But thinking such thoughts was ridiculous. Even if they wished it, there could never be anything permanent between her and Rafe.

Nor do I want there to be. Do I?

Enjoy the moment, she told herself. Be glad for these days and want nothing more.

With that in mind, she smiled and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his neck. Slowly, she joined their mouths for a long, languorous kiss. At length, she drew back a few inches. "If I promise to in no way encourage Lord Summersfield, will that satisfy you?"

"No flirting?"

"Not by so much as an eyelash."

"No laughing?"

She steadied her expression. "I will be as severe as a parish vicar."

"No more midnight suppers?"

"I will refuse to sup with him even at the risk of passing out from hunger."

His lips curved into a grudging smile. "You need not go that far. Eat a large dinner first before you arrive at the ball."

She laughed.

"Very well," he agreed. "But I expect strict compliance."

"My word of honor."

Her tresses fell in a wave across her shoulders as he plucked the rest of the pins free.

She returned the gesture by tunneling her fingers into his hair to pull his head closer. "Now, will you do something for me?"

He raised a brow. "What?"

"Quit talking and take me to bed."

Crushing her mouth to his, he kissed her with an unrestrained need that left her breathless. Moments later, he stood and swept her off her feet.

"Your wish, my lady, is my command."

Chapter Eleven.

RAFE SURVEYED THE shadowed interior of the gaming hell, tobacco smoke and the pungent scent of burning tallow curling together to create an almost suffocating blue haze. Commoners and gentlemen alike were packed into the house, their voices loud, their actions boisterous as they crowded close around the various baize-covered tables.

In the main salon, players tried their luck at hazard and faro. Alternating choruses of cheers and groans rang out as bets were placed, die cast, cards drawn, and money won and lost. For those who preferred skilled card playing at a quieter, more relaxed pace, games of piquet, whist, and vingt-et-un were arranged in several of the side rooms. It was into one of these chambers that Rafe wandered, having failed to locate his quarry in the more populated areas.

A waiter approached and offered him a beverage. Rafe refused with a shake of his head, wanting to keep his wits sharp. After all, he wasn't here for his own entertainment, and he had no intention of remaining a minute longer than his mission required.

As he knew, gambling was an extremely popular pastime, one that was nearly like a religion for some. But he'd seen too many lives destroyed by an addiction to betting and the heady rush it could bring. He was no prude, no puritan. A man, in his estimation, possessed free will and had every right to destroy his life if he so desired. But did that same man have the right to drag his family down with him?

Rafe had come here to convince one particular young man that he did not.

Spying the imprudent whelp at last, he strode forward, stopping a few feet to the right of his quarry's shoulder. Silently, he watched the play.

Vingt-et-un was a game of odds and calculations, requiring a keen mind and a knack for knowing which cards had already been played, and which were likely to turn up. The dealer had fourteen showing, a queen and a four. The young man had a five and a two displayed, with a third card turned facedown.

Rafe watched Allerton flip the edge of his concealed card up, then down. A long moment of quiet followed as he clearly tried to decide his best move.

"Stay," the young earl declared.

"Dealer takes a card. Four of spades. Dealer has eighteen."

In a practiced gesture, the dealer reached out and turned over Allerton's cards. "Player has seventeen. The house takes the hand."

Coins and cards were swept clear of the table.

"You ought to have taken the hit, Allerton," Rafe advised as he stepped closer. "Odds were fair you'd have come out ahead."

Julianna's brother turned his head, dark eyes flashing at the interruption. They lost some of their fierceness when he saw who had spoken to him. "Pendragon. How do you do?"

Rafe dipped his chin in reply.

"Must say I'm surprised to see you," Harry said. "Didn't know you frequented places like this."

"I don't. But I understand you've been making a habit of it again lately. Are you here alone?"

The young lord shook his head. "No, I came with a pair of my cronies, but they preferred the hazard tables, so I left them to it. Fool's game, hazard. All luck with no need for skill."

"I've found that most games of chance cater to the fool in a man." Before Harry had a chance to think about the statement and ruffle up, Rafe continued. "Why don't we adjourn to a more private location. There are matters that require discussing."

