Twenty One

Sebastien snorted and blew a ring toward the gilded ceiling.

The duke shrugged. "The status of birth doesn‟t matter for these few months."

Benedict looked shocked. He opened his mouth to say something stupid or pleading. Sebastien leaned back and let the hard toe of his boot hammer into the other man‟s knee. Benedict buckled, his cards showing briefly. Sebastien switched the card he was going to play, accordingly.

The pain didn‟t seem to stop the conduit between Benedict‟s bottle-headed brain and his mouth, however. "Why would you bet on another‟s son? At least if you bet on Deville it would explain—"

"Explain what? I bet on the favorite. If you think you will win, prove the books wrong."

Cheevers nodded at the duke‟s comment and motioned toward Sebastien.

"Deville hardly looks bothered. And he‟s a bastard on top of it."