Page 40 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Chapter Fifteen

The drawing room glowed with candlelight and quiet competition. Not the crowded, suffocating press of a grand assembly—but something more deliberate, more intimate. A gathering where every voice carried, where every glance could be felt.

Two faro tables had been arranged opposite one another, their green baize surfaces already marked with scattered coins and careful hands. A low murmur filled the room—cards sliding, soft laughter, the occasional subdued exclamation of victory or loss.

Lord Devon took his place without hesitation.

He had always excelled in rooms like this.

Controlled. Observed. Predictable in their unpredictability.

Across from him, Lady Molly glanced up from her cards. Her lips twitched, as though she was pleased with her hand, though she made a clear effort not to advertise the fact. Her eyes met his, and he gave her a charming grin, encouraged when her gaze immediately flickered back down to her cards—then to him again, and back once more.

“Do you enjoy faro, Lady Molly?” he asked, leaning toward her just slightly—just enough to show interest without presumption.

“I like to win,” she replied. “The game does not necessarily matter.”

Edwin raised his brows. It was not the answer he had expected—and he found that it pleased him.

“Then we are in agreement. A little competition keeps life interesting, does it not?” He glanced at his cards, waiting his turn as quiet conversation continued around the table, then returned his attention to her.

“A little competition is always welcome,” she said. “In certain aspects.” She looked down, then back at him. “In games, in cards … but there are some areas of life I do not wish to have any competition in.” Her voice lowered on the last words, almost hesitant—as though she had admitted something she did not often speak aloud.

Her hands twitched, as if uncertain.

Intrigued, Edwin angled his head. “And what might those be?”

“Lord Devon,” she said softly, “surely you are not going to require me to speak such things aloud.”

At that, his curiosity deepened. He gave a low chuckle and leaned back in his chair. As he did, his gaze moved idly across the room—without intention.

It did not remain that way.

A soft laugh drew his attention.

Miss Eliza.

She sat at the second table, playing her hand, and judging by the delighted expression on her face, she expected to win. His gaze shifted to Pere, who sat across from her. The gentleman appeared entirely willing to concede the game without effort.

Edwin’s eyes narrowed slightly.

It sat poorly with him.

There was something almost careless in it—as though Langshire would surrender simply to grant her victory, without requiring anything of her in return. His respect for the man dimmed. Was it truly a victory if one forfeited?

She deserved better than that.

The thought came unbidden—and surprised him even as it formed.

He had no right to decide what Miss Eliza deserved. No position to infer what she might want or require.

He forced his gaze back to his cards.

Lady Molly remained before him.

He offered her a charming smile, gathering the thread of their earlier conversation. Yes—something about competition. Or rather, the lack of it.

His gaze dropped briefly—then, unintentionally, lifted again.