“You have eyes and ears, Your Grace,” Halford stated, lifting a brow, completely unashamed.
It was all he could do not to throttle the man. But that would not aid Lady Victoria in the slightest. Instead, he gave a cold smile. “Then I shall wager.”
“Shall you, Your Grace?” Halford said lightly, though there was a sudden brightness to his gaze. “I am most surprised. I heard you’ve no interest to marry.”
“I have no interest,” he agreed, pulling back the chair before him and sitting at the table. “But I cannot wait by and witness this unfold. Since no one is going to step forward and rescue the lady, I find that I must.”
Craven gave him a dark stare. “Your presence is not required, and I am about to win.”
“Not while I’m here,” Chase replied evenly, though his insides coiled. Bloody hell, he wished he could smash Craven’s face against the table. But dukes didn’t do that. Oh no, dukes used other weapons of destruction.
Halford gave him a quick, nervous look, then passed the dice and cup over to him. “We’re playing best two out of three, Your Grace. If I lose, Craven wins her. Are you throwing your hand in?”
“It seems so,” Chase stated. Halford’s strange determination to play this out struck him as odd. The whole situation was sick. Particularly since he felt certain that if Halford won this round…he might simply wager Lady Victoria again this night.
He felt confidence combined with anger as he eased back in his chair.
Luck had always been on his side. Even when the darkest day of his life had unfolded, Lady Fortuna had laid a gilded carpet before him for his feet to tread.
Chase didn’t lose at cards or at dice, not when he chose to play. All his life, he’d been an incredibly lucky individual, whether it had been on the battlefield or in the halls of power. He always succeeded, and he knew he would succeed again now. He had to.
A young lady’s life was on the line. He had vowed never to have an heir and avoided matrimony. But if he was going to marry someone…
Victoria Kirby would do very well.
And he sure as hell wasn’t about to let her go to someone like Craven.
He took the cup, shook it, and rolled the dice. A general sound of excitement and interest went up around them. He had rolled an eleven.
Craven let out a curse. “She was mine until you sat down.”
“More pity you,” Chase said. “But I have not won yet, have I?”
“Indeed, you have not,” Halford said.
Craven narrowed his dark eyes, picked up the dice, shook the cup, and rolled a nine. Craven cursed at the sight of the black dots on the white ivory squares. Halford, on the other hand, gave the strangest look.
One that Chase couldn’t quite read.
Halford picked up the dice himself, rolled, and made a six.
Chase let out a derisive sound. “You really would lose her to Craven, wouldn’t you?”
“Take care, Your Grace, or I shall call you out,” Craven gritted.
“Oh, do,” Chase said with a hard stare. “I should be happy to face you on a field and ask which area of your body you’d like to receive a wound.”
Craven paled.
Chase’s reputation on the dueling field was well known. He hated duels, but every now and then he did have to fight them. It was all part of his reputation, all part of the life he’d chosen not very long ago—to develop a reputation as a rake and a wastrel.
It had taken him time to build said reputation, but build it he had. And now, men were generally terrified of facing him on the field.
No, he only faced enraged husbands, and Craven was not an enraged husband. All others didn’t dare challenge him.
Chase took up the dice, put them in the cup, and shook. The crowd around them veritably held their breath.
He rolled.