Lady Allerton's Wager

He picked his way through the entwined couples and crossed the checkerboard black and white tiles of the hall. He vaguely remembered that the study was the third door on the left and he was just in time to catch the faintest swish of material as Beth whisked through the door, leaving it ajar for him.

Marcus smiled to himself. The situation was most promising and, despite his cynicism, he had to admit that there was something intriguing about the lady’s air of aloof mystery. Perhaps it was all assumed simply to whet jaded appetites, but it was working on him and he was more world-weary than most. He quickened his step, went into the study and closed the door behind him.

It was a small room with a mahogany card table and chairs in the middle and matching mahogany bookcases about the walls. Long amber curtains shut out the night and the only light came from one lamp, standing on a side table.

Beth was standing beside the window. She had taken the dice from their box on the table and was tossing them lightly in one hand. She did not look up when Marcus came in and for a moment he thought he sensed something tense and wary in her stance, though the impression was fleeting.

He took a step forward. ‘Would you care to indulge in a game of chance, sweetheart?’ he asked.

She looked at him then, a stare as straight and protracted as the one she had first given him in the ballroom. Marcus was amused. He knew of few men and even fewer women who were so direct. Her eyes were a shadowed silver behind the mask, her gaze as deliberate and fearless as a cat.

‘If you are sure that you wish to play, my lord.’

They were talking in double entendres now and Marcus appreciated her quick wit. It made the pursuit even more enjoyable. He wondered if she knew who he was, even though he had given only his name and not his title. It was entirely possible. She had focused on him from the first and he did not flatter himself that it was simply because she was attracted to him. She might well consider that his status and physical attributes outweighed a lack of fortune. And fortune was relative anyway. He could pay her well enough.

He kept his eyes on her face and smiled slowly. ‘I’m sure. Which game do you prefer?’

The lady smiled too, the dimple quivering again at the corner of her deliciously curved mouth. Marcus suddenly wished he could cut to the chase and simply kiss her. It was a high-risk strategy and might backfire, but it was very tempting. He took a step closer. She took one back.

‘Hazard might be appropriate,’ she said coolly, tossing the dice from one hand to the other. ‘One throw of the dice. The winner takes all.’

Marcus hesitated. It was clear from her words that she would be his prize if he won and he considered it very sporting of her to offer her services for free. The reckoning would come later, of course, if they suited each other: the villa, the carriage, the jewels…

But if she won the wager…

‘I like your terms, but first I need to know what you want from me if I lose,’ he drawled. ‘I do not have a fortune to offer. What would you settle for, sweetheart?’

He waited confidently for her to name her price. A necklace of diamonds, perhaps, to outclass the exquisite but tasteful grey pearls already around her neck.

She moved closer until he could smell her perfume. It was a subtle mix of jasmine and rose petals, warm as the sun on the skin, and it sent his senses into even more of a spin. Damn it, whatever the price, it had to be worth it.

‘I don’t want a fortune,’ she said sweetly, ‘just a small part of your patrimony. I want Fairhaven Island.’

Marcus stared. It comprehensively answered the question of whether or not she knew who he was, but it seemed an extraordinary suggestion. Fairhaven fell in the part of his estate that he had not yet had time to visit, but as far as he was concerned, it was a storm-swept isle in the middle of the Bristol Channel that supported a few people, a flock of sheep and nothing else. There was no earthly reason he could see why it should appeal to a courtesan. It was worth absolutely nothing at all.

Part of his mind prompted him to ask a few questions and get to the bottom of the mystery. The other part, tantalised by her perfume, suggested that there was no need to cavil and he was bound to win the bet anyway. Even if he lost he was fairly certain that he could persuade her to humour him. The time for a discussion on land and property was not now, when he wanted to sweep her into his arms, but later and best left to the lawyers.

‘Very well,’ he said, adding slowly, ‘Do you always honour your bets?’

She looked away for the first time. ‘I do not usually gamble, my lord. Do you honour yours?’

Marcus laughed. No man would have dared ask him that question but, after all, he had questioned her integrity first. And she still had not really answered him.

