“Play at least one game. It will help keep your fingers nimble.”

Lady Verena Westforth gazed at the cards her brother shuffled with such ease. Atiny itch rested in the palms of her hands. She curled her hand around the familiar feeling and forced her lips to curve into a faint smile. “Did you come all the way from Italy to tempt me into bad habits?”

James grinned, his golden hair glinting in the morning light. “What you have is talent, not ‘bad habits.’ Father says—”

“Spare me what Father says. He thinks any vice is a gift, so long as ’tis well done.”

James’s grin widened. “There’s none like him, is there?”

“No, thank the heavens. The world would end if two such beings existed on the same planet.”

“You sound like Mother.” James eyed her fondly. “It’s good to see you, Ver. It has been too long.”

She returned his smile. There was a bond between her and James that went deeper than most. A bond that stretched across the distance she’d imposed between herself and her family.

Perhaps it was because James was her twin, though one wouldn’t credit it to look at the two of them. It was true they both had blond hair, but hers was the fine gold of a new guinea, while his was dark blond streaked liberally with brown.

Even their eyes were different; Verena’s were violet and James’s were brown. Still, there were some similarities. They both possessed the faintly almond-shape eyes and the flyaway brows of some ancient Slavic ancestor.

Father always said they were descended from Russian royalty. But then Father would say that. She met James’s quizzical gaze with a smile. “It’s good to see you, too, even if you did arrive in the dead of night.”

“It wasn’t that late.”

“It was almost dawn. And since it’s been months since I last heard from you, I can’t help but wonder if you’re in trouble.”

His expression froze, but then he grinned at her, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I am always in trouble. But don’t fret. The Lansdownes were born under a lucky star. No matter what, our paths are made.”

Though she didn’t believe his bravado for an instant, Verena had to smile back at him. She knew his faults too well—most of them mirrored her own. Impatience, an endless thirst for excitement, and a deeply rooted dislike of being ordered about. “I wish you’d at least stay in my guest bedchamber.”

“No one knows I’m your brother and I’d like to keep it that way. It’s for your own good.”

“If I had a reputation to protect, I might agree with you. But I don’t, thanks to Andrew’s father.”

James’s smile faded at the mention of the Earl of Rutland. “Is he still set on destroying your peace?”

“Every chance he gets,” she replied lightly, though the effort cost her. She’d always known that Andrew’s father hadn’t liked her, but she hadn’t realized the extent of the old man’s feelings until after Andrew’s death. Unknown to her, Andrew had been shielding her from bitter comments, vile rumors, and more.

Once he was gone, his father went unchecked, doing what he could to see to it that Verena became a social pariah, unwelcome except in the lowest levels of London society.

He’d thought to chase her from town, to remove her from Westforth House. But Verena had dug in her heels and instead of fleeing, had made a place for herself among the demimonde and turned Westforth House into the home she’d never had.

“Damn Rutland,” James said. “I’d skewer his gizzard on my sword if I thought it would help.” He absently dealt the cards into four hands on the small table. “Ver…are you happy?”

“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It just seems that you’re…well, you’re far too much alone.” James sighed and set the cards on the table. “Do you still miss Andrew?”

“Every day.” She said the words simply and was pleased to note that she only felt the briefest twinge of sadness. Andrew’s life had been short and brilliant, a star flashing across the sky then disappearing from sight. He’d left her very little on his death except a heart full of memories and the deed to Westforth House. But those things were worth more than she could say. “I think I miss his laughter the most of all.”

“That’s one thing I’ll give your late husband,” James said, his voice touched with envy. “He enjoyed every minute of his life. I hope the same can be said about me once I’m gone.”

There was something wistful about the way James said that. Verena eyed him narrowly. “That’s it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Ver, don’t—”

“Now, James. Or I’ll write to Father and tell him you seem very out of sorts and could use a visit.”

James’s eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin, a childhood habit that usually meant he was puzzling through some thorny problem. “Perhaps I just came to see how you’re getting on.”

“And perhaps Father really is a Russian grand duke, as he loves to tell everyone.”

