PLAYED BY THE EARL

by Alyson Chase

  She kept her eyes closed, her breathing labored. “Don’t let me go again. Just kick the damn thing.”

  He panted. “But it hurts you.”

  “I don’t think my pain is of paramount importance any longer.” The carriage shifted, and she whimpered. “I don’t want to die.”

  “You’re not going to die,” he said fiercely. He couldn’t imagine a world without her in it. Wouldn’t want to live in it. And he always got what he wanted. “You’ll be fine. Tomorrow we will laugh over this, you’ll see.”

  She huffed through the chattering of her teeth. “I don’t think I believe you.”

  He widened his eyes. “Would I lie?”

  “Yes, with no compunction.”

  Damn it, she knew him too well.

  “Just pull my damn leg out of there.” Netta pressed her palms against the ceiling. “I don’t need my foot.”

  “I’m sorry.” He took her hand, clasped it tight. “This is going to hurt.”

  “Summerset!”

  Something splashed into the water near the carriage.

  John’s shoulders sagged. Finally. Something had gone right. “Wil! Get your arse in here.”

  Wil’s dark shape maneuvered through the door.

  John grabbed his shoulder and hauled him to Netta. “Hold her head above water.” And knowing his friend would take care of her, he dove down again without waiting for a response.

  It took longer than he wanted. But after the third dive he was able to slide Netta’s foot free from her boot and out of the hole.

  Wil swam from the carriage to the dock, pulling Netta with him.

  John pulled himself up then reached down for her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck like she’d never let go. “You certainly know how to show a girl an exciting time.”

  He held her close, hoping through sheer force of will to warm her body with his own. As they were both shaking, it likely wasn’t working. “Stick with me and you’ll never have a dull night.”

  Her lips curved against his throat.

  Wil helped him to rise with Netta in his arms.

  “How did you find us?” John asked.

  “I thought to escort you and Miss Netta to the theatre.” Wil picked his way to the canal ledge and retrieved a pistol. His limp was more pronounced from the cold. Although it would be nothing to the limp the bastard who’d done this would sport from his ruined ankle.

  “Following me still?”

  Wil stared at his boots. “There are other attractions at the theatre besides your ugly face.”

  Wil shoved the pistol in the back of his trousers. “When I arrived at the club, I saw Nigel hollering to raise the dead. Following the carriage wasn’t difficult. It left a fair bit of destruction in its wake.” He walked to one of the horses that was standing huddled by a building. The other horse was further down on the jetty, half in and half out of the water, wheezing. Both of his forelegs were bent at unnatural angles. “I only wish I had found you in time,” he said quietly.

  “There’s a man. He couldn’t have gotten far.” The cut to the Achille’s tendon wouldn’t lose enough blood to be dangerous, but it would keep him from running.

  “I saw him.” Wil approached the injured horse softly, running his hand along the animal’s nose. “Paid a sailor to watch him for us. He didn’t get away.”

  John nodded. He pressed Netta’s face into his chest, cupping her ear, but she still jerked when the gunshot sounded.

  A life wasted. Wil gave the dead horse one last stroke then walked to them, his face grim. “I do hope you’ll let me in on the interview with the man who took your carriage.”

  John nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I see Netta home and get her a doctor. Don’t start the fun until I return.”

  Wil pulled his shirt from his trousers and gave the ends a twist. “Bring me another change of clothes, will you?”

  “Of course.” They turned down the street, keeping an eye out for a hackney. Three blocks over they found one.

  Wil held the door and helped John in with Netta. He pounded on the side and turned, retracing their steps.

  Netta curled closer to John. She undid the knot of his cravat and pulled it off, dropping the soaked cloth to the floor.

  John raised an eyebrow.

  She notched her head on his shoulder and rubbed her hand over his chest. “You did say to stick with you, though I dare say this isn’t what you had in mind.”

