There had never been a lovelier bride, decided Aunt Jane, surveying her niece with pride. With her hair piled high on her head, the chestnut strands cascading in fat curls over her ears and across one shoulder, Arabella looked beautiful. The only regret Jane had was that, seen in the light of day, the gown she and Emma had so carefully constructed for their niece appeared to be somewhat…overadorned.

Jane tilted her head and regarded the gown critically. Covered with rows of beading, flounces, and rosettes, it was perhaps a trifle ornate. But the sheen of the silk complemented Arabella’s flushed cheeks and the long skirt trailed beautifully behind the blushing bride.

Overall, the wedding had gone without a flaw. Outside, a fresh snow powdered the garden and gave the whole world a magical air. The church had been filled with well-wishers and almost all of them had come to participate in the reception.

Jane looked around the morning room and felt a swell of satisfaction. The hundreds of candles bathed the room with a warm golden glow. The scent of fresh Christmas greenery wafted through the air and mingled with the hot brandy punch and cinnamon tarts.

The only flaw in an otherwise perfect wedding was the slightest suggestion of fatigue on the bride’s face. Jane noted the circles beneath the brown eyes, but said nothing. Emma, on the other hand, could not look at her niece without turning bright red.

The groom seemed perfectly rested, his attention never straying from his bride. Darkly handsome, dressed in a formal black coat and knee breeches, Lucien was a sight to behold. He exuded a raw masculinity that had most of the women in the room in raptures. Even staid Miss Pip-ton stared at him so hungrily that her father pinched her and made her cry.

Jane was nearly bursting with pride. The best part of the day was the moment she realized that Arabella was now a duchess. Pride filled Jane’s meager breast, and she had to search for her handkerchief through eyes blurred with tears.

Someone thrust a handkerchief into her hand, and Jane mopped her eyes. “Aren’t they a lovely pair? Just perfect for each other.”

“Balderdash,” said Sir Loughton.

Jane jerked her head up to glare. “What are you doing here? You were not on the guest list.”

Amusement glimmered in his blue gaze. “How do you know?”

“Because I wrote it.”

A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “What’s the matter, Jane? Afraid?”

Her back stiffened. “I am not afraid of anyone, Sir Loughton. Least of all you.”

His azure gaze darkened. “I’ve been thinking about you. Every night, in bed, I think of what you will feel like beneath me—”

“Sir Loughton, please.” Her heart pounding, face heated, Jane glanced around, but everyone seemed focused on the bride and groom.

“I can’t help it, Jane. I’ve had my fair share of soiled doves and done my part to make the women of England happy.” He ignored her outraged sniff and bent to whisper in her ear. “But no one has ever intrigued me as much as you.”

Jane cursed her weakening knees. It took every ounce of strength she possessed not to sink into a chair. Now that Arabella was married, her luck would change. She would be able to focus her energies on the cards and, if all went according to her plan, she would be out from under Sir Loughton’s odious power and able to provide for the family.

Feeling noble, Jane sniffed. “This is hardly a proper conversation.”

“Who gives a damn about proper?”

“There is no reason why we need to discuss this now,” Jane said hastily, seeing Emma coming their way. “You and I will never be together.”

“Never?” His hand slipped to the inside of her elbow and he pulled her closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“Never?”

Jane didn’t have the strength to turn away. It had been years since a man had looked at her with such passion. For some reason, she wanted to turn into his arms and bury her face in his jacket, breathing deeply of his scent, a comforting mix of bergamot and mint.

He tightened his grip. “Jane, come to me tonight. Let me—”

“There you are!” called Emma, finally reaching them.

“Isn’t it a lovely turnout? And in such weather, too. Mrs. Poole was just saying that it was a sign of our standing in the neighborhood that so many of our friends came today.”

“More likely it is a sign of Cook’s standing,” Sir Loughton said. “I’d run naked through the snow for a slice of her ham. I’ve often thought about stealing her from you.” His gaze flickered to Jane. “I may yet.”

Jane bit back an angry reply.

“Oh, Sir Loughton, you are so naughty,” Emma said, tittering giddily until she became aware of Jane’s fiery glance.

Mr. Francot approached. Though he was dressed in his usual somber fare, his eyes burned in his pale face. He made a ponderous bow and took Jane’s hand. “Lady Melwin, I hope I can speak frankly with you. I can only hope Arabella will not regret her actions today.”

Emma frowned. “Did she spill some orgeat on her gown?”

Mr. Francot shook his head. “I fear it is something far more serious than that. I should not speak, but I feel…Miss Hadley is an innocent. Her whole life has been devoted to helping others. And now, after barely four weeks of acquaintance, she has sold herself to that…that…”

“There, now,” said Jane sharply. “You’ve greatly mistaken the matter if you think her unhappy. She welcomed this match, and indeed, she and the duke have something of a history together, so it isn’t as sudden as you may think.”

Sir Loughton snorted and Jane elbowed him sharply. His startled “Oof” settled her irritation and she was able to say to the solicitor with tolerable cheerfulness, “I know this has been a terrible disappointment for you, Mr. Francot. Just give yourself a week or two and you’ll be fine.”

Mr. Francot nodded, though the tension about his mouth did not lessen. After a moment of awkward silence, Mr. Harlbrook strode up to offer his stiff congratulations. Jane watched him narrowly, but other than wearing a slight air of resignation, the pompous lord didn’t appear to be overly affected by Arabella’s marriage. It was with a great sigh of relief for all concerned when Harlbrook bore Francot off to partake of some of Cook’s apple tarts.

Jane immediately dismissed them from her mind. Looking around, she noted that every person in the room seemed pleased and happy. Except Miss Devereaux.

Liza stood by the fire, her gaze fiercely fixed on Lucien, her mouth turned in a scowl. Really, the girl would be quite pretty if she smiled, though her height would never allow one to call her a beauty. Jane supposed it was too much to ask a fond sister to stand by and watch her brother marry; it had been a difficult thing for her when James had wed.

She watched as Robert wheeled his chair up to the new couple and talked with Lucien. A genuine smile curved the younger man’s lips and for an instant he looked untroubled, the way he had before he’d left for the war.

Jane clasped her hands together and smiled. It really was a lovely day. Soon, all of the guests would leave and scatter about the countryside to regale their less fortunate neighbors with news of the wedding of the year and her happiness would be complete. Except for the money she owed Sir Loughton.

Perhaps it was time to deal with that unfortunate circumstance, as well. After all, with Arabella’s marriage to the duke, Jane’s luck would be back in force.

Smiling, she placed her hand on Sir Loughton’s arm and glanced at him through her lashes. “Could I interest you in a game of cards?”

After a surprised moment, his hand covered hers. “I am interested in anything having to do with you.”

She pulled her hand away. “This is a business proposition, sir. Nothing more.”

“To you, perhaps. But to me…” He lifted his shaggy brows, his blue eyes vivid. “I will play you one last time, Jane. But this time, I get to name the stakes.”

“I can only imagine what depraved things you are planning.” For some reason, instead of frightening her, they sent a pleasant glow throughout her entire body. Jane wondered if she’d imbibed a touch too much punch.

Sir Loughton flashed an unrepentant grin. “This evening, then. At ten. I shall be waiting.” He bowed over her hand and looked into her eyes. “And this time, Jane, leave Emma at home. We won’t need a chaperone.”

Delicious heat rose in Jane’s cheeks, and she nodded.

Looking pleased, he left, stopping only to say a word to Lucien and place a quick kiss on Arabella’s hand. As Jane watched him stride out the door, a slow, secret smile curved her lips. After tonight, her debts would be paid in full. One way or another.