Cecilia did not deserve this, and a protective surge rose within him. Dropping the paper, he called Andrews into the room, and before the butler could get a word out, Cassian asked, “Are there any other copies of the paper here?”
“I believe we have three.”
“Burn them all, and if Cecilia asks, make up something. I don’t care what it is, but I will not have her reading this filth—” He waved the folded paper.
“Summon my carriage in ten minutes,” Cassian added as he shoved away from the table and stalked back to his room to redress. He took the paper with him, knowing he needed it for leverage.
“Your Grace,” Lord Weber greeted him with a pompous smirk. “I am surprised to see you here. Is it not that once a man is leg-shackled, the lady rules the roost?”
Cassian did not even spare the man a look as he assessed the card room. “When was the last time you spoke to your three illegitimate children, pissant?”
The man silenced. Over the half-dozen occupied card tables, he spotted Whitmore immediately. He was not seated yet, thank goodness, so he strode to him.
“Whitmore, you and I need to talk,” he bellowed.
The room quieted as Gabriel looked over the drink in his hand. “Now, Tressingham? I’m set to begin a hand of Whist.”
Cassian refrained from grinding his teeth. “I’ll join then, because I will not give you a chance to squirrel out of this meeting.”
Gabriel looked defensive. “Are you calling me a coward, Tressingham?”
“Yes,” Cassian replied frankly. “What I didnotknow was how much of a preening peacock you are—” He pulled the folded sheet of the paper out from his inner pocket, “—but this tells me what I should have already suspected.”
Sticking his nose in the air, Gabriel replied, “Nothing I said was untrue.”
“What concerns me is why you needed to say anything at all,” Cassian growled. “Was the pound of flesh you’ve already carved away not enough? You do not deserve her blood as well.”
A ripple of murmurs went through the room as Cassian stared down Gabriel. The other duke did his best to match it, but Cassian knew he was wilting.
“I stand by my word,” Gabriel brushed past him and took a seat at the table. “I care little if you like it or not.”
“Then I will make sure you have a care,” Cassian tugged out a seat.
“And how do you think you can do that?” Gabriel replied.
“You’ll see.”
Before the evening was out, he would have the bastard on his knees, begging and pleading for clemency.
Gabriel looked around the room, his brows furrowing. “Gentlemen, I thought we were playing whist.”
When the six men made their wagers, and it came to Cassian’s turn, he calmly said, “I wager a thousand pounds to the winning pair, but if Whitmore loses, I demand a retraction in the paper and an apology to my wife.”
“Actually, for such a personal matter,Vingt-et-unmight be better,” Lord Patterson, one of the men Cassian had thought to partner with, suggested. “And frankly, I do not want to be caught in this crossfire.”
Cassian shrugged, “Vingt-et-unit is.”
Reaching for his brandy, Cassian watched Gabriel draw his next card. For the last fifteen minutes, the jovial, cocky expression the other duke had stamped on his face had faded in quiet, controlled panic.
Gabriel’s eyes flitted furiously over his hand, like a feral wolf that had been cornered and was desperate for a way out. Cassian held back a smirk—Whitmore was an easy mark if there ever was one.
He pulled his last card and smiled at his trump card. “I can see you are struggling, Whitmore. I can give you a way out of a humiliating defeat if you just agree to my terms.”
“Bold of you to think I am going to lose,” Gabriel bluffed.
“Play your hand, then,” Cassian dared.
The air seemed to ripple with tension, and Cassian did not even try to pretend to ignore the lords hovering around them. The card room was as silent as a graveyard at midnight, while the labored breath coming from Whitmore told Cassian the man’s back was against the wall.
