It was absolutely none of her business, but she couldn't help but wonder if Lilian and Thorne were lovers. He had lovers. Camille knew that. She had been a member of the club for a few months, and in that time she had seen any number of women arrive by the ladies-only entrance and greet him very warmly. Sometimes he'd offer his arm, other times he'd slide his hand around their waist and disappear with them into parts unknown and she wouldn't see him again that night. She couldn't say with reasonable certainty that he slept with all of them, but it was a fair bet that he'd bedded a few.
"How many women members are there?" Camille hadn't thought to ask when she'd filled out her registration form and paid the rather expensive dues. She'd joined because Hereford would have been appalled, not because she'd been trying to prove a larger point about equality of the sexes.
"A dozen, give or take, not nearly enough. I have to hurry off, but I would love to chat more. Will you be here another evening this week?"
Camille opened and closed her mouth when she realized she didn't know what to say. If Thorne rejected her proposition, then she couldn't imagine showing her face here again, but she didn't want to miss the chance of making a new friend. She didn't have many of those. Since coming to London over three years ago, she'd become that American because she could never seem to live up to the expectations of being Hereford's duchess. It had become the done thing to invite her to events only to sneer at her behind her back. Fellow American heiresses the Crenshaw sisters, August and Violet, were her friends, but they were both happily married now and starting families of their own.
"Perhaps we could have tea one afternoon?" she offered.
Lilian's smile was genuine when she said, "I would like that very much."
They exchanged goodbyes and Camille was left alone. She didn't bother practicing her smile again because it could quickly become a procrastination tactic. Either he was attracted to her and he said yes, or he wasn't and he said no. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she rose and brushed out invisible wrinkles on her skirts. She wore an emerald-green gown cut the slightest bit lower than modest and in the natural shape that emphasized the flare of her hips, selected precisely because she thought it showed off her figure to the best advantage.
Pushing open the paneled mahogany door, she made her way down the wide corridor to the gaming room. It was nearly ten o'clock in the evening, which meant Thorne was probably there talking with patrons or dealing cards. He owned Montague Club along with his half brother, Christian Halston, Earl of Leigh, and their friend Evan Sterling, Duke of Rothschild. Both men were married to the Crenshaw sisters, so Camille had met him socially a handful of times. While she had always been charmed by his handsomeness in those social settings, it wasn't until she had joined Montague Club that she'd found herself viewing him differently . . . as someone she might want to get to know in an entirely more intimate way.
The double doors that led to the main gaming room were thrown wide open, revealing a dimly lit but richly appointed setting. Gilded sconces topped with frosted globes were set at regular intervals giving off flickering gaslight that was immediately absorbed by the dark wood paneling, creating playful shadows and an aura of intimacy. Aubusson rugs in dark reds, greens, and gold matched the sofas and overstuffed chairs set in small groupings near the fireplaces on either end of the space. Rosewood gaming tables topped with green baize were scattered throughout the middle of the room. It was a slow night, so only a few had men playing at them, while the rest sat empty.
As usual, the table where Jacob Thorne stood dealing cards was busy. He was well-liked and the club members seemed to gravitate toward him. He was as sinfully handsome as his half brother, Christian, but not nearly as forbidding. They were both tall and filled out a frock coat nicely, but where Christian's smile seemed to hold an edge of cynicism, Thorne's was more open and friendly. That was partly why she had decided to approach him with her indecent proposition. He was kind and trustworthy. She didn't think he would laugh at her or brag to his friends, but even more than that, he was the only man who had turned her head in a long time. Since her parents had introduced her to Hereford. Once she had met her future husband and reluctantly agreed to the marriage, she hadn't viewed men in the same way. She'd begun to despair that she ever would again, but something about Thorne had her looking twice.
She studied him as she made her way around the tables to reach him. He was dressed as well as the men he entertained with nothing about him to indicate he owned the club and they were customers. His clothing was bespoke like theirs and had probably come from the same tailor. He was the son of an earl after all, though born outside of wedlock. He had been raised by his father, and that aristocratic arrogance showed on his face and in his mannerisms, except he wore it more naturally than many. It wasn't conceit with him, so much as grace and charm.
His well-formed lips parted in a smile as he dealt another hand of vingt-un and made a joke she couldn't hear. The men at the table laughed as they added to their bets. Thorne picked up the deck of cards with a skill born from years of practice and tossed another card onto each stack. His hands were strong but graceful with long fingers and clipped nails. If all went to plan, he could be touching her with those very hands soon. She paused as a flush warmed her face, but it was too late. He'd caught sight of her.
"Your Grace." He smiled as the other three men greeted her in turn. "Have you come to join us?" he asked, his voice rich and smooth.
She swallowed and willed the butterflies in her stomach to cease their antics. She'd talked to him many times since joining his club, and tonight didn't have to be any different. Only it was. Fighting past her nerves, she took the chair at the end of the crescent-shaped table. "Yes, but I'm afraid I've never played the game before."
"Not to worry, Your Grace. We'll teach you, won't we, gentlemen?"
They murmured their agreement. A footman came forward almost immediately, bearing a small tumbler of her favorite whisky on ice. The service here was remarkable. Accepting it with a smile, she spent the next several minutes watching the men play as Thorne went over the rules. The game seemed easy enough; one simply tried to get the sum of their cards to add up to twenty-one without going over. It wasn't complicated. Finally, Thorne dealt her in, and she promptly lost the first two hands.
"Too aggressive," he warned her with a shake of his head when she asked for another card on the third round. The gaslight played in his thick, black hair, and she wondered if it would be as soft as it looked.
Excerpted from The Duchess Takes a Husband by Harper St. George Copyright © 2023 by Harper St. George. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved.