‘I never renege,’ he said. He took her hand in his and felt her tremble slightly. Her skin was very soft; he turned the hand over and pressed a kiss on the palm. ‘But you did not answer my question.’

There was a flash of something in her eyes that almost looked like fear but it was gone as swiftly as it had come. She raised her chin.

‘I will pay my debt, my lord—if I lose.’

Marcus nodded. He drew her closer until one of her palms was resting against his chest.

‘And if I wish to take something on credit?’ he asked, his voice a little rough.

‘Then you might find yourself even further in debt since there is no guarantee that you would win.’ She looked him straight in the eye. ‘If you are willing to take the risk—’

It took Marcus only a split second to decide that he was. He bent his head and brought his mouth down on hers.

He was experienced enough not to try to take too much too soon. Even a Cyprian liked to be courted and he was no naïve boy to pounce without finesse. He kissed her gently, exploratively, holding her like china until he felt the tension slide from her body and she started to respond to him. She tasted soft and sweet and very innocent. She even trembled in his arms. It had to be an illusion, but it was such a beguiling one that Marcus felt his self-control slipping dangerously. He deepened the kiss and, after a moment’s hesitation, she kissed him back tentatively, pressing a little closer to him. Desire surged through his body, so powerful it pushed all other thoughts aside and he pulled her to him fiercely, careless now of gentleness. But it was too late—she was withdrawing from him, as elusive as she had ever been. Marcus stifled a groan of frustration.

‘The game, my lord?’ Her voice was husky.

The game. He had forgotten. Intent on a different game of his own devising, he had not been certain that she would persist in their wager. Still, he was quite willing to indulge her.

‘If you wish.’ Marcus shrugged. ‘All on the one throw.’ He gave her a slight bow. ‘I will concede you the honour of calling the main, madam.’

Beth threw him one swift glance. ‘Then I call a nine.’

She took the dice up and cast them on to the walnut table. Marcus watched them spin and settle on the polished wood. A five and a four. She really had the devil’s own luck. He could not believe it. He smiled a little. ‘Will you play for the best of three?’

‘Certainly not.’ She sounded breathless and as she turned into the light he saw the expression on her face. He had expected triumph or greed. What he saw was relief.

‘Fairhaven,’ she said, on a questioning note. ‘You will honour your bet, my lord?’

Marcus did not reply. For the first time, doubt surfaced in his mind, faint but troubling. She had come close to him again; her skirt brushed against his thigh. Part of him responded to her proximity, but he clamped down hard on his desire and tried to concentrate.

‘Why do you want it?’ he asked.

She laughed then and he saw the triumph that had been missing a moment before. ‘Your question comes a little late, my lord! Surely that is academic now.’ She took a step back and her silken skirts rustled. ‘My man of business will call on yours on the morrow. Goodnight, my lord!’

She turned to go, but Marcus caught her arm in a tight grip and spun her round to face him. He tore the mask from her face with impatient fingers. Without it she was even more striking than he had supposed. Her face was a pure oval, the smoky eyes set far apart beneath flyaway black brows, the nose small and straight, the sultry mouth that was not smiling now. She was breathing very quickly and he could tell that she was afraid. And that she was not the courtesan she pretended to be. For some reason that took all the anger out of him.

‘One of us is in the wrong place, I believe,’ he said slowly.

‘It is I,’ she said simply. ‘Did you truly believe me a Cyprian, my lord?’

Marcus started to laugh. He could not help himself. ‘Assuredly. Until I kissed you.’

That gave him the advantage. He saw the colour come up into her face and she tried to free herself from his grip. He stood back, letting her go with exaggerated courtesy. No, indeed, this was no courtesan, but even so he still wanted her. He had no idea whom she was, but he intended to find out.

‘You will honour your bet?’ she asked again.

Marcus grinned, folding his arms. ‘I will not.’

He saw the fury come into her eyes and held her gaze steadfastly with his own.

‘I will make you do so!’ she said.

‘How?’ Marcus shifted slightly. ‘Are you telling me that you would have honoured yours had I won? If so, I would press you to play me for the best of three!’