“I don’t have anything to tell you, thank you,” James said, reaching into his pocket as if to draw out his watch. “Do we have time to play a game before the carriage—” He pulled his hand from his pocket, his brow lowering. “Damn!”

“What is it?”

“My watch. It’s gone. I had it when I climbed from the carriage because I distinctly remember checking the time and—”

“Blast,” Verena muttered. She marched to the bell pull and tugged it with more force than necessary.

“Ver, what are you—”

“Just wait.” She crossed her arms and stared at the door.

Within seconds, a tall, cadaverously thin individual opened the door and peeked in. “Rang fer me, did ye?”

“Yes. Please come in.”

He entered the room, his wide smile accentuated with an improbably bright gold tooth. “Whot can oiye do fer ye, m’lady?”

“Herberts, Mr. Lansdowne has lost his watch.”

“Whot a pity.”

James frowned. “Verena, I don’t understand why you’re telling this to your butler. He couldn’t know—”

“Couldn’t he?” She pinned a glare on Herberts. “Well?”

The butler sniffed. “Oiye moight know where the gent’s ticker is. And then again, oiye moight not.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and reeled back on his heels. “Mayhap the lad left it in his carriage.”

“Mr. Lansdowne’s watch is not in his carriage and you know it.”

“M’lady,” the butler said in an injured tone. “Oiye hope ye aren’t implyin’ anyfing unsavory about me character.”

A choke of laughter erupted from James.

Verena ignored him. “Herberts,” she said, only louder this time. “Return it. Now.”

Herberts shook his head, his long, thin face folded in disapproval. “Ye’re like a rat with a bone in yer teeth, ye are. ’Tis not a pretty way fer a lady to act.”

Verena merely raised a brow and waited.

The butler sighed heavily. “Oh very well. Oiye pinched it. But the lad deserved it; he didn’t hand o’er so much as a ha’penny fer openin’ the door. Not a single grinder.”

“What?” James exclaimed, all trace of amusement gone. “You expect a vale for merely opening a door?”

The butler cast an unimpressed eye over James’s perfectly pressed eveningwear. “It’s whot the real gentry do.”

James opened his mouth as if to retort, but Verena forestalled him. “Herberts, even if Mr. Lansdowne owed you a vale—which I question—you have no right to steal from one of my guests.” She marched to a small table by the door and pulled it out from the wall. “Empty your pockets.”

The butler’s face turned mournful as he slowly moved to the table. Shaking his head sadly, he reached deep into his pockets and deposited a handful of objects on the table. The items flashed as they clunked into a glittering pile.

“Good God!” James rose from his chair to see the loot. Four rings, two watch fobs, an ornate snuffbox, one watch, and no less than seven cravat pins lay on the table.

He sent an admiring glance at Herberts. “You are quite good. Have you ever thought of—Ow!” James rubbed his ribs where his sister had elbowed him. “What was that for?”

“For what you were about to say.” Verena turned to Herberts. “You know the rules. No stealing from my guests. For penance, polish all the silver in the pantry. Twice.”

The butler blinked rapidly. “Twiced? Don’t ye think once would do the trick?”

“Twice,” Verena said sternly. “Or you may give your notice now and I will hire another butler in your stead.”

Herberts straightened his shoulders, an expression of noble suffering flittering across his thin face. “Very well. Oiye’ll polish all the silver in the bloomin’ pantry. Twiced.”

“Thank you,” Verena said. “That will be all.”

“Oiye, m’lady.” The butler started to turn toward the door, but then he caught himself. “Blimey! Almost fergot.” He executed a nearly perfect bow, then beamed pleasantly at Verena. “Thet’ll do the knacker, won’t it, missus?” Chuckling pleasantly, the butler quit the room.

James waited until the door closed before he burst out laughing. “Good God, where did you get that character?”

“The Society for Wayward Women’s Servant Referral Service. Viscountess Hunterston runs it and, well, the prices are very reasonable.” Verena bit back a sigh. Being independent was a costly venture, one she’d welcomed from the beginning. But she had to admit that there were times when it was just the teensiest bit wearing. Times like…well, all of the time, if she was honest.

