Deeply In You by Sharon Page

she hauled Ellie to her feet and the two of them left.
    Greybrooke slanted a glance toward their opponents, the earl and the viscount.
    Relief flooded.
    “Congratulations,” Greybrooke threw out. Then he gave her the most devilish of all the smiles he’d given her, and all her instincts went on alert.
    He stretched, and said casually, “Now you can look forward to a night with a half dozen whores. All determined to please your cock in whatever way you desire.”
    Helena choked on his blunt words. But she had to continue to play his game. “I cannot wait,” she said, in her false deepened voice.
    “Can you not?” His gazed burned into hers. “Neither can I.”
    He was daring her. She certainly had gotten his interest. Now she had to keep it. “What if what I desire to play with the ladies is a good game of cards?”
    Deep, low, his sudden gruff laugh washed over her.
    Defiantly, she muttered, “Or perhaps I could share a large bed with all of them.”
    He sucked in a sharp breath.
    “Since I’m a naïve, innocent buck from the country, Greybrooke,” she said, keeping her voice as deep as she could, “what would you suggest I do in bed with six buxom ladybirds?”
    His finger skimmed around the inside of his collar.
    She almost danced a jig when she saw him blush. Just as when she’d made him drop his cards, she had actually shocked him—and he was a man who gave shackles as gifts.
    Boring his gaze into her eyes, he growled, “I’m afraid to disappoint you, for we won’t collect on the wager tonight. You wanted to play hazard, as I recall. One of the most destructive games.”
    Lifting his head, he told the Earl of Brace and Viscount that he intended to collect upon the wager at a later time. The two men rose, bowed, and withdrew. The moment Greybrooke stood, Helena did too. He strolled around the table to her, then he bent and murmured by her ear, “This night has been delightful. I am enjoying every moment with you.”
    He said it as if it surprised him.

    A young viscount kissed his closed fist, then cast something down the table. Two dice tumbled, rebounded off a barrier at the end, and landed to show their black spots.
    Helena turned to Greybrooke. He stood beside her at the table, so close his thigh brushed hers. Even through layers of fabric she felt a sizzle of heat where they touched. At first she thought he’d stood so close to unsettle her. But she saw no twinkle in his green eyes, no smile playing at his sensual mouth. She could recognize moods in children. Anger rolled off the duke—anger that did not seem to suit this silly game.
    “How can this be the most destructive game?” she whispered. “They are just throwing dice.”
    Greybrooke pointed to the man throwing the dice, who brushed perspiration from his forehead. “The point is, cousin, this game is pure chance. Logic can be applied, but men become addicted. They believe the next throw will be the one that wins. Fortunes are lost this way.”
    “Have you lost a fortune?”
    “I play games that require skill, not luck. My father, however, was not as circumspect.”
    She admired the duke. If only her brother had been so circumspect. But Will was impetuous and eternally hopeful. He had probably hoped the next card or the next roll would change his fortunes. But thanks to this man, she no longer had to fear her brother would lose more at the gaming tables.
    “Your Grace, I beg your pardon.” Melman had come up behind her and the duke.
    Greybrooke stepped aside with the servant. The major domo spoke in such low, confidential tones she could not hear a word. To eavesdrop, she would have had to have squirmed in between them.
    Helena watched Greybrooke’s face. His full lips thinned into a hard, angry line. Whatever the interruption was, it infuriated him. He gave a curt nod. “I will come.”
    He turned to her. “A moment, cousin.” With no more explanation, he stalked away.
    This must be important—it could be a critical clue to