Sexy As Hell

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OSMOND, BARON LENNOX, was known for his luck at cards. Oz would call it skill, but regardless of the reason, there was no doubt he was on a winning streak tonight. A crowd had slowly gathered round the table as the stakes rose, and Brooks’s members, gamesters to the core, were hazarding wagers on how long Elphinstone would last. Viscount Elphinstone had been losing heavily. While his pиre could afford it, Elphinstone was clearly rankled. He was slumped in his chair, coatless, disheveled, red faced, and looking pugnacious-although that may have been due to the family’s propensity to breed true on their bulldog features.

Elphinstone’s major opponent at the table was lounging back in his chair, his dark eyes amused, a half smile on his handsome face, nonchalance in every lithe contour of his tall, lean frame. Or rather, indifference some might say; Lennox never seemed to care whether he won or lost.

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