More Than a Mistress

Glints of amber danced in his eyes. ‘You have no idea.’

Oh, but she did, because her blood was stirring and her pulse fluttering in places she shouldn’t be aware of in polite company. She felt more alive than she had for months, perhaps years. For the first time since her fall into disgrace, she felt her body tingle with interest and excitement.

Lust.

Thank goodness she knew it for what it was and could resist it.

Caroline cast her warning glance, an admonition that the flirtation was getting out of hand.

What did it matter if she flirted a little? It wasn’t as if she could be ruined. And this man with his icy reserve deserved a little shaking up. Pretending not to notice Caroline’s unspoken message, she raised a brow. ‘Well, Lord Tonbridge? You didn’t answer my question. Perhaps you are a gambler or a rake?’

‘Both,’ he said, his expression suddenly darker. ‘Have you a wish to test my skills? ‘

Caroline coughed and picked up her water. ‘My throat is dry,’ she muttered after a sip.

Merry only knew one way to deal with a man of his sort. Call his bluff. ‘La, sir, where would we start? With a wager? Or a seduction?’

Dark eyes observed her intently, then flicked to Caroline, who was bright pink and looking mortified. ‘I bow to your wishes,’ he said, his deep voice a silky caress on her ears.

Her stomach did a long slow lazy roll that left her breathless. And speechless. Blast him, he didn’t scare easily. Most of the noblemen she’d met in the past would be running a mile by now at the thought of an entanglement with Merry Draycott.

Gribble entered quietly with his minion at his heels to clear the table for the remove, affording her the opportunity to marshal her defences.

‘Do you plan a long stay at Durn, my lord?’ Caroline asked, covering an awkward silence as the servants went about their business.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, looking at Merry. ‘It depends on several factors.’

Merry really didn’t like the thrill that rippled through her at the thought that she might be a factor. Did she? He might be the handsomest man she’d ever seen, but he had an arrogance about him, a sense of entitlement, put there by wealth and position. There was also a coldness. It wafted from him like a chill wind. He’d judged her instantly and sensed his superiority. Perhaps he thought she should be honoured to fall at his feet. The thought jangled her pride. A need to take the wind out of his sails was pushing her into outrageous behaviour she could not seem to stop.

Finished with their tasks, the servants withdrew.

‘Can I offer you some of this very fine aspic, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.

Caroline inclined her head. ‘Yes, please, my lord.’

He raised his gaze to her face. ‘Merry?’

She should not have given him permission to use her first name. It put her at a distinct disadvantage. ‘A small amount. Thank you.’

He served Caroline first. He had large strong hands. The fingers were elegant, yet not at all limp or fluttery. Grandfather always knew a man’s nature from the way he shook hands. Most of the time, men bowed over hers, so she never got the opportunity to judge their grip. She’d found other ways to assess their worth.

The way a man handled his knife and fork and the business of eating told her a great deal. This one used his implements with casual ease and ate with firm elegance and a pleasing economy of movement. The Marquis of Tonbridge exceeded all her standards.

He’d been good with the horses, too, she recalled, firm, yet gentle. Not once had he pulled on their delicate mouths while keeping firm control.

Was she letting her biases lead her astray in regard to this man? Was he merely following her lead out of politeness? If she truly believed so, she should simply bid him goodnight after dinner and retire. It would not be difficult to declare a headache or weariness from the day’s events.

But she didn’t believe he was just being polite for a minute. He wanted to put her in her place. She could see it in his eyes.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said, raising a brow.

Clearly, he needed a lesson in humility. ‘Why don’t we start with a wager?’

He raised a brow. ‘Cards? Or do you prefer dice?’

‘Billiards,’ she said. ‘If you play?’

He nodded. ‘Billiards it is.’

The conversation passed on to more mundane topics and it was not long before Caroline was making her excuses, leaving Merry to deal with the fruits of her challenge.

The billiard room was, without a doubt, the most comfortable room Charlie had entered so far. Linen-fold panelled walls of oak provided a warm background for comfortably heavy wooden furniture dating back to the last century. An equally impressive green baize-covered slate table stood in the centre of a red-and-green-patterned rug.

Not a scrap of velvet or gilt in sight. A relief to his weary eyes. The only glitter beneath the overhead light was Miss Draycott herself. Merry. What an apt name for such an unusual female.

She eyed the balls, running her palm up and down her cue. Her fingers were long and fine and the action brought other images to mind. Sensual images.

The simmering arousal he’d been fighting all evening made itself known with a disgruntled jolt.

He’d never before felt such instant attraction for such a—how did one describe this woman? Statuesque, certainly. Gloriously so. She didn’t have to crane her neck to see his face. He’d thought he liked his women small and delicate. Until now.

He certainly wouldn’t worry about hurting her when romping around in a bed. His body stirred in approval. He tamped down his desire. The last thing he needed was a distraction like Merry Draycott.

For an unprotected woman, she was far too bold for her own good. Many men would have no qualms about taking advantage. He had to admit he found the prospect tempting.

Her behaviour had him thoroughly off kilter, too. On occasion, her manner of speech left much to be desired. At other times she seemed almost genteel. She confused him. And, unfortunately, intrigued him.

For an instant at dinner, he’d suspected the two women of being more than platonic friends, that they might worship at the altar of Sappho, but as the meal progressed he had not sensed anything warmer than friendship.

Not that he was averse to the special friendships some women preferred. It just put those particular women out of reach, and, in her case, he’d felt disappointed.

The truth was, he wanted her. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so urgent about having a woman. He fought to control the impulse to seduce her. As her guest, good manners required he accommodate his hostess’s wishes. A part of him wished those desires included more than a high-stakes game of billiards. The undercurrents swirling around them suggested they might. And no matter what he thought, his baser male nature wanted to oblige.

A man about to become betrothed did not enter into an entanglement with another woman. Hell, he’d just got rid of his long-term mistress for that very reason.

Meeting this particular woman on the road was, without a doubt, a confounded nuisance.

She played a damned fine game of billiards, too. She’d won the first game, mostly because he had been focusing too much on her sweet little bottom when she’d leaned over the table. A quite deliberate ploy on her part, no doubt. Not unlike a Captain Sharp plying his mark with gin.

He watched her saunter around the table with a jaunty swing of her hips and clenched his jaw. She was deliberately tormenting him with a gown that skimmed her breasts and revealed every curve when she walked. While her gown wasn’t any more provocative than many respectable married ladies of the ton wore to a drum or a rout, on her, it seemed positively decadent.

The woman was a menace. Teasing a man came with consequences she might not like. Perhaps she needed a lesson in acceptable behaviour. A warning.

He covered his mouth and yawned widely. ‘Excuse me. It’s been a long day. I think I am ready to retire.’

She frowned. ‘Afraid you will lose again?’

‘Not at all,’ he drawled. ‘My interest is waning. I’m afraid I need more of a challenge.’