Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A n hour after discreetly slipping from the ball, Honor entered a world of sin and decadence. The moment she crossed the threshold of The Devil's Whisper , a most peculiar name for a gambling den, the air felt thick with excitement and danger. The warm glow of candlelight flickered against the plush velvet drapes that adorned the walls, casting shadowy figures over the room. The sound of clinking glasses and low murmurs of conversation mingled with the occasional shout of victory or groan of loss, creating a heady atmosphere. The women wore elegant gowns and masks that barely concealed their identities. They moved easily through the den as if nothing in this place could touch them.

"There are other ladies wearing masks," Honor said, astonished, her fingers brushing over the delicate edges of her mask to ensure it was still in place. A large section of the wall gleamed with a polished mirror, reflecting the room's opulence and movement. The peacock-colored silk shimmered in the low light, the intricate design of feathers framing her eyes in a soft, vibrant green and blue, accented with small jewels that caught the candlelight. Honor liked that it made her appear mysterious.

Jasper laced his gloved hand with hers and tugged her further into the den.

"That's precisely why I chose this place," he said. "Many of the clientele here are members of high society, and I'm sure you understand the need for discretion. Anonymity is everything."

Honor's heart raced, not with fear but with a glorious sense of thrilling rebellion. She had never imagined herself here, in a place so far removed from the rigid rules of the ton , yet the illicit excitement coursing through her veins felt ... liberating. She glanced over at Jasper, noting his sharp gaze as he surveyed the room.

"I have some savings," she said, "I am willing to gamble with five pounds."

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.

She sniffed. "Why do I feel you are laughing at the stake I am putting forward."

Deviltry lit in his eyes. "I won six thousand pounds here a few weeks ago."

Honor gasped, aghast. "That is a fortune ! How could any sane person gamble with that amount of money?"

"Such high stakes are normal. A man could easily lose his entire estate in a single night of gambling."

"I would most certainly not pay if I lost something so important."

"Gambling debts are expected to be settled immediately. Failing to do so can ruin a man's reputation because it is considered a serious dishonor. For some, the shame of being unable to pay their gambling debts was so profound that voluntary exile or killing themselves was considered a more dignified option."

"I do believe you are serious," she said faintly.

Jasper led her deeper into the den, guiding her to where a small crowd had gathered. Players gathered around the faro table, expressing cool confidence or mounting anxiety. The stakes were tangible, the rewards thrillingly immediate. Honor sat across from the banker, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the green felt. She had studied the players, the pace of the game, and the flow of the cards for several minutes.

The banker began shuffling the deck with practiced precision. Observe, analyze, act . A mantra she often used in the social encounters she attended. She placed her chips on the King. It wasn't a random choice—she had noticed the frequency of the cards drawn and calculated that the King hadn't shown up in a while. She wasn't betting on luck alone. Patterns existed, even in chaos, and she was determined to find them.

The banker turned the first card—a Seven—making it the losing card for the round. Honor relaxed slightly. The losing card wasn't hers. The dealer drew the next card, the winning card: a Queen. She watched a man across the table collect his winnings with a smug grin, but she kept her composure.

As the game continued, she sipped from her champagne glass, feeling the bubbles tickle her throat. She placed another bet, splitting her chips between the Ace and the Jack, both cards that had yet to be drawn. There was tension in the air—players who had lost were eyeing her pile of chips with thinly veiled envy.

"Are you always this bold with your bets?" Jasper murmured beside her, his eyes watching her intently.

"Not bold. Calculated," she drawled, keeping her voice low, her gaze never wavering from the table. "The Jack and Ace haven't been played yet. The odds are in my favor."

His gaze gleamed with good humor. "It is not always about the odds."

"Then you haven't been paying close enough attention, my good duke," she whispered, her lips quirking into a smile.

The dealer drew the next card: a Ten. The losing card. Honor's pulse quickened as the dealer reached for the next card. He turned it over with a flick of his wrist—an Ace.

A small, satisfied smile curved her lips as the dealer pushed the winnings toward her. She collected the chips with steady fingers, the thrill of the game coursing through her like fire. Her observations had paid off, and though she knew luck was a fickle partner, there was something exhilarating about reading the room and the cards like a dance of strategy and chance.

Honor delighted in playing. She trusted her instincts, placing her bets on the cards that felt right, not just based on probabilities but on how the table moved, how the banker shuffled, and how the players reacted.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"I enjoy winning," she said with a light laugh. "It is a rather glorious feeling."

The next round began, and Honor felt the familiar thrill rise in her chest. The losing card was revealed—a Nine. The dealer drew the next card. The Queen.

Another win.

Almost two hours later, Honor walked away from the faro table with a staggering sum of four hundred pounds.

"Not bad for a beginner," Jasper said with a smirk.

"I'm hardly a beginner," she drawled. "I learned to play at 48 Berkeley Square, where we often challenge each other, betting with our pin money."

She slipped gracefully through the crowd, observing other players with interest but refraining from indulging further, content with her winnings for the night.

"And how did you come to join 48 Berkeley Square?" Jasper asked, his curiosity piqued.

Honor laughed softly. "By sheer luck, really. I saw an advert in the newssheet offering a handsome reward for a lost cat, and the description was an exact match for the cat that followed me home from the botanical gardens. I followed the instructions and returned ‘Queen' to none other than the Marchioness of Marsden. Louisa was so thrilled that she invited me for tea. We spent the afternoon laughing and chatting, and it felt like I'd found a kindred spirit. By the end of the visit, she had invited me to join."

After four glasses of champagne, Honor felt flushed and delightfully tipsy but still fully in control of her faculties. The world around her seemed to shimmer with new vibrancy—the music thrummed through her bones, and every sense heightened to an almost unbearable degree, especially her awareness of Jasper. Every glance, every brush of his hand, sent a thrill of anticipation through her, sharpening her desire.

The thought of him consumed her. She wanted to press her mouth to his, to taste the forbidden and perhaps indulge in much more.

"Jasper ... I want to leave," she whispered.

He didn't hesitate. His hand closed around hers, guiding her through the crowded den and into the cool night air. As they stepped outside, she lifted her face to the sky, inhaling the crispness, letting it soothe the heat simmering just beneath her skin.

Jasper led her to the waiting carriage and assisted her inside. She heard him instruct the driver to her address, though he added quietly for the carriage to stop a few houses down. He then climbed in and took the seat opposite her. The carriage rumbled into motion, and she became acutely aware of his gaze on her. There was something in his eyes she couldn't quite decipher—admiration, amusement, perhaps even something darker, more dangerous. But she found she didn't care. Tonight, she could be whoever she wanted to be—daring, impulsive, and unrestrained.

Honor moved before she could stop herself, pushing from her seat and dropping into his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers threading into the hair at his nape.

"Take me to your home, Jasper," she whispered, her lips brushing close to his mouth.

He stilled beneath her, and in the dim light, she saw his eyes darken with a heat that quickened her pulse.

"Honor—"

"I find I wish to play chess," she murmured.

A part of her knew that if she kissed him again, there would be no turning back. Jasper had already entered her dreams, and more intimacy would surely entrench him in her heart—perilously, irrevocably.

His thumb feathered lightly over the inside of her wrist, making him all too aware of her pulse racing frantically. "I ought to turn you over my knees and spank you."

"How peculiar. I feel as if I would like that."