  He adjusted his grip, bundling her closer. “This is exactly what I meant.” And it was. His heart tripped beneath her palm. He wanted her next to him any way he could have her. And the knowledge of that was thrilling. Comforting.

  Terrifying.

  He wanted Netta. He wanted her for the long term.

  He wanted her forever.

  He waited for something to happen. A lightning bolt to hit the hackney. For God to strike him down senseless. After all the times he’d sworn to never want anything long-lasting with a woman, he was sure a chastisement was in order for his change of heart.

  This feeling of longing wasn’t natural, not for him. But he was never one to deny himself what he wanted. And he wanted Netta.

  Perhaps it only made sense to make their relationship more permanent.

  He tucked his chin on top of her head.

  After all, with the trouble she got into, he’d need to be around to keep her safe.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Netta hobbled to John’s study door and raised her hand to knock. She paused, willed her hand to strike the wood, then lowered it. Her shoulders rounded. Good Gad, when did she become a coward?

  The back of her throat burned. He was going to be disappointed. Angry, perhaps. His plan relied on her enticing Sudworth into a bet. He wanted that deed back so badly, and she’d wanted to help him, but it couldn’t be. She’d taken the days of recuperation, telling herself it was best to wait until she was fully healed before telling John the truth.

  In case he decided to throw her out, she needed to be able to walk.

  That had been her excuse in any case. John wouldn’t toss her into the streets. He wasn’t that type of man. She just didn’t want to see the reproach in his eyes. The betrayal that she’d lied to him about who she was, yet again.

  She dropped her forehead to the cool wood. She couldn’t lose him. It would hurt too much.

  The door swung inward, and she stumbled into John’s waiting arms.

  “What are you doing out here, poppet? Trying to eavesdrop again?” He brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “I told you I’d take care of it.”

  It being the man who’d seized control of their carriage. She frowned. That first night of the accident the doctor had given her laudanum as he’d cleaned and bandaged her ankle. It wasn’t broken, but had swollen to a grotesque size. She hadn’t known when John had left or what he’d learned, and hadn’t cared.

  The next day, however, he had thwarted every attempt on her part to learn what his interview of the blackguard had revealed. And the blasted man had remained steadfastly silent. It was enough to make a woman scream with frustration.

  “I shouldn’t have to eavesdrop.” She planted her hands on her hips. “I was kidnapped, too. You should tell me what you learned from the man you caught.”

  He stepped close and placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Your priority is to heal. I’ll take care of everything else.”

  The words should have annoyed her. And made her suspicious. It was unlike John to keep information from her in a perverse attempt to protect her sensibilities. In that respect, he was very unlike the typical male. But as his soft lips nibbled at her own, as his tongue slowly pressed into her mouth, any annoyance dried up.

  But she still had her pride. She pulled back. “I am almost fully healed. Stop with this nonsense and tell me.”

  John twisted his lips in a wry smile. “You won’t let me coddle you like a normal woman,
will you?”

  “There are other ways I like to be coddled.” His eyes lit with interest, and she held up her hand. “First, tell me what you know.”

  “Bloody little.” He ran his hand up the back of his head. “One of the reasons I didn’t want to talk is because I don’t like admitting to complete and utter failure. By the time I returned to the scene, Wil was there waiting but our quarry had disappeared.” He pinched his lips tight. “Apparently he had quite the sum of money on him and paid off our very bribeable sailor to release him.”

  “How much money?”

  “Enough to make me wary,” John said. “If a low-level criminal is carrying such a sum on his person, his boss must be wealthy indeed. And I let the one man who could lead me to him slip right through my fingers.”

  Netta cupped his cheek and kissed the corner of his frown. “From my perspective, you performed magnificently that night.” He’d saved her life. Kept her calm when she’d felt the panic clawing at her insides.

  She idly scratched the back of his neck. “This man who took your carriage. Is he related to your work for the Crown?” She had her suspicions about that. How many earls would climb from a moving carriage to dispatch a ruffian?

  His muscles tensed against her body. “Is that what brings you to my door?”

