Jo Beverley - [Malloren] by Devilish Page A

forgiven them both, but had Lord Rothgar? She did not want his attentions, but she did not want his enmity, either.
    “Are you all right, Lady Arradale?” asked Lord Steen.
    Diana produced a smile and cut through the pastry. “Yes, of course, my lord. I was merely tracing an errant memory.” She ventured a question. “You must find being part of the Malloren family interesting.”
    His lips twitched. “Interesting enough to enjoy life in a secluded part of Devon.”
    She chuckled and moved on to other subjects, but she couldn’t stop both eyes and mind darting back to the marquess, drawn by the enigmatic puzzle he presented.
    He was elegant, effortlessly courteous, and, she thought, much loved. Yet something jarred.
    Eventually, she realized what it was.
    He was apart.
    By the time the ladies left the gentlemen to their relaxed drinking, she had the disconcerting feeling that the Marquess of Rothgar might be in many ways as isolated and alone as she. Perhaps that was the thread that ran between them, that both tugged and threatened at the same time.
    Over tea, Diana chatted to Elf and Rosa, and after a half hour of spicy, humorous gossip about London, Elf asked to be on first-name terms. Diana was beginning to feel that perhaps she had a new friend, and regretted that this visit would only last three days. She would have been happy if the men had lingered over brandy and snuff, but they joined the ladies quite quickly. She arranged card tables, and Lady Steen played the harp.
    After a while, Rosa took up music duty at the harpsichord, and Lord Brand joined her to play a duet. He did not have equal skill, but listening to the melded notes, seeing the bodies side by side, the occasional glances, Diana felt a deep quiver of envy.
    She had never realized how exact the phrase “speaking glances” truly was. She swallowed and looked away.
    Did her guests have everything they needed?
    Was the marquess still apart?
    Was he eyeing her darkly and plotting revenge?
    Of course he wasn’t. He was playing whist with Lord Bryght, Elf, and Lord Walgrave. Interestingly, Lord Walgrave was playing as the marquess’s partner, not his wife’s.
    Diana wandered over to watch, and being skilled at cards, soon saw that Lord Bryght and the marquess were players of extraordinary skill. No doubt their family knew never to let them partner each other.
    When the hand finished, the marquess looked up. “Do you wish to play, Lady Arradale?”
    As he began to rise and she demurred, Lord Walgrave rose. “Please, dear lady, rescue me. It’s like eating a chicken between three tigers.”
    His wife chuckled and turned to Diana. “Truly, it would be a kindness. He doesn’t have the lethal instinct.”
    Since Lord Walgrave had already moved away to speak to Lord Steen, it would be awkward to object. Diana took his seat across from the marquess.
    Another freak connection, or was there a conspiracy here? She shook off that thought. The adjoining rooms were her own doing, and nothing had contrived their solitary single status, or this partnering over cards.
    “I didn’t know whist could be so dangerous,” she remarked lightly as Elf dealt.
    “You haven’t asked what stakes we play for,” the marquess pointed out, eyes resting on her almost speculatively.
    Her shoulders twitched, and to counteract it, she sat up straighter. It occurred to her that this was the most intimate situation they had ever been in, sitting close and unavoidably face to face.
    “And what stakes
do
we play for, my lord?” she asked, fanning her hand and assessing her cards.
    “Love.”
    She looked up sharply.
    “Points,” Elf said simultaneously and in quite a different tone. “My brother doesn’t permit gambling within the family.”
    Diana looked only at him, the thread stretched taut. “Isn’t it dangerous to gamble with love, my lord—in a family?”
    “Or the safest place to do it. Appropriate, then,” he said, laying down a card, “that I play the ace of