My Lady's Dare

Elizabeth was surprised by the equanimity with which the gambler was dealing with his loss. She had expected rage. She knew that what he had told the earl was the truth. Everything Bonnet had was tied up in this house. And now…

“I wish you well of her,” the Frenchman added.

The phrase reverberated strangely in Elizabeth’s consciousness. It made no sense in the context of his congratulations. Why would he wish Dare “well of her”?

“And good riddance,” the gambler added softly in French, his eyes meeting hers. And then his tone changed, as did his language. “Gentlemen,” he said, speaking to his guests in English, “it has, as always, been a pleasure to entertain you. I hope you will all return tomorrow night. Since the earl has been so kind as to leave me my house, play will resume then. And I especially look forward to the opportunity of another encounter with you, my Lord Dare.”

The earl had risen. He gathered the notes that lay scattered across the table and stacked them together before he shoved the thick wad into the pocket of his coat.

“The pleasure was mine,” Dare said. “And as for a return engagement…” His eyes found Elizabeth’s face. “Anything is possible, of course, but I believe I’ve won already the best your house has to offer.”

“I wish you joy of her, my lord. Be warned. She’s headstrong and occasionally needs a firm hand.”

“Indeed?” Dare said, his eyes still on her face. “Such as the one you applied?” he asked softly.

Slowly realization began to dawn for Elizabeth. They were talking about her as if…

The Earl of Dare presented his arm. She stared at him, her mind racing. “Madam?” he said.

“What does this mean?” she asked, breathless with anxiety.

“I have won you. I trust you have no objections.”

“Won me?” she repeated. “I’m not a thing that might be won, my lord.”

“It was my understanding from Monsieur Bonnet that you are. And as a result of that understanding, I have just…won you.”

“No,” she said softly, appealing to the Frenchman. “Tell him, Henri, that he is—”

“A long-standing rule of the house, my dear,” the Frenchman interrupted. “Whatever a gentleman wishes to wager is allowed—if the value is deemed appropriate. Apparently the earl believed your value to be…appropriate.”

“You wagered me?” she asked, her voice incredulous.

“You were the stake Lord Dare required.”

“But surely you can’t mean…” she began, and then her voice faltered, the words dying away. She didn’t understand what Bonnet was up to, but she knew him well enough by now to know there was more to this than appeared on the surface. And the less she said that might endanger his plans the better it would be for her.

“Come, Mrs. Carstairs. I’m not usually considered to be such an ogre as all this,” Dare said lazily.

His eyes again examined the place where Bonnet had struck her. By now, she supposed her cheek would have begun to discolor. Her mouth was very sore where the flesh had cut against her teeth.

Then the earl’s eyes fastened once more on hers. In them was a question. He believed he was offering her escape. A way to leave Bonnet’s cruelty behind. And he was naturally curious as to why she wasn’t more eager to accept it.

“The unknown is always more frightening than the known, my lord,” she said very softly, “no matter how…unpleasant the known may be.”

“Frightening?” he repeated, his beautifully shaped lips tilting at the corners. “I’m quite sure that I have never before been considered frightening. And I promise I shall endeavor to make your stay with me at least as pleasant as your ‘service’ has been here.”

It was the same word Bonnet had used at the beginning of the evening. Her service. Never before had the gambler made that offer, and when he had done so tonight, her fury had almost escaped her control. In her situation, she could never afford to let that happen.

“I’m sure the earl will treat you with every consideration, my dear,” Bonnet said. “I wish you well.”

And with those words, it seemed she would have to be content, her own questions unanswered. At least for tonight.

Dare was still looking at her. She turned her head, and he smiled at her again, his blue eyes full of curiosity. Perhaps even kindness.

Elizabeth Carstairs, however, no longer believed in kindness. Or in men who acted from altruistic motives. She knew very well what had prompted the Earl of Dare to demand that Bonnet make her his stake tonight. Therefore, she knew exactly what to expect from him. And she also knew there was nothing she could do except acquiesce. Not if this was what Bonnet wanted.

“Come, Mrs. Carstairs,” the earl said again.

The smile was gone, and although the words were soft, they were obviously a command. And so she placed her hand on the Earl of Dare’s arm, and this time, despite her dread, she was pleased to find that, through an enormous act of will, it did not tremble.

Dare had expected Elizabeth Carstairs to be grateful for his rescue, and instead she was clearly dismayed by the prospect of coming home with him. He might be suffering from wounded vanity, he supposed, smiling at the notion in the concealing dimness of the carriage’s interior. He had not really been anticipating any particularly favorable reaction to him. Nothing except a little gratitude, perhaps.

It seemed, however, that she didn’t plan to offer him even that. She hadn’t spoken since he’d handed her into the carriage. Through the window on her side of the closed coach, she had examined the London streets, which were just coming to life, as if she had never seen them before.

Maybe she hadn’t. At least not at this hour. Dare had, usually when coming home from an all-night gaming session such as they had just left. Or when returning from his mistress’s.

“I shall send for your things,” he said, more to solicit a response than because he was concerned about whatever possessions she had left behind. Those could be easily replaced.

“Thank you,” she said.

She turned to face him finally. In the sunlight, the cosmetics, even artfully applied, were jarring. There was something about them that was blatantly out of place. They simply didn’t fit. Not with her speech or with her manner. Of course, that shouldn’t be too surprising. Almost nothing he now knew about her fit with those.

“How long have you worked for Bonnet?” he asked.

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then she said, “Almost two years, my lord.”

“And before that?”

“Surely my past can be of no concern to you, Lord Dare,” she said softly, her eyes almost defiant.

“I’m simply curious,” he said. “Indulge me.”

He was curious, of course, but that wasn’t why he was pressing the issue. He wanted her to talk. She was obviously hiding something, and the sooner he discovered what it was, the sooner he could put this entire quixotic episode behind him. After all, there were other things he should be doing today, far more important than trying to unravel the mystery of the Frenchman’s whore.

The word jolted, annoyingly, almost painfully, just as the rouge was jarring against the clear purity of her skin. But she probably is a whore, he reminded himself. Before his admittedly romantic nature managed to transform her into something else, Dare knew he needed to engrave that fact on his consciousness.

“The story of my life isn’t particularly interesting,” she said. “Or unusual. I’m sure you would quickly become bored if I attempted to tell it to you.”

“Why don’t you let me make that determination.”

“Because it doesn’t matter. What I did before I came to Bonnet’s has nothing to do with the present. And certainly nothing to do with now.”

And nothing to do with you, her tone suggested.

“Be warned, Mrs. Carstairs. Mystery piques my interest. Forbidden fruit, I suppose.”

“There is no mystery. If you must hear it, mine’s an ordinary enough story. My husband died, leaving a number of debts. Many of those were owed to Monsieur Bonnet. He made an offer of employment, and I accepted it.”