Harry's lips thinned as if he was going to object; then he shrugged. Pocketing the few coins left to him on the gaming table, he rose from his chair.

They found a small, unoccupied table in a corner of the room and settled in across from each other. Harry signaled for a drink-a brandy, which was promptly brought across to him.

Rafe waited while the younger man took a swallow, an action he assumed stemmed more from an attempt to look mature than a genuine desire for the liquor itself. He wondered if that might be the main allure of this rather seedy gambling establishment as well-the need many young men had for showing off and trying to prove their worth to their friends.

"So what's this all about?" Harry asked, swirling the alcohol in his glass as if he were completely at his ease. "I thought our business was finished. The loan is paid off in full. My sister told me she had taken care of the matter some weeks ago."

"Yes, indeed, Lady Hawthorne came to me and settled your accounts. But that matter is not why I've sought you out tonight."

A puzzled frown settled on the young lord's brow. "What, then?"

"It is your current behavior about which I've come to talk, my lord. I've heard several unsettling reports concerning your renewed interest in the gaming tables. Sadly, I understand you are in a fair way to becoming as deeply sunk in the hole as you were when you came to me to bail you out."

"It's not so bad as that," Harry protested. "I'm only a few hundred down." He caught Rafe's gaze, then glanced away. "A couple thousand, then, but all fellows face a few ups and downs; it's part of living the life of a gentleman-about-town. My luck will turn in a thrice. It's bound to do so."

"And if it does not? Luck is a fickle mistress. And if I am not mistaken, it was your presumption that your luck would turn for the good that led you into dun territory in the first place."

Allerton spun his glass in a stationary circle. "And so, you what? Want to give me another loan?"

"Quite the contrary. I want you to stop gambling."

Harry stared for a long incredulous moment, then barked out a laugh. "You what!"

"I believe you heard me just fine, my lord. Your behavior is foolhardy in the extreme. If you do not bring yourself under control, you will soon find yourself at ruin's doorstep with no hope of recovery."

Harry drained the last of the spirits and set his glass down with a mild thump. "I shall be fine."

Rafe leaned forward, his words low. "Were it up to me, I'd let you stew in your own rash misfortunes, but you have others who depend upon you, tenants and servants who count on you for their livelihoods and welfare. Even if you care nothing for them or for your legacy, you must surely have a care for your family, your sisters. Lady Hawthorne did not beggar herself on your behalf only to see you fall back into your old ways. For reasons I cannot fathom, she loves you and trusts you. Do not abuse her faith. Your sister is a good woman and she deserves better than to be disgraced by your reckless excesses."

A long moment followed as Harry gawped at him. Red washed into the younger man's face like an incoming tide, his shoulders turning stiff with ill-concealed defensiveness.

Rafe watched as Allerton tried to gather his composure.

"You may be my elder, sir," the earl finally sputtered, "but I do not believe my private affairs are any of your concern. Nor do I think it proper for you to discuss my sister in such a familiar manner. I d-demand that you apologize at once."

A few gamesters turned their heads at his outburst, then glanced just as quickly away when they encountered Rafe's steely glare.

"Be quiet, boy," Rafe ordered with soft menace. "We don't need the whole room listening."

Harry scowled, but lowered his voice. "You do not have the right to lecture me. You aren't my father, after all."

"No, but if I were, I would have seen to it you were reined in long ago. Since your father is dead and you have no proper male to guide you, I have reluctantly decided to act in that capacity. From this moment forth, you are banned from the gaming tables. You are also banned from participating in any other form of betting, including cockfights, bear baiting, horse racing, boxing, and the like."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "And if I refuse?"

"There will consequences."

"What sort of consequences? You've a reputation, Pendragon, but I don't see how even you can stop me. Nor do I see why you should care to do so."

If not for your sister, I wouldn't lift so much as my pinky finger to aid you, Rafe wanted to say. But Julianna would be devastated if she found out what her scapegrace brother was doing. If Harry could be made to see reason before any lasting harm was done, Julianna need never know anything of her brother's brief return to disgrace.