  She swallowed. If only his secrets were the only thing between them. “I…” She set her shoulders and took a deep breath. Audentes Fortuna luvat. Fortune favors the bold. “I have something to tell you.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed. “And I have something to tell you, too.”

  “Do you want to go first?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not particularly.”

  “Nor do I.”

  They stared at each other, until one side of John’s mouth quirked up. “I propose a game.”

  Netta’s shoulders relaxed. This was familiar. This was fun. Depending on how John took her news, it might be the last bit of fun she had with him. “Loser talks first?”

  “Of course.”

  “And what are the rules to this game?”

  He cocked his head. “That depends on how well you are feeling. Montague is hosting a musical evening with dinner tonight. I told him I did not know if we could attend.”

  Her mouth went dry. “Who else will be there?”

  “As his wife is barely accepted by society, I suspect all the outcasts of the ton.” John pressed his lips into a slash. “I asked Montague to extend an invitation to Sudworth, as well, in hopes you’d be well enough to pique his interest further, but Montague informed me this morning he declined. Which, although disappointing, does allow us some hours of frivolity instead. What say you?” He circled around her, tracing his fingertip along the back edge of her gown. “Do you feel like being naughty tonight?”

  She shouldn’t. Just because Sudworth wouldn’t be in attendance didn’t mean someone else from her past wouldn’t be. But…she was of age now. No one could send her back to her father’s. And this might be her last night with John.

  Cerise would call her impetuous. Tell her to use her head instead of her heart.

  But Netta wasn’t her friend.

  “Besides a slight twinge, my ankle is fine. I’m in.”

  He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the morning light, and a delightful shiver raced down her spine. She didn’t trust that look. It foretold of something wicked.

  His wickedest plans were the most pleasurable.

  John tapped his index finger against his pursed lips. “Wear the peach silk gown tonight. The one with the ivory lace embroidery.”

  Now she truly didn’t trust him. She rocked up onto her toes with excitement, then muttered a curse when her ankle ached. “And you wear the navy velvet jacket, the one that brings out the blue in your eyes.” If he could make demands on wardrobe, so could she. And she did adore him in that jacket. It nipped in at his waist and made his shoulders look as broad as an ox’s.

  A tingle started in her stomach and shivered lower. Whatever he had planned for the night, she wanted to be prepared. “I’m going to rest my ankle.” She trailed her finger up his waistcoat and flipped the knot of his cravat. “I will see you later tonight.”

  And with a seductive sway to her hips, she sauntered out of his study and down the hall.

  The ice bath for her ankle made it feel almost like new. The nap she took also helped. She was going to miss living in an earl’s home. Not as much as she’d miss John. But a steady supply of Pomfret cakes, satin sheets to lay her head upon, a dressing room full of beautiful gowns…

  She stared at her reflection in the mirror as Margaret put the finishing touches on her hair. It was close, but John still won out. And tonight could be their last night.

  She raised her chin. So she would eke out as much enjoyment in their time left as possible. No regrets.

  Her nerves crackled with anticipation the entire carriage ride to the duke’s townhouse. Anticipation skittered through her veins through the introductions to the wives of John’s friends. What did he have planned? And how would she win? When John touched her arm as they sat listening to music, she jumped.

  He smirked. “I only wanted to tell you that I must step out. Save a seat for me at dinner. Oh”—he leaned close and brushed his lips over her ear—“and the only rule to this game is for you to not make a sound.” And during the violin solo, he stood and left the room. Leaving her a fidgeting mess.

  Not make a sound? He couldn’t mean for her to become mute for the rest of the evening. His games didn’t include rudeness to third parties, so what did he mean?

  After the music ended, the two sisters, Elizabeth, Duchess of Montague, and Lady Amanda Rothchild, hurried over to her. “I don’t need to know where Summerset disappeared to,” the duchess said. “I am only glad he has left your side for a moment.”

  “Your grace?”

