That wasn’t a long way from Hart’s own feelings. “So why haven’t you warned him off?”
“His sister’s hooked Tachbrook, that’s why. I’ve had enough trouble from that quarter. So have you.”
The Marquess of Tachbrook had honoured Lady Wintour with his attentions after her widowing, although honour hadn’t been involved at any point. He’d pursued her solely as a matter of conquest, since she was too vulgar to become his acknowledged mistress. Evangeline had chosen to take offence at that, declined his approaches in a loud and public manner, and plunged into the affair with Hart instead: a mere baronet, tainted by trade, and a man with whom Tachbrook had a long-standing quarrel. It had caused a great deal of amusement in raffish circles. Tachbrook had not come out of the affair well, and he had not forgiven it.
That was six or seven years ago. Evangeline was older, wiser, and drinking a lot less these days, and Hart could well understand why she had no interest in reigniting an old feud with a man so powerful, wealthy, and vindictive. “Very fair. Thank you, Evangeline. That’s helpful.”
“You can pay me back by losing some money.”
“I’ll do my best,” Hart said. “Or I might see if Mr. Loxleigh wants a game.”
“Make sure you win.”
Hart went up to the card room, which was busy but not crowded, with a hubbub of talk going on above the serious players. It smelled of tallow, tobacco, spilled drink, and the aggressive scent of men en masse. He had no trouble spotting Loxleigh’s dark honey hair in the crowd.
His quarry was at a whist table with a few others, wearing an easy smile. The litter of coins and scraps of paper by his elbow showed his run of luck was continuing.
Hart watched for a few moments. The play wasn’t fast and furious. Loxleigh wagered sensibly, and took his time as if he were thinking about his choices. He gave every impression of being a sensible gamester, just as he had when Hart had watched him before, except for the eyes.
Loxleigh looked up then, as if he’d felt the observation. His gaze met Hart’s with a direct look of recognition. A practised smile curved his full lips, and he stood with a word of apology to the other players. “Sir John Hartlebury, I think.”
“I am he.”
“My name is Loxleigh. I have the honour of being acquainted with your sister, and with Miss Fenwick.”
Hart bowed. “My sister has mentioned you, I think. I was introduced to Miss Loxleigh at Lady Beaumont’s ball. Are you playing?” He indicated the table.
“We have just finished a game.”
“Which you won, again,” grunted Tallant, one of the other players. “You want to watch this one, Hartlebury, he’ll have the coat off your back.”
“Perhaps you’ll give me a hand or two,” Hart suggested.
Loxleigh hesitated. “I live with my sister, who is at a soiree, and we have a pact to be home by midnight. I dare say that is a dreadful admission in masculine company.” He smiled. It was a wide, charming smile lit with rueful laughter at his own expense, and Hart couldn’t help thinking, Damn.
“You sound henpecked,” Tallant said brutally.
Loxleigh’s smile didn’t falter one whit. “I am domestic. There is only Marianne and myself, and responsibility comes before pleasure. That said, I have half an hour before I need leave, Sir John, so if you’d care to play...?”
They took a table in the corner. “Whist?” Hart suggested. He played that only adequately, but no matter: he didn’t plan to put any significant money on the table.
They set very low stakes. Hart handed Loxleigh the pack, watched him shuffle and deal, watched his capable, fluent hands.
“You’re from Nottingham, I believe?”
“Nottinghamshire. A village some way from the city—do you know the area?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I shan’t bore you with specifics. It is a charming place. Quiet and safe, with kind neighbours and a slow rhythm of life. Very different to London, though we have found a great deal of kindness here too.”
Hart picked up his cards. “Your sister said this was your first visit to Town.”
“It is. We have been planning the trip for some time, and it’s been a remarkable experience. To see such monuments as St. Paul’s, and the Tower...” He expanded on the glories of London like a human guide-book while they played out the hand. He came across as earnest, honest, perhaps not very dashing, but a sturdy and reliable young man. He played like one too, considering his cards carefully, not taking a risk when one might have won him the hand.
A slow and steady winner? Or a man making a particular effort to present himself as good husband material?
“Do you play much in your village?” Hart asked abruptly.
Loxleigh’s gaze flicked up. The smile followed a second later, and didn’t touch his eyes. Hart was beginning to dislike that smile. “Not like this, I assure you. We have a little group where we play for entertainment. The local squire, the landlord of our inn, the parson.” Another smile. “Who, I may add, has often warned me of the evils of gaming to excess, but he will like to hear of my adventures in London all the same.”
“That seems very cosy.”
“It’s a small society, but a friendly one.”
It sounded delightful, just right for a woman like Alice, whose friendships were deep rather than wide. Hart didn’t believe a word of it. It was too pat, too much an unasked-for explanation of why a man who was so keen to show himself as steady and domestic spent so much time in gaming dens.
“But despite the provincial bliss, you felt the urge for a change of scene?” he suggested.
“Don’t we all feel that now and again?” Loxleigh returned, dealing the next hand. “Mrs. Blaine said you divide your time between town and country.”
“I run her brewery,” Hart said bluntly. “Alice’s father left everything to my sister, and now I am in charge of the business.” Which was to hint, heavily, that Alice had no money of her own.
“Then you are an excellent brother and uncle to work for your family’s benefit,” Loxleigh returned.
“I am paid a salary.” In fact he took a cut of the profits, which could be described as dividends rather than something as lowly as a salary, but he wanted to see what bland platitude Loxleigh would come up with.
He wasn’t disappointed. “The labourer is worthy of his hire. I believe a man does well to have an occupation.”
“What’s yours?”
“We have a very little land. Nothing grand. The area is beautiful.”
“A country soul,” Hart said, spinning a card onto the table. “Do you intend to live out your life in this rustic haven?”
Loxleigh’s face showed nothing but the smile. “That was always my expectation. I have wondered recently— Well, we shall see what fate brings.”
“Such as a wife?”
“Perhaps, if I am so fortunate. Or a husband for my sister. That would change things.”
“She’s very lovely.”
“She is.”
“You seem a devoted pair.”
Loxleigh looked up from his hand. “I dare say domesticity is mocked in sophisticated company, but in truth, I don’t care. It has been the two of us for a long time. Marianne deserves everything London has to give her, and she will have it if I have anything to say to the matter.”