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and had no liking for the bawdy houses, he’d restrict himself to the gentlemen’s clubs. Besides, another woman would only remind him of the one he was trying to forget.

Chapter Two
    Alex arrived at White’s later that night, only a little drunk, and went immediately to his regular table. Lords Stockton, Wilbourne, and Garrett, veteran gamblers all, were already seated, engaged in the pleasurable pastime of betting obscene amounts on the trivial fall of the cards.
    As Alex sat, a waiter appeared with a glass of his usual brandy. He quaffed it eagerly, as the three he’d drunk before leaving home had not sufficiently dulled his memory of the tempting minx who today had rashly offered up her own ruination. Nor had they dulled the memories of that same minx’s father.
    The other men dealt him into a game of five-card loo. They played several hands, but Alex’s mind wasn’t on the cards.
    “Do you ever wonder,” Lord Wilbourne joked as he raked in the cards after winning a hand, “how wealthy Beaufort would be if he didn’t insist on losing such large sums to me?”
    Alex grinned, the additional brandy having softened his mood. “I won twice that sum from you last week, Wilbourne.”
    Wilbourne’s bushy brows lifted. “Quite right. I’d forgotten. I suppose I’ll have to hope my luck holds a while longer tonight.”
    Alex knew Wilbourne didn’t care one way or the other. The man was wealthy in the extreme, as were the others at the table. Playing with such companions made the game far more civilized.
    They played some more, and Alex’s mind drifted back to a pair of beautiful but desperate green eyes. A waiter appeared to replace his brandy, and he mindlessly took a swallow of the new one.
    Lords Stockton and Garrett began discussing some of the more outrageous bets in the book at the front of White’s.
    Stockton, the eldest at the table, had a stodgy sense of propriety. Cards were well and good, but he couldn’t understand what possessed people to bet on such foolish things as the type of jewels a certain courtesan would wear to the theater, or whether Lady X’s garden party would be rained out—the latter of which Lord Garrett had bet in favor of and was devoutly hoping would come true, as he’d promised a friend to attend that unbearably dull annual affair.
    “I just don’t see how you can engage in such trivia,” Stockton averred.
    Garrett grinned. “I can afford it, and it keeps me entertained. What else is a man to do during the Season? Attend Almack’s?”
    “God forbid.” Wilbourne shuddered at the mention of the marriage mart. “Even betting on the weather is better than that.” He dealt the cards again.
    Alex picked his up and tried to concentrate, both on the game and the conversation. His friends could afford to bet on whatever ridiculous whims they chose, but their conversation reminded him too much of those who couldn’t but did anyway. He took another swallow of brandy and leaned back in his chair, allowing himself to float peaceably in an alcohol-induced haze.
    “All right then, what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever won at cards?” Wilbourne asked.
    “A small estate in Scotland,” Lord Stockton offered. “Way up in the highlands. Wild place. No Englishman in their right mind would live there.”
    Lord Garrett, the youngest at the table, shrugged. “Still, land is land, and is gambled upon often. That’s not so strange. I, on the other hand, recently laid claim to a prize-winning sow.”
    Wilbourne laughed. “You, owner of a pig?”
    “For as long as it takes my man to sell it, at any rate.”
    Stockton shook his head. “A man who resorts to betting his livestock ought not be betting at all.” A longtime gambler, he dealt only in cash and land.
    “Whyever did you allow the man to bet on it?” Wilbourne asked curiously.
    Garrett shrugged. “I was enjoying the game. Didn’t want it to end.”
    “A pig.” Wilbourne shook his head. “Beaufort? Anything you’ve