by Amelia Grey
“So I have found out. The hard way.”
He gave her a twitch of a smile, not minding that her temper hadn’t cooled. He was finding she stirred him like no other, no matter her temperament. “Why would any man give up trying to get something he wanted after only one attempt?”
She seemed to ponder on that before saying, “I’m not saying in all things, but it’s the proper thing to do in this instance.”
“And because that is the way of it,” she continued. “You aren’t supposed to break the rules and certainly not in front of the elite of Society. Probably most everyone in the ballroom is staring at us right now. I think that must be what you really wanted.”
He gave her a half smile. “Didn’t it cross your mind they were looking our way because you are beautiful?”
“What?” She blinked in horror for a second. Her cheeks flushed to a tempting shade of pink and her expression softened. “No, no, of course not. I would never think anything of the kind.”
“It’s true,” he said softly, letting his gaze sweep slowly down her face and back to her eyes. He knew he was vexing her, but he wasn’t trying to. Only stating the truth. “Everyone looks at you whether or not you are standing near the entrance with me or seated with the ladies. You’re beautiful, kind, and quite simply, Mrs. Feld, you fascinate them.”
“Stop it.” She lowered her lashes for only a second and then looked around the room again. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I won’t hear any more of it. Every lady here tonight is beautiful.”
“I stand corrected. What I should have said is that you fascinate me. And you are the only lady in the room who does.”
“Oh, you are an impossible man to talk to,” she said, looking back at him again.
“I’m determined.”
She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Yes. I suppose you could call it that as well.”
“I’m still trying to settle in my mind that you aren’t the young maiden I thought you were that night in Paris, but a strong-minded capable lady who has created a good and noble life for herself and others.” He lowered his voice to a husky whisper, and said, “I want to dance with you.”
“Why are you being so insistent?”
“Why are you refusing?” He kept his tone soft. “I’m not asking for your hand in marriage tonight, Mrs. Feld. Just for a dance. Everyone who is looking at us right now is thinking: Will she say yes to him this time or turn him away again?”
Her expression turned tense. “Tell me, my lord, would you be happy and want to dance with me if I had done to you what you did to me?”
Hell no.
“I would be flattered if a lady wanted to, no matter the reason.”
“Oh, don’t try to sell that poppycock to me,” she said sternly but quietly as one hand jerked to settle on her waist in frustration. “I don’t believe a word of it. Don’t pretend not to know every eligible lady in this room would marry you in a heartbeat. You are every lady’s dream. You are beyond handsome, a wild rake, and you are now an earl. What more could a lady want?”
He kept his gaze tightly on hers and gave his head a light shake as he smiled. “You tell me. I’m only interested in you. All I’m asking for is a dance.”
“If our situations were reversed, and I had come back from Paris and pledged a wager I was going to marry you by the end of the Season, how would you have handled it?”
He took in a long deep breath. “Carefully.”
“Which is exactly what I’m doing.”
He gave her another twitch of a smile. “But I would have never refused a dance with you, Mrs. Feld.”
“All right,” she said confidently as if she’d suddenly found courage she didn’t know she had. “Let’s get this over with. One is about to start. We’ll have to hurry.”
She marched off toward the dance floor. Zane stayed right beside her. They quickly positioned themselves in line with the others already in position for the cotillion. Ladies in a straight line faced their gentlemen partners. As the first chords were struck, they bowed to each other and the intricate dance began. It involved precise steps, perfectly timed moves, gentle touching of their gloved hands, and an occasional light gripping of their fingers as she walked underneath his upheld arm.
Zane performed the intricate maneuvers with impeccable decorum considering he wanted to grasp her small waist, pull her close to his chest, pick her up, and swing her around in his arms until they were both dizzy with delight. But that was for women in a bawdy house. Polite people didn’t dance that way.
He’d always appreciated a waltz and a lively quadrille, but he’d never cared for the older, more formal dances of Society.
Until now. He was absolutely mesmerized by her.
As the dance progressed, he had to admit it was erotic in a way it had never been for him. There was a focused commitment and deliberation in each step that he’d never noticed. Her fluttering skirts brushed his legs seductively. The technique in how their hands touched ever so lightly, how she faced him so boldly before quickly turning away gave a feeling of intimacy with her. They moved in time with each other and with remarkable compatibility.
With Mrs. Feld, the dance was a slow, sensual repeating method of pursue, catch, and release. How had he never noticed that before?
“Have you thought anymore about my proposal?” he asked as she passed under his arm for a slow twirl.
“Yes,” she answered. “I’ve been steaming about it since you were at my house.”
That was the spirit that drew him.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he answered, their open palms touching lightly again. He was tempted to let his thumb brush against her wrist when they stepped back and bowed again but refrained. He didn’t want to send her rushing from the dance floor.
They walked around in a tight circle, and when they faced each other, her eyes pierced him with a determination he hadn’t seen from her before, and suddenly, she said, “You have vexed me, my lord, to the point I think I will allow you to court me.”
