A Rogue by Any Other Name
Page 65
He could not make her happy.
And it was only a matter of time before he would want to.
It was better this way.
For both of them.
The door to the owners’ suite opened, and Temple saved Bourne from having to continue the irritating conversation. The third man’s hulking silhouette blocked out the light beyond as he crossed the room. It was Saturday evening, and Chase, Cross, and Temple had a standing faro game.
Cross followed behind Temple, shuffling a deck of cards. He spoke, surprise in his tone. “Bourne is playing?”
Bourne ignored the temptation that flared at the question. He wanted to play. He wanted to lose himself in the simple, straightforward rules of the game. He wanted to pretend that there was nothing more to life than luck.
But he knew better.
Luck had not been on his side for a very long time.
“I’m not playing.”
The three hadn’t really expected him to join, but they always asked. Chase met his eyes. “Stay for a drink, then.”
If he stayed, Chase would push him farther. Would ask him more.
But if he left, Penelope would haunt him, making him feel like a dozen kinds of fool.
He stayed.
The others had taken their seats at the owners’ table, used only for this game—Temple, Cross, and Chase the only players. Bourne sat in the fourth chair, always at the table, never at the game.
Temple shuffled the cards, and Michael watched as they fanned through the big man’s fingers once, twice, before they flew across the table, the rhythm of smooth paper against thick baize a temptation in itself.
They’d played two hands in silence before Chase’s question came, clear and unyielding across the table. “And when she desires children?”
Temple and Cross hesitated in considering their cards, the question so unexpected that they could not help but show their interest. Cross spoke first, “When who desires children?”
Chase leaned back. “Bourne’s Penelope.”
Bourne did not like the possessive description.
Or perhaps he liked it too much.
Children. They would require more than a father in London and a mother in the country. They would require more than a childhood spent living in the shadow of a gaming hell. And if they were girls, they would require more than a father with a sordid reputation. A father who ruined everything he touched.
Including their mother.
Shit.
“She will want them,” Chase pressed on. “She’s the type to want them.”
“How would you know?” Bourne asked, irritated that this was even a topic of discussion.
“I know a great deal about the lady.”
Temple and Cross now swung their attention to Chase. “Honestly?” Temple asked, disbelief in his tone.
“Is she horsefaced?” Cross asked. “Bourne says she’s not, but I think that must be the reason why he’s here with us instead of home, showing her how entertaining the late-night experiences of the Marchioness of Bourne can be.”
Irritation flared in Bourne. “Not all of us spend our evenings rutting like pigs.”
Cross considered his cards once more. “I prefer rabbits,” he said casually, drawing a bark of laughter from Temple before he looked to Chase once more. “Honestly, though. Tell us about the new Lady Bourne?”
Chase discarded. “She is not horsefaced.”
Bourne gritted his teeth. No. She isn’t.
Cross leaned forward. “Is she dull?”
“To my knowledge, no,” Chase said, before turning to Bourne. “Is she dull?”
A vision flashed of Penelope traipsing through the snow in the dead of night with a lantern before announcing that she was in search of inland pirates, followed by a memory of her naked, spread across his fur coverlet. He shifted in his seat. “She is in no way dull.”
Temple lifted a card. “Then what is wrong with you?”
There was a pause, and Bourne looked from one partner to the next, each wider-eyed than the last. “Honestly, you’re all like gossiping, scandal-loving women.”
Chase raised a brow. “For that, I’m telling them.” There was a pause, as the others leaned forward, waiting. “What’s wrong with him is that he’s committed to sending the lady away.”
Temple looked up. “For how long?”
“Forever.”
Cross pursed his lips together and turned to Bourne. “Is it because she was a virgin? Really, Bourne. You can’t fault her for that. I mean, Lord knows why, but most of the aristocratic nobs out there value the trait. Give her time. She’ll learn.”
Bourne clenched his teeth. “She did just fine.”
Temple leaned in, all seriousness. “Did she not like it?”
Chase snickered, and Bourne narrowed his eyes to slits. “You are enjoying yourself, are you not?”
“Quite.”
“Perhaps you could ask Worth for some advice,” Cross offered, discarding.
Chase picked up the card. “I’m happy to share from my personal experience, if you like.”
Temple grinned at his hand. “And I.”
It was all too much. “I do not need advice. She enjoyed it immensely.”
“I hear they don’t all enjoy it right off the bat,” Cross said.
“That is true,” Chase said, all expertise.
“It’s fine if she didn’t, old man,” Temple offered. “You can try again.”
“She enjoyed it.” Bourne’s voice was low and tight, and he thought he might kill the next person who spoke.
“Well, one thing is for certain,” Temple said, casually, and Bourne ignored the pang of disappointment that the enormous man was very likely the only one at the table he could not kill.
