What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  Priscilla brought the glass to her lips and gave a coy smile. “You might.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Not quite.”

  Matthew drained what was left of the brandy in his glass. “I have an idea how to please you.”

  “Just one? Are you not known for your prowess in the bedchamber? Has your appetite for carnal pleasures been exaggerated?”

  “There is only one way to find out.” He arched a brow. “Put me to the test.”

  No doubt he would always have the upper hand when it came to banter. “You can start by telling me your idea.”

  “To prove you right, and support the theory that I’m not entirely selfish, I shall tailor the evening around the things you like.”

  She liked a great many things she’d not mentioned. The taste of brandy on his lips. The way his tongue danced with hers to send shocks shooting to her core.

  “Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but isn’t it rather late for a picnic?”

  “Not at all. It’s only late if one wants to sit in the park.” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Thrusting the empty glass into her hand, he marched from the room.

  While waiting, Priscilla placed the empty glasses on the table. She contemplated refilling them though it would not be wise for her to drink much more. Her husband possessed a charismatic charm she found highly addictive. It took a tremendous effort not to strip to her chemise and surrender her body. She was heading into dangerous territory. The desire to place his needs above her own was fast becoming a priority.

  The sudden commotion in the hall diverted her attention. Matthew entered the drawing room, held open the door for two footmen carrying a low table.

  “Place it in the centre of the room, on top of the rug.” Matthew pointed to the exact position. “Bring a cloth, cutlery, and serve the dishes on smaller platters.”

  Numerous servants bustled in and out, set about laying the table and transporting their meal from the kitchen.

  Hopkins appeared at the door. “Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?”

  Matthew scanned the array of delectable dishes: fish, asparagus tart, a terrine of some sort, the quantity far too much for two people. “We’re just missing the bowl of strawberries.”

  “That might prove to be a problem,” Hopkins said with a hint of remorse. “Cook had not factored strawberries into the week's menu.”

  Matthew’s shoulders sagged. “Can you not find some from somewhere?”

  Hopkins grimaced. “What with the hour being late…”

  “Never mind,” she said. Matthew’s eagerness to please touched her. The thoughtful gesture was enough. “We’ll save the strawberries for another time.”

  Hopkins inclined his head. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “No, we shall serve ourselves. I’ll inform you once we’ve finished.” Matthew stepped outside with Hopkins, returned a moment later and closed the door. “Your picnic, my lady.” With an air of smug satisfaction, he gestured to the table.

  “Are we to sit on the floor?” Excitement bubbled in her belly at the thought of such unconventional behaviour.

  “Is that not what people do on picnics?”

  Priscilla stepped onto the Persian rug, but Matthew came forward and caught her wrist.

  “There is just one more thing to do before we eat,” he said threading his fingers into her hair. His head was so close his warm breath breezed across her cheek. With nimble fingers, he removed the pins slowly. One at a time. Golden locks tumbled around her shoulders, and he teased them loose, brushed a few tendrils from her face. “I can’t promise you’ll feel the wind blowing your hair, but hopefully you’ll feel a similar sense of freedom.”

  A strange ache filled her chest: a yearning she had never experienced before. It took all the effort she possessed not to throw her arms around his neck and plunder his mouth.

  “Are you attempting to seduce me?”

  He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Only if it’s working.”

  It was working.

  “Do you think it is?”

  A sinful smile touched his lips. “Well, I hear the hitch in your breath. I see the glazed look of desire swimming in your eyes. You’ve moistened your lips too many times to count.” He trailed his fingers from her shoulder down the front of her dress. “I could offer a host of other observations, but I fear my licentious banter will ruin the moment.”

  Priscilla swallowed in an attempt to gather her wits. Everything he said was true. But she would not surrender without gaining something in return.

  “You enjoy a wager,” she said, for it would not do to appear too eager. “Do you feel confident enough to gamble?”

  Matthew drew his head back, wide eyes conveying his surprise at the challenge. “What did you have in mind?”

  “While we eat, we will play a game. We will draw cards. The winner of each hand can demand something from the other.” She would use the opportunity to find out more about him. Where did he go on those nightly outings? Why did he distance himself from his family? Had Lucinda Pearce approached him again? “And the loser must comply.”

  A snigger burst from his lips. “If I win, you do know what I’ll want as my prize.”

  “Of course. You will want to pleasure me until I beg to be … now, what was that delightful word you used?”

  “I shall refrain from using the obscenity in your presence again.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You won’t beat me. I may have been duped by sharps, but I have some skill for cards.”

  Priscilla shrugged. “It will be a game of chance. No one can predict the outcome.”

  “Trust me, love. I’m not leaving this room until I’ve claimed your body.”

  In that regard, she had nothing to lose, everything to gain. Of course, it helped that she had an excellent memory and could recall every card previously played.

  “Then pray Fate is on your side.” Fate owed her something for her plight.

  Perhaps her luck was about to change.

  Chapter 12

  As a man who found most people predictable, and whose expectations were rarely challenged, he had to admit his wife surprised him at every turn. How was it possible to convey innocence while employing the skills of a temptress?