  The woman flapped her hand. “I told you, call me Elizabeth.”

  Her sister turned matching chocolate eyes on Netta. Both sisters were tall and slender, with wavy, dark hair. But where the duchess sparkled with vivacity, the countess was quieter, although no less friendly.

  “We have been curious to speak to you about John,” Amanda said. “It is much easier to do so without him present.”

  Netta grinned. They wanted gossip. Women after her own heart. “What is it you wish to know?” She wouldn’t spill all John’s secrets, of course. But enough to discomfit him. He deserved no less, leaving her alone and desperate with curiosity.

  “Colleen told us that you’re assisting him to recover his property,” Elizabeth said.

  Netta blinked, then covered her surprise by side-stepping out of the way of guests filing from the room. She’d forgotten how close of a relationship John had with his friends, and subsequently their wives. There didn’t seem to be any secrets in the group.

  Unlike with her. Her stomach clenched. But that was a thought for later tonight. After the game.

  “But,” Amanda said, sidling closer, “his attentiveness to you all night has us wondering if there is more between you two than business.”

  Netta knitted her brow. “Surely you’ve seen John with other women on his arm? A romantic attachment cannot be such an anomaly.” Not for a man as engaging as John.

  “Of course not.” Elizabeth nodded at a viscountess across the room. “But the other women he’s introduced us to have seemed mere accessories, a pretty face and dress to match his outfit.” She looked Netta up and down. “And while you are as pretty as any, you most certainly aren’t a mindless adornment.”

  “Thank you?” While everyone liked to hear themselves distinguished, she wasn’t certain how she felt about John’s past lovers. Accessories? Sadly, she could well believe it. He focused so much on appearances at times, he could easily forget the humanity of his companions.

  She rubbed at the pinch behind her breastbone. How capricious life was. One incident in childhood could transform an entire personality
.

  Netta dipped her head. “I thank you for the compliment, but whatever attachment you imagine does not exist. John and I have become good friends, but neither of us are constituted for a relationship of any length.” She swallowed. “I have not domesticated him, and he certainly has not me.”

  The sisters shared a look. “Are you certain?” Elizabeth asked. “If ever a man looked ready to be domesticated, it was Summerset this evening.”

  The idea was absurd. Her belly fluttered. Someone like her and someone like John forming a lasting union? One shameless person in a relationship made it hard enough to maintain. But two was a recipe for heartache.

  “Sister,” Amanda chided, “you should know better than anyone that marriage and domesticity have naught to do with the other. Some marriages are very untamed indeed.”

  Marriage. Netta ignored the duchess’s blush and focused on keeping her breathing even. Her lungs wanted to inflate like a bellows. After her one broken betrothal, she’d never, not once, considered entering into such a union. She wasn’t constituted for it; John certainly wasn’t.

  But…to the right person, someone extraordinary enough to recompense for the loss of freedom, someone who brought her joy, challenged her, excited her, mayhap—

  “My stomach tells me I am ready for dinner.” She cleared her throat, hoping to rid her voice of its panicked quality. Best to put a stop to that outlandish thought before it began. “I must look for Summerset. If you’ll excuse me.”

  She dipped a curtsy and fled from the women like they were Shakespeare’s Weird Sisters instead of mild-mannered aristocrats. She searched for John, almost afraid to find him when absurd thoughts of marriage were darting through her mind, but eventually had to admit defeat and enter the large dining room alone.

  She was seated next to an Italian contessa on her left, who’s English was as good as Netta’s Italian. No conversation was possible there. The man seated to her right was young, the son of a distant marquess, and the black sheep of the family according to his chatter. He wanted to be a poet.

  “I’ll never be able to thank the duke and duchess enough for their patronage of my efforts.” The boy flicked out his napkin, settled it on his lap, and buried his nose in his wineglass to inhale deeply. “Without their support, I’d have been forced to enter the clergy.” He shuddered. “Or become a barrister. Those were my father’s only options when telling me how to live my life. But I told him—”