So he turned and touched the baron’s sleeve. “How much has my grandfather taken you for tonight?”
“What? Oh. Well, I should know better than to sit at the table with him. But I can’t dance anymore. Gout, you know. So what is a man to do to pass the time while his gels enjoy themselves?”
Trevor thought back. The baron had a daughter he was launching this year. He made a mental note to spread a kind word around about the girl. “Get something to drink. I’ll be sure to get your money back.”
The man gave a hearty laugh. “That’s kind, but don’t worry. I don’t stake what I can’t lose.”
Which made him a smart man. But it didn’t lessen his grandfather’s maliciousness. Or Trevor’s intention to win back every penny of what the baron had lost.
So he settled into his chair and nodded at the dealer. Trevor’s father, it seemed, was not to be given a seat, so his pater hovered nearby looking anxious. Just as well. The man was miserable at both mathematics and the understanding of one’s opponents, which made five-card loo a terrible game for him.
Meanwhile, Grandfather’s best friend began the opening salvo. “Tell me about this gel you’ve brought tonight.”
“Miss Smithson is my fiancée and a brilliant woman on a variety of different subjects.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least,” the man responded with a lascivious sneer. “I myself love a mistress with a variety of talents.”
The others at the table chuckled, but Trevor kept his expression cold as he looked at his hand. “Insult my fiancée again, and I will challenge you. Your hand isn’t so steady anymore, my lord. That would make you terrible with a blade and even worse with a pistol.”
His grandfather’s eyes narrowed. “And yet she dresses in feathers that fall off.”
Trevor smiled, his darker emotions easing slightly at the memory of Mellie. “She does have her own unique style.”
“No doubt,” returned his grandfather.
“Athletic?” the friend said with a laugh. “Or does she practice something more exotic? With those feathers—”
“I believe I just won your stake, Lord Barr,” Trevor interrupted.
The man blinked, then looked at the huge pile of chits before him. Trevor laid down his hand, winning the modest pot, but not the markers in front of the man. Didn’t matter. Trevor kept his eyes steady and his voice cold.
“Your choice, my lord. Your stake now, or we meet pistols at dawn.”
Lord Barr reared back. “You can’t be serious.”
“Shall I start a rumor that your wife is…athletic? No, no one would believe that.” The woman weighed as much as a small cow. “Your granddaughter then. I shall provide details. I’ve visited her brother, you know. Had plenty of time—”
“You will cease this nonsense!” growled his grandfather. And it was a growl filled with phlegmy vehemence.
At this point, Trevor would usually laugh off the whole thing as a joke. It was a delicate balance with the oldest generation. The threat of a duel was enough to make his point. The laughter now would allow Lord Barr to maintain his pride. And then all would go back to normal, hopefully with fewer jokes about his fiancée’s possible skills.
But he wasn’t in the mood to let anyone off, much less a seventy-year-old roué who thought he could insult whomever he wanted with impunity.
“I did warn him,” Trevor said. He pulled out his gloves from his pocket. “Shall I slap you? Whom would you have as your second? I assure you, my grandfather won’t rise from bed before eleven. He wouldn’t bestir himself at dawn even for you.”
And by saying that, he pointed out that his grandfather had been using Lord Barr just as clearly as he’d used Baron Waite.
“Your move, Lord Barr.”
He could see the man’s mind work, see the knit in his brow as he tallied up his level of sins. First off, he’d insulted a man’s fiancée, even after a warning. That would put him on the wrong side of the gentleman’s code, especially since they had an audience here. Second, he knew that in the court oftongossip, he was not nearly as well loved as Trevor. That came from being his grandfather’s friend. They were known to be cruel at times. Third, and this was most telling, he loved his daughter and doted on his granddaughter. The girl was probably the only person in his life that he valued over the duke. Given that, the outcome was entirely predictable.
He pushed his chips over to Trevor. “I apologize for my rudeness. Must be the brandy.”
“I would think it’s the company you keep, but by all means, blame the French drink.”
Lord Barr didn’t answer as he bowed to the table at large and withdrew. Meanwhile, Trevor’s grandfather narrowed his eyes.
“You’ll regret that.”