And it was only a matter of time before he would want to.
It was better this way.
For both of them.
The door to the owners’ suite opened, and Temple saved Bourne from having to continue the irritating conversation. The third man’s hulking silhouette blocked out the light beyond as he crossed the room. It was Saturday evening, and Chase, Cross, and Temple had a standing faro game.
Cross followed behind Temple, shuffling a deck of cards. He spoke, surprise in his tone. “Bourne is playing?”
Bourne ignored the temptation that flared at the question. He wanted to play. He wanted to lose himself in the simple, straightforward rules of the game. He wanted to pretend that there was nothing more to life than luck.
But he knew better.
Luck had not been on his side for a very long time.
“I’m not playing.”
The three hadn’t really expected him to join, but they always asked. Chase met his eyes. “Stay for a drink, then.”
If he stayed, Chase would push him farther. Would ask him more.
But if he left, Penelope would haunt him, making him feel like a dozen kinds of fool.
He stayed.
The others had taken their seats at the owners’ table, used only for this game—Temple, Cross, and Chase the only players. Bourne sat in the fourth chair, always at the table, never at the game.
Temple shuffled the cards, and Michael watched as they fanned through the big man’s fingers once, twice, before they flew across the table, the rhythm of smooth paper against thick baize a temptation in itself.
They’d played two hands in silence before Chase’s question came, clear and unyielding across the table. “And when she desires children?”
Temple and Cross hesitated in considering their cards, the question so unexpected that they could not help but show their interest. Cross spoke first, “When who desires children?”
Chase leaned back. “Bourne’s Penelope.”
Bourne did not like the possessive description.
Or perhaps he liked it too much.
Children. They would require more than a father in London and a mother in the country. They would require more than a childhood spent living in the shadow of a gaming hell. And if they were girls, they would require more than a father with a sordid reputation. A father who ruined everything he touched.
Including their mother.
Shit.
“She will want them,” Chase pressed on. “She’s the type to want them.”
“How would you know?” Bourne asked, irritated that this was even a topic of discussion.
“I know a great deal about the lady.”
Temple and Cross now swung their attention to Chase. “Honestly?” Temple asked, disbelief in his tone.
“Is she horsefaced?” Cross asked. “Bourne says she’s not, but I think that must be the reason why he’s here with us instead of home, showing her how entertaining the late-night experiences of the Marchioness of Bourne can be.”
Irritation flared in Bourne. “Not all of us spend our evenings rutting like pigs.”
Cross considered his cards once more. “I prefer rabbits,” he said casually, drawing a bark of laughter from Temple before he looked to Chase once more. “Honestly, though. Tell us about the new Lady Bourne?”
Chase discarded. “She is not horsefaced.”
Bourne gritted his teeth. No. She isn’t.
Cross leaned forward. “Is she dull?”
“To my knowledge, no,” Chase said, before turning to Bourne. “Is she dull?”
A vision flashed of Penelope traipsing through the snow in the dead of night with a lantern before announcing that she was in search of inland pirates, followed by a memory of her naked, spread across his fur coverlet. He shifted in his seat. “She is in no way dull.”
Temple lifted a card. “Then what is wrong with you?”
There was a pause, and Bourne looked from one partner to the next, each wider-eyed than the last. “Honestly, you’re all like gossiping, scandal-loving women.”
Chase raised a brow. “For that, I’m telling them.” There was a pause, as the others leaned forward, waiting. “What’s wrong with him is that he’s committed to sending the lady away.”
Temple looked up. “For how long?”
“Forever.”
Cross pursed his lips together and turned to Bourne. “Is it because she was a virgin? Really, Bourne. You can’t fault her for that. I mean, Lord knows why, but most of the aristocratic nobs out there value the trait. Give her time. She’ll learn.”
Bourne clenched his teeth. “She did just fine.”
Temple leaned in, all seriousness. “Did she not like it?”
Chase snickered, and Bourne narrowed his eyes to slits. “You are enjoying yourself, are you not?”
“Quite.”
“Perhaps you could ask Worth for some advice,” Cross offered, discarding.
Chase picked up the card. “I’m happy to share from my personal experience, if you like.”
Temple grinned at his hand. “And I.”
It was all too much. “I do not need advice. She enjoyed it immensely.”
“I hear they don’t all enjoy it right off the bat,” Cross said.
“That is true,” Chase said, all expertise.
“It’s fine if she didn’t, old man,” Temple offered. “You can try again.”
“She enjoyed it.” Bourne’s voice was low and tight, and he thought he might kill the next person who spoke.
“Well, one thing is for certain,” Temple said, casually, and Bourne ignored the pang of disappointment that the enormous man was very likely the only one at the table he could not kill.