Despite her disapproval of Father and his schemes, she had him to thank that she was able to make it at all. Rutland had destroyed her credit with both society and the banks when she’d come to Westforth House after Andrew’s death. Determined to keep the house from her, the old earl had hired an entire army of solicitors to make her life miserable.

Verena had been left with no recourse but to use the skills Father had taught her—she entered the world of the demimonde and there, across the green felt tables of London’s most exclusive gambling hells, she made her living, one careful card at a time.

She was not a flamboyant player; Verena only won enough to make her way in the world. She didn’t want the attention a winning spree would have caused and she had nothing to prove. Not anymore. But still, she itched to put her talents to the test.

James pocketed his watch, then examined the snuffbox with a practiced eye. “Here I was, thinking you’d turned into a saint when in reality, you’ve found a better game.”

Verena took the snuffbox from James and placed it back on the table. “I hired Herberts to serve as a butler and nothing more. If you want to know the truth, he is all I can afford. That and Viscountess Hunterston especially asked if I could take him on since his last placement didn’t take.”

“I can’t imagine why.” James flicked an especially large ruby cravat pin on its side. “Whose are these, anyway?”

“I have no idea.” She scraped all the items into a large pile. “Herberts arrived just a month ago. In time, I’m certain I will be able to break him of his bad habits.”

“You can’t reform a shyster.”

“Yes, you can. Everyone can change.” She carried Herberts’s haul to her desk. Once there, she unlocked the top drawer and placed the items inside. “What a bother. I suppose I shall have to find a way to return all of this.”

“If you want me to take care of it for you, I’ll—”

“No.” She locked the drawer and replaced the key in her pocket. “I’ll see to it myself.”

James grinned as he returned to his seat and picked up the deck of cards. Verena watched how his fingers flew, the cards melding, merging, flickering from one picture to the next. He met her gaze and grinned, his teeth flashing whitely. If she had not known him so well, she would have never realized that beneath his carefree air was a hint of desperation.

She took the chair across from him. “Is it a woman?”

His fingers faltered and two cards flicked from the deck to land on the floor. He reddened, then picked them up and put them back in the deck. “I never could hide anything from you.”

“I know. You were silly to even try. Now out with it.”

His grin faded. After a long moment, he sighed and said, “Ver, I’m being blackmailed.”

“By whom?”

He sent her a grateful glance for her quickness. “I don’t know. All I do know is that I made an error in Italy, one that may well cost someone their life.”

“Someone?”

His cheeks darkened. “I’d rather not say.”

Verena thought about this. “I take it she’s married.”

James’s strained expression melted into genuine concern. “It’s a mess, Ver. I’m at my wits’ end.”

“How much do they want?”

“I don’t know yet. I was told to come to London and they would contact me, but I expect it will be five thousand pounds at least. Perhaps more.”

“Good God! That’s a fortune.”

James winced. “Sabrina’s husband is…he’s very jealous.”

“Apparently with good reason.”

James flushed. “It wasn’t like that!”

“It never is.”

“That’s unfair.”

“Hmm. Let me guess…she’s unhappy and lonely and her husband never pays her any heed. I daresay she told you that this was the first time she’d ever been unfaithful and you, being the quixotic, romantic fool that you are, believed her.”

James rubbed a hand over his face. “At the time of the affair, I thought Sabrina was…well, I know now I was wrong. But I’m caught. Her husband knows something happened. If he discovers it was me, I’m doomed.”

“Don’t return. Stay away from Italy until it’s all blown over.”

“I can’t. I have too much at stake. I was in the middle of a project—” He glanced at her, then managed a smile. “I stand to lose far more than five thousand pounds if I stay away more than a few weeks.”

“What exactly does this blackmailer have over you?”

“Letters. Well, not letters. Poems, really.”

Verena’s gaze widened. “Love poems?”

James managed a weak smile. “I’m quite good, you know.”

She had to chuckle at that. “I daresay you are. How did this blackmailer find the letters?”

“A month ago someone broke into Sabrina’s room and stole the box where she’d been keeping the verses.”

“Did they steal anything else?”