  Are you attempting to seduce me?

  Her words echoed in his ears. The situation was laughable. The only person being seduced was him. Inside, his blood pumped like that of a boisterous pup, desperate to paw her, nip and lick, to get her to stroke him — to capture her attention.

  “Shall we take our seats?” His confident tone conveyed nothing of his internal struggle. Tugging on the drawer of the rosewood dresser, he removed a pack of playing cards. “I’m eager to begin our little game.”

  With a playful smirk, she slipped off her slippers and sat on the floor in front of the low table. “To make it fair, we should fill our plates with food. After each mouthful, we will play one hand. The game will not finish until we’ve eaten our meal. That way it will prevent the urge to rush ahead.”

  After removing his coat and throwing it onto the chair, he sat at the opposite side of the table. “You ask to dance quickly, play cards slowly. A man is left dizzy trying to work out what you want.”

  “It is simple.” She ran the tips of her fingers across her collarbone. “While we all crave a thrill, some things are best savoured.”

  Bloody hell!

  The woman teased him to the point of madness.

  “Then you should prepare yourself, for I guarantee you’ll experience both sensations this evening.”

  “Only if you win,” Priscilla countered.

  “Despite all my honest protestations, I am prepared to cheat to secure a night with you.”

  “Perhaps I know a few tricks myself.” The blush colouring her cheeks restored his masculine pride, but there was nothing timid about her response. “Over-confidence is often
one’s downfall.”

  Damn the food and card game. He wanted this woman now.

  “But as I trust you,” she continued. “You can shuffle the deck and deal the cards.”

  Matthew snorted. “You trust a man who admits he’s selfish?”

  “I trust a man whose integrity speaks for itself.”

  He stared at her, unsure how to respond to the compliment. To fill the silence, he picked up the silver serving utensils and selected a piece of tart, a slice of duck terrine, roast pork, French beans. “Did you have a particular game in mind?”

  Priscilla followed his lead, taking small portions and arranging the food neatly on her plate. “We’ll play twenty-one but follow the basic rules.”

  “Twenty-one? Do you think it a game of chance?”

  “It’s a game of luck that requires an element of risk and some skill.” She inhaled deeply. “Now, as in all card games, we must reveal the stakes before we play the hand. If I win, I want you to tell me about Lucinda Pearce.”

  The mere mention of the courtesan’s name made his skin crawl. How the hell did she know of Lucinda? “I have nothing to hide. If you want to know about Miss Pearce you only need ask. But, if we are starting with small wagers then you can tell me why you agreed to marry me.”

  “Done.” Offering a curt nod, she dug her fork into an oyster, covered it with her lips and pulled it into her mouth.

  To suppress all rampant thoughts, Matthew cleared a space in front of them, shuffled the cards, dealt two each and placed the rest of the pack face down.

  “Would you care for another card?” His heart thumped wildly in his chest as she examined her cards and placed them down on the table. “Or are you happy with your hand?”

  “I’ll take one more card.”

  With the tips of his fingers, Matthew pushed the card across the table.

  A smile touched her lips as she lifted the corner. “I’m happy with what I have.”

  His cards amounted to eighteen. Excitement flashed in her eyes as he revealed his hand, and so there was no option but to take another card. He drew a five. “That means I’m out.”

  Arching a brow, she declared a ten, four and three. “I had seventeen.”

  Matthew chuckled. “Never trust a woman with the face of an angel. What would you like to know about Lucinda?”

  She tapped her finger to her lips. “I know you’ve shared her bed before. But despite her apparent efforts, I'm confident you do not intend to do so again. Even so, I wonder if the feelings you had are different to those you had when bedding me.”

  Matthew swallowed. Once again, he had underestimated her skill in combat. In truth, the scenarios were vastly different though he had no notion why.

  “Yes, there is a disparity.” Without time to analyse his thoughts, he had no option but to be vague. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact we’re married.”

  The colour drained from her face, and she flinched at his response. “You mean the act is not as exciting when shackled to the same woman for life.”

  Matthew frowned. “You misunderstand me. My chest is like a hollow cavern when I think of bedding Lucinda. I lack interest and enthusiasm for the task. When I think of bedding you, every nerve in my body sparks to life.” Whatever it all meant, he hoped the explanation placated her. “Does that answer your question?”

  “In a way.” She picked up the fork and glanced down at the plate. This time she cut the corner off the asparagus tart and ate it slowly before dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “While you finish what you’re eating, I’ll tell you what we’re playing for next. If I win, I want you to tell me about your dreams and aspirations.”

  Disappointment flared.

  The information was hardly a secret. Perhaps nerves prevented her from raising the stakes. “If I win, I want your dress. Just so you’re aware, each hand I win will result in me taking another item of clothing until you’re down to your chemise.”

  Dainty fingers flew to her mouth to cover her open lips. “But I’ll catch my death of cold.”

  “Then I’ll stoke the fire.”

  “Are you speaking literally or metaphorically?”

