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THE DUKE
OF HAMMUND
The
Duke of Hammund, who was seated across from where
Elizabeth stood, broke the silence: “I think you’re
bluffing, Thorn,’ he said with a brief smile. “Moreover,
you’ve been on a losing streak all night. I’ll raise you
500 pounds,” he added, sliding five chips forward.
Two things hit Elizabeth
at once: Evidently Ian’s nickname was Thorn, and His
Grace, the Duke of Hammund, a premiere duke of the realm,
had addressed him as if they were on friendly terms. The
other men, however, continued to regard Ian coolly as they
in turn plucked five chips from their individual stacks
and pushed them into the pile that had already accumulated
in the center of the table.
“It’s your bet, Everly,”
she heard Ian prod.
Lord Everly’s answer
made Elizabeth tremble: “Twenty five thousand pounds,” he
drawled.
“Don’t be a fool!” the
duke told him. “That’s too much to wager on one hand, even
for you.”
Certain now that she had
her facial expression under control, Elizabeth wandered
back to the table.
“I can afford it,”
Everly reminded them all smoothly. “What concerns me,
Thornton, is whether or not you can cover your bet when
you lose.”
Elizabeth flinched as if
the insult had been hurled at her, but Ian merely leaned
back in his chair and regarded Everly in steady, glacial
silence. After a long, tense moment he said in a
dangerously soft voice, “I can afford to raise you another
10,000 pounds.”
“You don’t have another
10,000 pounds to your cursed name,” Everly spat, “and I’m
not putting up money against a worthless chit signed by
you!”
“Enough!” snapped the
Duke of Hammund. “You go too far, Everly. I’ll vouch for
his credit. Now take the bet of fold.”
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