A wave of anticipation swept through him like fire through dry brush. Zane nearly missed a step. Was she teasing him with her words as well as with the dance?
He remained silent and waited, sensing she would say more.
“And while doing so, I will do my best to make a proper gentleman out of you, not only for your family but the benefit for all ladies who come in contact with you.” Her gaze stayed riveted on his as she passed in front of him. “And if I succeed, I will accept your proposal by midnight at the last ball of the Season and marry you.”
Their palms met again as they stepped forward. The pressure from her touch was strong, sure. She was confident in what she was saying. His stomach tightened and his fingers closed over hers as she walked in a circle under his arm. The scent of wildflowers tempted his senses along with visions of kissing her lips, cheeks, and long, slender neck.
Taking in a deep breath, he asked, “Am I to believe you?”
Her fingers slipped out of his grip. They stepped away from each other and bowed before coming together again. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep, my lord. The question is, do you?”
With his gaze locked on hers, he vowed, “I keep my word, Mrs. Feld.”
“If that is true, I will marry you. But first, you must prove you’re capable of becoming a proper gentleman.”
“That should be easy enough,” he murmured as they walked in a tight circle. He’d been properly trained in how to be a gentleman.
“Will it?” she asked.
That’s when Zane knew all wasn’t as it seemed.
“During the remaining weeks of the Season, you must give up wine, brandy, ale, and all spirits of any kind.”
Zane gave a little snort as he clasped both her hands possessively and they twirled under each other’s arms. “Most gentlemen have a drink or two each day,” he said as her fingers slipped from his grasp again, but not before he let his thumb trace up and down her wrist a couple of
times. “If you’d rather I not, I’ll give it up for you.”
Surely, he could manage not to take a drink for a few weeks. He’d never had a reason not to but was certain he could. Since that was all she was asking, it seemed a small price to pay for what he would get in the end.
“You must also give up cards, dice, and all forms of gambling and wagering of any kind and for any reason.”
Zane’s body stiffened. They continued to move through the painstaking steps of the complicated dance. Her courage was unbelievable. To even ask such a thing of an earl or any man was daring. Not only that—he’d just been invited to join the most sought-after card club in all of London. This demand wasn’t something he could take lightly.
He was finding out he couldn’t take her lightly either. The trouble was that he was falling for all of it.
“Again, Mrs. Feld,” he said from stiff lips, unable to suppress his disagreement in his tone. “Most gentlemen play cards, whether or not they gamble. It’s a way of life that’s not usually questioned.”
“But you do both to excess,” she informed him, lifting her chin, making it clear she wouldn’t give an inch on this point. “The wager you placed at White’s is proof of that. But if you aren’t willing to try, I’ll withdraw my offer.”
She was as cool as an early autumn morning. What she asked wouldn’t be easy. Yet. Everything about her was compelling. He considered once again what he would be giving up and what he would be getting in return.
“All right,” he finally said and could see from the tension around her eyes that she hadn’t expected him to agree to the second term of her agreement. Good. It was about time he got the upper hand in this matter, or at least caught up with her.
“You don’t think I can do it,” he offered.
“Maybe for a night but not until midnight of the last ball.”
What a lovely spitfire she was turning out to be. He’d heard she was a nurturer. She enjoyed helping people. Taking care of them. Apparently, that didn’t include him.
“And there will be no swearing or cursing.”
“What?” he snapped. “Blast it, Mrs. Feld,” he whispered, missing a step. The man next to him bumped his arm and gave him a foul look. Zane paid him no mind. His eyes were set only on his partner. “You go too far.”
“No, you did that.”
“Swearing is in a man’s nature and there’s no getting around it.”
Her expression became more determined than ever, and she leaned in toward him. “A well-educated gentleman such as yourself can find words to say other than swears, curses, and cusses whether he’s with men, ladies, or horses.”
Obviously, she could be fierce when she wanted to be. Zane bit back an oath and several vile bloody cuss words he wanted to say and simply ground out, “Fine. Consider it done. Are you finished now?”
“No,” she said as he lifted his arm for her to walk under.
“What more could there be? I refuse to be in church every Sunday morning. I go on Christmas Day like most respectable people and that’s enough.”
“No women.”
No women?
Zane felt a twitch between his shoulder blades that ran up the back of his neck and throbbed in his temples. His fingers tightened on hers again. Where did she get the nerve to demand such compliance from him? The truth was he hadn’t wanted to be with another woman since he’d seen her again, but he didn’t want her telling him he couldn’t be with someone if he wanted to.
She blinked rapidly and her shapely lips were set in a firm line. He was certain she’d said no women impulsively. It wasn’t something a genteel lady of the ton would say to a man. But he also knew now she had uttered it, she’d never take it back.
“That’s going—”
Mrs. Feld froze and dropped her hands to her side and fixed her gaze on his. From the corner of his eye, Zane watched as the other dancers slowly realized what was going on and the line stopped in sequence. The music slowly died away and so did the chatter of the crowd.
