Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 21

London, March 1820

Cigar smoke hung in hazy clouds near the ceiling of Berkeley's dimly lit card room. The majority of the men lounging in chairs about the card tables were in their mid to late thirties. The young sensible bucks of marrying age were enslaved at the dances of Almack's that evening. Only the most dangerous of men were left free to prowl tonight and seek their pleasures without worry of crossing the paths of society mamas and their marriage-minded daughters. Cedric, Ashton, and their friend James Fordyce, the Earl of Pembroke, chose a table near the main fireplace to play a few games of whist before heading to a pleasure haunt in a few hours.

Ashton spread the deck of cards out and shuffled them while Cedric and James flagged down a club servant to bring three glasses of port.

"Thank God Letty did not expect me to accompany her to Almack's," James confessed to Cedric. James blew out a sigh of relief. Cedric chuckled at the relieved expression in the earl's eyes.

"Not a lover of the quadrilles, Pembroke?" Ashton asked.

James laughed. "When a man reaches twenty-eight, he shouldn't have to suffer escorting his sister to such events. I argue that it is a matter of principle to excuse myself from such abominable dances and pointless flirtations."

"Isn't your mother expecting you to choose a bride soon?" Cedric asked.

"Yes, but I don't want to marry just any chit. Any woman at Almack's tonight is not a woman I want to marry."

Cedric snorted. "Then my sisters are safe! What a relief that is."

"I would not wish to be there either," Ashton mused. "In fact, I feel quite guilty because I forced my brother into taking Joanna tonight. Rafe was not pleased, but when Thomasina and I pushed on him, he caved."

"It's been a few years since Joanna came out, hasn't it?" James asked, sipping his brandy.

"Yes, bless her heart, she'll be twenty-two in a month and no man has come around asking for her. I can't understand why. I've been most encouraging to any man who has even so much as asked for her to pass the salt at dinner engagements. But it's no use, not one man has shown he's even remotely interested." Ashton sighed and thumbed through his cards.

Cedric was only half listening to this-talk of marriage and sisters always put him on edge. He didn't like thinking of his own sisters marrying. Ashton's older sister, Thomasina, was already married with a passel of children, but Joanna was the baby of Ashton's family and her brother was apparently determined to see her wed.

"What? No suitors?" James exclaimed in surprise. "Joanna is such a lovely girl!"

Ashton shrugged. "Thomasina believes that she's too likeable, as a companion, not a woman. She has many men who admire her wit and humor, yet none of them so much as send a bouquet of flowers. Damned if I can figure out why. She has a sizeable dowry, and I've not hidden that fact from any man."

"Men are fools," Cedric announced grimly.

"So how is Letty?" Ashton inquired as he began to deal the deck between the three of them.

"Spoiled is what. Last week she told me that a genteel lady ought to own at least a dozen pairs of gloves. I dared to ask what was the use of so many gloves in the spring and she fairly bit my head off. She used some French words I've never even heard of..." James remarked with pensive amusement.

Cedric chuckled. "The fascination with fashion I once believed to be restricted to the fairer sex, but unfortunately I've seen far too many dandies prowling the streets who were arrested by the splendid sight of themselves reflected in a shop's window glass. A bunch of popinjays, the lot of them." Cedric sipped his port as he eyed one such colorfully dressed dandy who was chatting with a foreign-looking gentleman who had just entered the room.

"I say, Pembroke, do you know that man there?" Cedric gestured to the foreigner.

"Freddy Poncenby?" James asked, shooting a scathing glance over his shoulder at the dandy who was waving his arms excitedly as he spoke. Poncenby was not a favorite of any gentleman at their table. He was a tad too cowardly, and there was a touch of weasel in him that Cedric didn't trust.

"No, the other gentleman."

"Oh! Why that's Samir Al Zahrani. He's from Nejd in Arabia."

"Al Zahrani?" Cedric eyed the man curiously. He was tall with deeply olive skin and a harsh but handsome face and form. Dark brows swept over a pair of black eyes that scanned the room with a militaristic precision that stirred Cedric's curiosity.

"I heard he is a wealthy merchant, which given the power struggles and political upheavals in that part of the world is quite a feat."

"A merchant of what?"

James, a seasoned rake who had little occasion to act self-conscious of delicate matters, actually looked flustered.

"That depends on who you ask. Most people will tell you he deals in textiles, but I've heard that he runs another far more lucrative business on the side. Slave based." James uttered this last in a soft tone. Ashton and Cedric exchanged surprised looks.

"What do you say we move to a private room?"

With murmurs of agreement, the group moved to an enclosed chamber and closed the door. There would be no way they could be watched or overheard.

"Have a seat," Cedric offered with a devilish grin. When Ashton met his gaze he rolled his eyes, no doubt realizing the night was not going to end as peaceably as it had begun.

"Do you ever play whist, Mr. Al Zahrani?" Cedric eyed his target with a knowing smile. The idea of cleaning out a slave trader's pockets made his body tense with anticipation. He detested slavery, and if robbing this fellow blind would put a dent in his pockets, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"I have played a few times," Al Zahrani answered as he took his seat next to Freddy. Ashton quickly collected the cards and reshuffled them before dealing them out.

The five men played three hands. Cedric played carelessly at first, losing two hands early on. As the game progressed, port was consumed liberally by all except Al Zahrani, who did not wish to indulge.

"I say, Al Zahrani, you wouldn't happen to have heard of a horse called Firestorm? I believe that's his English name," Cedric asked, his voice smooth and relaxed thanks to the port. Firestorm was a purebred Arabian stallion who was worth a fortune and rumored never to have left Arabia. Nor was the horse permitted to be bred with any foreign breed. No Englishman had been able to get his hands on any of his offspring.

"Firestorm? Indeed I have, Lord Sheridan. That horse belongs to my father. I have two mares that are one and three years old that were sired by him."

"Do you really?" Cedric sighed wistfully. "I would kill to see such a fine bit of horseflesh."

"I have them here in England, should you care to see them. It would be an honor." Al Zahrani offered this with an air of smug pride in his dark eyes. It was obvious he was the sort who loved to flaunt his possession of something others coveted.

"I just might," Cedric mused and resumed playing his hand.

After six more hands, James and Freddy declined to continue but remained to watch Ashton, Cedric and Al Zahrani play for increasingly higher stakes. Cedric was flushed with the alcohol of the port and the excitement of the plan he was about to set in motion.

"I wager eight hundred pounds I can win this hand. No man ever beats me when I'm on a streak." Cedric slurred a little as he downed the last of his port and grinned at Al Zahrani. The Arab watched him speculatively, then gave a dark smile that Cedric ignored entirely.

"The thing about a streak is that it must inevitably end, my friend. Let us make a wager on something more valuable. How would my pair of mares suit you?" Al Zahrani tossed out casually.