of the two men sitting comfortably in two leather chairs by the fireplace. The fire was cold, the cards spread in careless abandon upon the table, and empty glasses scattered with ashes and cigar butts throughout the room were the only sign of the night's play. .
"You've the luck of the Devil, Alex," the older of the two men stated emphatically, but with good humor. "Sure you haven't made a pact with him? You certainly had Danvers' pockets to let last night, and he's not one to like losing," he chuckled in remembrance of Danvers' red, perspiration-streaked face.
"It just wasn't your evening, George. Next time try to keep that twinkle out of your eye when you think you've got a winning hand," Lord Trevegne laughed as he rose and stretched his long, lean body, running a negligent hand through his raven-black hair.
"I've always thought you were part hawk with those sharp eyes of yours. See a damned sight too much for a mortal man," George complained.
"Don't tell me you've been listening to those stories doing the rounds of St. James? I had thought better of you, George," he inquired casually, pouring two brandies. He handed Lord Denet one as he resettled himself in the large chair.
"I know you're no Lucifer, or devil incarnate, as some seem fond of calling you, your brother among them, but sometimes your luck is uncanny," replied the older man.
"I may have a lucky star, but I prefer to think it's my skill that enables me to win, not Lady Luck. As with most females, she is fickle, and not to be trusted. No thank you. I shall continue to rely on my own devices, rather than to play into the lovely, but quicksilver hands of Lady Luck." He took a sip of . brandy, and smilingly added, "And as for Peter, he's just a young cub following the pack, like young Lackton. He'll soon find his feet. He's just miffed because I won't advance him his allowance. Spend it before I can even get it out of my pocket." He loosened his cravat and settled deeper into the chair.
“I can see that you're tired, Alex, and hinting that I should take my leave, but I've one other subject to discuss first," said Lord Denet, getting to his feet, and planting them firmly, as if in preparation for an attack upon his person.
"I was not hinting that you should take your leave. Why, George, how could I allow you to think me so lax a host as to show my guest the door? Even though it is rather late—or early—whichever you prefer. I was merely attempting to make myself more comfortable." He smiled up at his old friend.
"Well, no offense taken, but I'll say my piece and then leave. I'll say no more upon the matter, this I promise, but—" He hesitated, reluctant now that he had his host's attention.
"Do continue, George, this is beginning to interest me. I gather that you've some advice to impart to me?" Lord Trevegne asked helpfully in a quiet voice.
Lord Denet had known. Alexander Trevegne since he had been in short pants, and knew that the quiet, languid voice was deceiving to those who were not aware that it masked a will of iron and a fierce temper. Lord Trevegne's quiet tones were soft and ominous, and more deadly than a man who raged like a bull. Alex, when angered, struck quickly and quietly. He had seen Alex cut a man to pieces with his sharp sarcastic tongue, reducing him to a quivering animal ready to turn tail and run. Few men cared or dared—to cross words, or weapons with Lord Trevegne, the Marquis of St. Fleur. He was a deadly shot with pistols, and even deadlier at reducing some annoying acquaintance into looking the fool with his notorious set downs and snubs.
George mentally gathered up his courage and plunged straight on. "I think you ought to consider' marrying, Alex. I only say this because I feel that I owe, it to your dead parents, who, as you know, were close friends of mine."
Lord Trevegne gave a harsh laugh. "You're a fine one to be lecturing me, George. You happen to be a bachelor still, or are you
"You've the luck of the Devil, Alex," the older of the two men stated emphatically, but with good humor. "Sure you haven't made a pact with him? You certainly had Danvers' pockets to let last night, and he's not one to like losing," he chuckled in remembrance of Danvers' red, perspiration-streaked face.
"It just wasn't your evening, George. Next time try to keep that twinkle out of your eye when you think you've got a winning hand," Lord Trevegne laughed as he rose and stretched his long, lean body, running a negligent hand through his raven-black hair.
"I've always thought you were part hawk with those sharp eyes of yours. See a damned sight too much for a mortal man," George complained.
"Don't tell me you've been listening to those stories doing the rounds of St. James? I had thought better of you, George," he inquired casually, pouring two brandies. He handed Lord Denet one as he resettled himself in the large chair.
"I know you're no Lucifer, or devil incarnate, as some seem fond of calling you, your brother among them, but sometimes your luck is uncanny," replied the older man.
"I may have a lucky star, but I prefer to think it's my skill that enables me to win, not Lady Luck. As with most females, she is fickle, and not to be trusted. No thank you. I shall continue to rely on my own devices, rather than to play into the lovely, but quicksilver hands of Lady Luck." He took a sip of . brandy, and smilingly added, "And as for Peter, he's just a young cub following the pack, like young Lackton. He'll soon find his feet. He's just miffed because I won't advance him his allowance. Spend it before I can even get it out of my pocket." He loosened his cravat and settled deeper into the chair.
“I can see that you're tired, Alex, and hinting that I should take my leave, but I've one other subject to discuss first," said Lord Denet, getting to his feet, and planting them firmly, as if in preparation for an attack upon his person.
"I was not hinting that you should take your leave. Why, George, how could I allow you to think me so lax a host as to show my guest the door? Even though it is rather late—or early—whichever you prefer. I was merely attempting to make myself more comfortable." He smiled up at his old friend.
"Well, no offense taken, but I'll say my piece and then leave. I'll say no more upon the matter, this I promise, but—" He hesitated, reluctant now that he had his host's attention.
"Do continue, George, this is beginning to interest me. I gather that you've some advice to impart to me?" Lord Trevegne asked helpfully in a quiet voice.
Lord Denet had known. Alexander Trevegne since he had been in short pants, and knew that the quiet, languid voice was deceiving to those who were not aware that it masked a will of iron and a fierce temper. Lord Trevegne's quiet tones were soft and ominous, and more deadly than a man who raged like a bull. Alex, when angered, struck quickly and quietly. He had seen Alex cut a man to pieces with his sharp sarcastic tongue, reducing him to a quivering animal ready to turn tail and run. Few men cared or dared—to cross words, or weapons with Lord Trevegne, the Marquis of St. Fleur. He was a deadly shot with pistols, and even deadlier at reducing some annoying acquaintance into looking the fool with his notorious set downs and snubs.
George mentally gathered up his courage and plunged straight on. "I think you ought to consider' marrying, Alex. I only say this because I feel that I owe, it to your dead parents, who, as you know, were close friends of mine."
Lord Trevegne gave a harsh laugh. "You're a fine one to be lecturing me, George. You happen to be a bachelor still, or are you
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