Intensity radiated from her stance, her expression, and her countenance. She couldn’t have been more serious. And he knew why. She didn’t think he could do any of it.
“No women, no cards, no wagering, and no swearing,” she said unwaveringly.
“Are you trying to make me a saint?” he said a little louder than he intended.
“No. Only a gentleman. But I will end proving you can’t change your rakish ways, and furthermore, that you don’t want to.” She scoffed. “But if you can—” Suddenly her countenance changed. She relaxed her inflexible stance and smiled confidently. “I’m yours.”
The ballroom was as quiet as a sealed tomb. Realization of what was happening hit him. The kind, beautiful, and perfect widow he thought would make him respectable was really going to try to make him respectable.
He bent closer toward her ear and whispered so only she could hear, “I hope no women doesn’t include kissing. I have to kiss a lady’s hand, my sister’s and cousins’ cheeks.”
She held her ground unflinchingly as she seemed to consider what he said. “Understood,” she acknowledged in a tone as low as his. “Kissing accepted.”
Over Mrs. Feld’s shoulder, Zane watched Lyon and Garrett push through the gathered crowd and move into his view. Their wives nudged their way beside them. They were taking a stand and making sure he knew in no uncertain terms they were there to protect her if she needed them. Movement on the other side of the room caught his eye. Patricia and his uncles stepped forward too and looked on with keen interest. But were they on his side or Mrs. Feld’s?
The gauntlet had been thrown down, but Zane wasn’t sure if he’d thrown it or Mrs. Feld had. One thing was sure, this cat-and-mouse game that only the two of them were playing had been witnessed by many.
From the crowd, Zane heard whispers that did nothing to aid his thoughts on what happened between the two of them.
“He can’t do it,” a man said.
“No, he won’t accept her terms,” someone else added.
“Can’t say as I blame him.”
“What respectable gentleman would be willing to give up his ale and cards in the afternoons and his brandy in the evenings?”
“Or women?”
“He’d be a fool to try,” a different man answered.
“I’d say she got the best of him.”
Not yet, she hadn’t, Zane thought. His pursuit of Mrs. Feld had only just begun.
Chapter 7
The only sound Brina heard was her own breathing.
She knew there had been times in life when things got out of hand, but those times usually happened to Julia. Her friend was noted for unintentional mishaps and was more adept at handling unexpected surprises of her own making. But really, Brina must put the blame for this catastrophe exactly where it rightly belonged. On the Earl of Blacknight’s more than ample shoulders.
It was almost as if he’d goaded her into making demands by accepting the first one. Why had he done that?
She wouldn’t have said a word to him if he hadn’t asked her for a dance the second time. Something no proper gentleman would have ever done. And despite her resolve to ignore him, he’d seemingly so innocently pulled her into a discussion she didn’t want to have, making it easy for her to trade words with him. Most disturbing of all was how their exchange made her feel invigorated—alive. Their entire conversation had been astounding. They were quibbling over the possibility of marriage. A subject that should always be handled delicately and in private.
They had an entire ballroom looking on and trying to listen.
Obviously, nothing was sacred to Blacknight. He did need someone to teach him proper conduct. Suddenly, there was something immensely thrilling about being the one who was going to do that.
He was a powerfully built man. Handsome. Tempting. She wasn’t immune to his physical presence. Much as she’d like to be. It was the intensity with which she felt the attraction that unsettled her. Sensations too rapturous
to think about stirred within her when she looked at him. She was a widow. Seasoned and rational. She shouldn’t be giving in to the feelings he stirred up inside her.
Seconds ticked by as they stood silently in front of each other as if they were daring the other to be the next to speak. The crowd remained quiet too and continued to watch them. She had no idea how much of their conversation some had heard.
But enough.
Where had she gotten the nerve, the fortitude to be so bold to an earl who was known for his gambling, drinking, and carousing with women? And in front of so many people? She wasn’t the kind of person to need attention or affirmation.
If she’d ever wanted to back down from anything in her life, it was now. But, of course, she couldn’t. She’d gone too far. Somehow the earl had drawn her into bargaining with him for something she didn’t want.
Marriage.
It was insane.
But it was done. And the black-hearted rake that he was, he’d agreed to all her demands.
In truth, there was no one to blame or thank but herself for the position she was in.
With her wits finally returning, there was no time to ponder further the ins and outs of the ways this man aroused her. She needed to bring this spectacle in front of everyone to a close. Filled with resolve, she leaned in toward him and said, “We have one more thing to discuss before this is settled.”
He followed her lead and inclined closer to her too. “You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Feld.”
With her courage returned, she replied, “You are asking me to give up my freedom. If there is even the slightest possibility that you might win, I want to make sure you’re going to be worth it. Walk with me. I need a glass of champagne.”
“I need one too,” he muttered under his breath.
Brina cut her eyes around to his as her brows rose, and she set her lips in a firm line.
“But I won’t be having one,” he added under his breath. “I’ll be happy to get a glass for you.”
They started walking away from the dance floor and toward a refreshment table that had been set up on the far side of the ballroom.