“Red,” she whispered.

Red it was, and even better, a man at the table threw up his hands in glee. He had won. And winning at the roulette wheel was a triumph.

Chance was a remarkable thing.

She had built this empire upon it – upon luck and fate, fortune and destiny. She’d learned remarkable lessons about lies and truths, about revenge. About scandal. But she still grew breathless when the roulette wheel spun.

The door to the suite opened, and she knew without looking who had entered, the way the air shifted, the way her breath quickened. Duncan’s arms were around her, warm and strong, and he followed her gaze to the floor. “A dozen games on the floor of your hell,” he whispered at her ear. “And you always choose roulette. Why?”

“It is the only game that is truly left to the fates,” she said. “It is the only game that cannot be calculated. Its reward is risk as much as anything else.” She turned in his arms, reaching up to clasp her hands behind his neck. “It is like life – we spin the wheel and…”

He kissed her, long and deep, his hands coming to her waist, pulling her tight against him.

When he released her, she sighed. “And sometimes we are well rewarded.”

His hands slid to the heavy swell of her stomach, where his child grew. “Sometimes we are,” he agreed. “Though I will tell you that I often worry that my luck has been too good – that I am due to run out.”

“You have lived enough bad luck for a lifetime. I don’t intend for you ever to run out.”

He raised a brow. “And you have the power to deliver an edict to the fates?”

She grinned. “On days when you do not have luck, you must rely on something else.”

He kissed her again, then turned her to the window once more. They watched for long moments as cards turned and dice flew and men played their games before she stretched, trying to ease the kink in her back. “You promised me you would sleep more,” he said, his hands coming to the small of her back, pressing, soothing the ache that seemed to live there now that she neared the end of her term. “You are not supposed to be here.”

She looked up at him, surprise on her face. “You cannot imagine that I would miss the game,” she said. “It might well be my last. The baby shall be here too soon.”

“Not soon enough,” he said. “I never allowed myself to wish for children; there were too many ways I could ruin their lives.”

“Once he is here, you will wish him gone again,” she teased, turning back to the casino floor. “He shall scream and squawk.”

“Once she is here, I will wish her near me all the time,” he vowed. “Alongside her mother and her sister.”

She smiled. “Your passel of adoring admirers.”

“I can think of worse things,” he said, wrapping her in his arms and letting her lean into him. His hand slid down her stomach to her thigh, fingers gathering her skirts, pulling them up until she was bare to the knee.

“I have always adored you in trousers, love, but skirts must be the best thing about your pregnancy.” His fingers grazed the skin of her thigh, and she parted for him, letting his touch creep higher until he reached the place where she was suddenly ready for him.

“We cannot.” She sighed, leaning into him, letting him hold her safe. “They are coming.”

He sighed his disappointment. “You could be coming as well, you know.”

She laughed as the door to the suite opened again, and he dropped her skirts, pressing a hot kiss to the side of her neck. Taking her earlobe between his teeth, he promised her, “Tonight.”

She turned to face her partners, a blush high on her cheeks.

Bourne seated his wife at the card table, before raising a knowing brow in Georgiana’s direction. As he headed to the sideboard to pour himself a scotch, he said, “Good evening, Mrs. West.”

She warmed at the name just as she always did – she could have kept the “Lady” into which she was born. It was her due as the daughter of a duke, but she did not want it. Every time someone referred to her as Mrs. West, she was reminded of the man she married. Of the life they had made together – three, soon to become four.

Georgiana and Duncan West ruled London’s ballrooms with their combined power – the newspaper magnate and his glittering, clever bride. Still a scandal, but one worth having at a dinner table – and the aristocracy did enjoy that.

And when they were not dining at tables across Britain, she continued to run the club as Chase. Anna, on the other hand, had taken her leave soon after Duncan and Georgiana were married, after a particularly dangerous evening that ended in a surgeon having to be called after Duncan attacked a member who was altogether too friendly with Anna.

It was best, because the two of them struggled to keep their hands from each other, and it would have been only a matter of time before someone connected the spots between West’s two loves.

Pippa and Cross took their own seats at the table, Cross extracting his deck of cards and setting them in front of him as Pippa craned around to see Georgiana. She blinked. “You grow bigger by the minute,” she said.

“Pippa!” Lady Bourne said. “You are gorgeous, Georgiana.”

“I did not say she was not gorgeous,” Pippa said to her sister before returning her attention to Georgiana. “I simply said you were growing. I think it might be twins.”

“What do you know about twins?” The Duchess of Lamont entered, trailed by Temple, who was discussing a file with Asriel.