"I have my reasons," Rafe stated. "As far as stopping you, I will have no need. I shall simply put out the word that you are no longer to be welcomed in establishments such as this one and that your credit is not good. You will also discover that no one will loan you the funds to cover your vowels should you be foolish enough to seek out their services."

Harry's hands trembled. "I can't believe you control all the moneymen in the city."

"Quite correct, I do not. I've only influence with the reputable ones. Should you venture into the clutches of the cent-per-centers, I believe you'll find those chaps far less understanding than I when you come to them begging for more time."

"You weren't understanding. You would have taken my estate."

"Yes, but they'll take your life. Oh, they'll start small, a broken thumb, maybe a crushed hand or foot..."

Harry gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing like a fishing buoy.

"...And if they don't get results after the hand and perhaps a shattered kneecap, they might decide to beat you severely enough to rupture an organ or two. If you don't succumb from that, there are other ways to prove their point."

"W-What point? What d'you mean?"

Rafe leaned casually back in his chair. "I mean that men, even those of good family, occasionally wash up in the Thames. Or come spilling out of a wharf barrel, where their dismembered bodies have rotted into something that rather resembles soap." He pinned Harry with a gimlet eye. "I wouldn't ever want to hear that had happened to you."

A green cast to his complexion, Harry looked as if his brandy might decide to make a reappearance.

"So tell me, my lord," Rafe continued. "Can I count upon you to take my suggestion and stop gambling?"

Eyes wide, Harry nodded.

"I didn't hear that, my lord. What did you say?"

"Y-Yes. I said yes. I'll stop tonight. I promise."

"A wise choice." Rafe glanced up as a pair of young lords stumbled into the room, both of them obviously well into their cups. "I would also advise a change of friends. Find a few fellows who don't depend upon a bottle or a deck of cards to be entertained."

Harry frowned, then gave another nod.

Rafe pushed back his chair. "I'm glad we had this chance to talk. Now, I really must be leaving. It grows late and I've business to attend to early in the morning. Good night, my lord." Rafe climbed to feet.

"Good night," Harry mumbled, eyes cast downward.

Rafe began to walk past, then paused and bent toward Harry's ear. "Oh, one other thing, in case you find yourself having second thoughts about your decision to reform. My associate is just across the way."

Rafe watched Harry glance past his shoulder, saw his eyes widen to an alarming size as he located Hannibal waiting near the salon doors, big arms crossed like hams over his massive chest.

"I've shared the particulars of your little situation with him and he says he'd like to have a brief word as well. I'll just leave the two of you to get better acquainted."

"Acquainted?" Harry squeaked.

"Hmm. He thought you might enjoy a tour of the wharf district. It's quite illuminating at night."

Rafe nodded and turned on his heel.

Hannibal would scare the stuffing out of the boy, but he'd make sure he came to no harm. Rafe just hoped this lesson would finally do the trick.

Julianna stepped into the Allerton House drawing room and crossed to take a seat in a chair near the fireplace. Alone, she found she didn't mind the solitude, knowing it would be of a brief duration. Once Maris and Henrietta finished changing into their evening attire they would join her for a quiet family dinner. Afterward, the three of them planned to attend the Farisbrooks' rout, which from all reports promised to be a mad crush with more than three hundred of London's finest in attendance.

Lord Middleton had agreed to act as their escort.

Julianna didn't know if she approved, nor could she say she was pleased by the amount of time the viscount seemed to be spending with her sister of late. She had rather imagined Major Waring to be Maris's favorite but apparently no longer. Once a frequent visitor at Allerton House, the major had stopped calling some two weeks before.

Had he and Maris had some sort of falling-out? Julianna had tried to discuss his absence once, but Maris hadn't wished to talk, so Julianna had said nothing more. In the meanwhile, Maris and the viscount had grown closer, her sister accompanying him riding and driving and dancing.

Now, he was bringing his carriage around to take them to tonight's ball. Handsome and charming, Middleton seemed an excellent catch-Society certainly thought so. Perhaps she was worrying for nothing, Julianna decided. Maybe the viscount's affection for her sister was genuine.