drove him to complete distraction. She looked back down at her glass of wine and slowly brought it to her lips. Taking a sip, she glanced at him again, her pink tongue peeking out to lick a droplet of wine from her full, kissable lips. He would go mad indeed.
The footmen came to remove the dishes and the cloth. Sloane forced himself to chat with Hannah until the cakes, fruit and ices were served. He joined Lady Hannah in taking a glass of champagne, all the while on fire for the moment he could be alone with Morgana.
Soon dessert was over, and the ladies left the room. As Morgana passed his chair, he felt her hand graze his shoulder, a touch so light it was almost indiscernible. It acted upon him as if she’d raked her fingernails along his naked flesh.
He endured the dull conversation of the men while the Madeira, port and claret were circulated around the table. Lord Cowdlin pointedly included Sloane in the discussion. It was definitely time to make it clear he would not offer for Hannah. Whatever might happen to Cowdlin’s debts was none of his concern. There were other, more eligible young men for Hannah; one of them ought to be rich enough to suit her father.
Cowdlin announced it was time to rejoin the ladies, and Sloane lagged behind, hoping to contrive some time with Morgana. As the other gentlemen entered the drawing room, Lady Hannah appeared in the doorway of the room next to it.
‘Psst!’ She waved her hand for him to come to her.
Damn. He had no wish to be with Hannah, especially not alone. He walked over to her.
‘Mr Sloane, may I speak with you for a moment?’ She looked upset.