He shook his head. “Not a blasted thing. Whomever it was had to know exactly what they were looking for.”

“Are you sure they want money? It seems ludicrous they would send you here if that was their only objective.”

James’s face creased with worry. “I know. I wondered if—but no. It has to be money. What else could they want?”

He had a point. “I suppose that leaves us with the question of ‘how much?’ Do you think they knew you’d come here, to my house?”

“Surely not. No one knows I’m your brother.”

“What a mess.”

“I know. If I don’t pay whatever they ask, this villain will turn everything over to Sabrina’s husband. There will be nowhere to hide and all my work—” He placed his elbow on the table and rested his forehead in his hand. “Everything will be ruined. I’ll be humiliated.”

“Being humiliated is the least of your worries if this man is as dangerous as you think he is.”

“He’s killed three men for doing far less than what I have. The problem is that all of my capital is invested. Ver, if they ask for money, I’m sunk. Everything I have is tied up.”

“How long before they contact you?”

“It should be any day now.” He swallowed a little convulsively. “What will we do?”

“The right thing,” she said with a bravado she was far from feeling. “Perhaps, if I’m very, very lucky, I can find a wealthy suitor who will marry me and hand over a large sum as a wedding gift.”

She’d been joking, trying to lighten the moment, but he immediately brightened. “Perfect! Are there any wealthy men hanging about? One you could finagle into an engagement?”

Verena had to laugh. “James! I have no desire to sell my freedom for a few guineas. Not even for you.”

He tried to hide his disappointment. “Oh. Of course not. Although…you wouldn’t have to actually marry anyone, you know. Just tempt and tease. Get him excited, then tell him you need some money for a modiste’s bill or some such nonsense and—”

At her lifted brows, he managed a weak grin. “I know, I know. I’m just teasing. Father always said it would take a Greek god before you married again.”

That was sadly true. Though she had quite a few admirers, none were acceptable. Not even handsome, urbane Chase St. John. Within moments of meeting the young peer, it had become obvious that they shared a sense of the ridiculous. They got along famously, but only because he reminded her so much of James that she could not bring herself to completely rebuff him.

“Ver, what am I going to do? I just know they will want more money than I can gather. I’m doomed.”

Verena bit her lip. How could she help James? Her coffers were rarely full. Her gaze was drawn to the table. There was one way to help James.

She placed her fingers on the cards and smiled as excitement trilled along her spine. She was tired of hiding, tired of barely making ends meet, tired of being careful. It was the time for bold action. Feeling more alive than she had in four years, Verena picked up the deck of cards and shuffled them, her fingers blurring with the motion.

She dealt out four hands. “Turn up the top cards.”

He did as she instructed. On the top of each pile of cards lay a queen. He grinned up at her, realization dawning. “You are the best.”

The words warmed her heart. She’d missed having her family nearby. Oh, she’d tried to compensate by developing friendships, but she found herself holding back from most overtures, a sad effect of her upbringing. She rather thought the family motto should not have been “Forever Intrepid,” but “Trust No One.”

Still…one had to have acquaintances, at least. So Verena began holding a dinner party the first Tuesday of every month. She invited a variety of people, most of them the wittier members of the demimonde. They ate, drank, laughed and talked, and she was always careful that the food was magnificent, the wine outstanding, and the conversation never boring. Soon, invitations to her parties were treasured items.

In fact, she’d just held her last dinner party, not two weeks ago. Among her regular guests had been Lady Jessup’s new admirer, Lord Humford, who had, according to the gossips, disappeared shortly thereafter. It was rumored that he owed a great deal of money for his folly at the tables and that his options were to flee the country or be tossed into debtor’s prison. Verena was quite sure she’d have chosen a life of exciting travel over prison, as well.

She caught James’s gaze and patted his hand. “Don’t worry about the money, however much they may ask. We will find a way to raise it. But it will be my way and by my terms or not at all.”

“Ver, thank you! Are you certain this won’t get you in trouble somehow?”

“Surely even a Lansdowne deserves a winning streak.” Only one, of course. But one would be enough.

Smiling to herself, she sat down with James and began to play.