  He offered a mischievous grin. “Both.”

  A nervous energy filled the air. “Then it seems I win regardless of the outcome.”

  Matthew dealt the cards. Priscilla examined her hand. If a frown and pursed lips conveyed the state of play, the next card could see her out of the game. But was it her intention to deceive?

  Her failure to ask for another card confirmed his theory.

  To win, he needed luck, not skill. With a knave and a ten, he took a chance it would be enough.

  “It’s time to reveal your hand, Priscilla.”

  With a look of suspicion marring her brow she turned over the cards. “I have nineteen.”

  A rush of satisfaction swept through him though he tried to disguise his elation. In his mind, he said a silent prayer to Fate.

  “I win.” He flipped his cards over. “I think you’ll find that’s twenty.” Arrogance dripped from every word. He would take immense pleasure undressing his bride.

  Without a word, Priscilla jumped up. “Then you will want your prize.” Her hands snaked around her back to fiddle with the buttons.

  “Allow me.” Matthew stood and covered the distance between them in two long, eager strides. His fingers tingled at the prospect of removing a layer of material. With a little more luck, soon there would be nothing but a thin chemise to hide her modesty.

  “Under the circumstances is it not wise to lock the door?” There was a nervous edge to her tone, mingled with a hint of excitement.

  “No one will disturb us.”

  He came behind her, undid the row of buttons, smoothed his hands along her shoulders as the garment slithered to the floor. Of course, he had no option but to touch her body as he set about his ministrations.

  “I wouldn’t worry about the cold.” His hand settled on her hip. “The warmth of your skin radiates through the fabric. I’m so hot I'm inclined to remove a few layers myself.”

  She sucked in a breath. “I am at a rather unfair advantage. But the game is far from over. I believe it’s time for food.”

  They settled back at the table, but he struggled to focus on anything other than the mounds of creamy-white flesh bursting out of her undergarments. He imagined her nipples to be a pretty shade of pink and easily teased to peak. Damn, they’d been married for days, and still he’d not feasted his eyes on them.

  “You’re right,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of game pie. “It seems frightfully unfair of me to claim such a monumental prize.”

  “Does that mean you intend to remove your shirt?”

  “No. But I shall grant your wish. You asked about my dreams and aspirations. I love to paint, landscapes mainly. Were money not a factor I would like to have a studio, somewhere quiet and peaceful where I could spend my days lost in creating beautiful scenes.”

  A look of wonder illuminated her face. “But surely there is time to paint and host parties? Could you not have a studio here and work during the day?”

  “This may sound strange, but creativity requires a clear mind not one encumbered by the negative influences of my guests. The air here is tainted. I’ve tried to focus many times but to no avail.”

  “I would love to see your work.”

  The cruel taunts and jibes of his peers drifted into his mind. In truth, the hostile reaction he’d experienced as a young man played its part in stifling him too.

  “Perhaps when I have a studio, maybe even a patron, then I will show you.”

  She pursed her lips for a long time. “When my parents died, I imagined a place in my mind where I might visit them. If I followed the path through the forest, I would find a cottage. They were always inside, happy, together. They would hug me and tell me all was well and I would leave them and return to the real world. I visit them often.” She gave an odd little wave. “What I mean is you can create the ide
al studio in your mind. Every day when you wake you can go there.”

  As Matthew listened to her wise words, an odd feeling enveloped him — one of admiration, respect, something else too. Something too complicated to define.

  “How can I concentrate when my time is spent thinking of new ways to entertain the dissolute?” It was an excuse. Avoidance was the best technique when dealing with any unwarranted emotion. “I struggle to focus on anything else.”

  “Then let me help you with your parties. I might not have the skills necessary to please libertines, but there must be some tasks I can attend to.”

  The strange feeling was there again, swelling, pushing at his ribcage.

  “I’ll consider the offer. But for now we have a game to finish.”

  “There is no point asking what you’re playing for. If I win, you can tell me where you go on your nightly appointments.”

  Again, he would have told her had she asked. “Perhaps we should improve the odds of success.”

  “How so?”

  “What about a trade? The answer in return for your petticoat. Our food is cold, and there is every chance we'll be here all night. Patience is not a virtue I aspire to master.”

  A coy smile touched her lips. “Agreed.” She stood, undid the three little buttons on the back and pushed the cotton straps from her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor, and she picked it up and handed it to him.

  The petticoat smelt of roses and the unique feminine scent that clung to her skin, yet he resisted the urge to bury his face in the material and inhale deeply.

  “For two weeks, I’ve been touring the gaming hells,” he said. “There are three men involved in the card scam. Mr Parker-Brown, Lord Lawrence Boden and Mr Justin Travant.” The last gentleman named had not been seen about town in recent weeks. “The men communicate via a complex system of gestures and signals. I have been following their progress, making notes, deciphering the language. Tonight, I intend to observe them at play to test my theory. After that, well, I shall play one more game with the intention of taking back what they stole.”

  “Tonight? You’re going to a gaming hell this evening?”