The Gamble

by Laura Parker

  He stepped toward her and into the candle’s glow that made of him a bronzed being, from his golden hair to his tawny skin. “Perhaps distraught is too strong a word. Would you say she is mercurial of mood, sensitive to innuendo?” He spoke as if she had not voiced a single question of her own. “Does she rise later and retire earlier than in London?”

  “Bath is a less formal place than London. Would you not agree?”

  “But there is a new pattern in her behavior, is there not?”

  Annoyed with his refusal to even acknowledge her questions, Sabrina decided not to answer any more of his. “Is there some malady which fits your description, my lord?”

  “Not a malady, precisely …” There was definitely a note of reluctance on his part.

  “Then what? Do you suggest I send for a physician?”

  “I suggest you inquire of the countess her wishes, on the morrow.”

  He turned away and moved briskly toward the door, as though he had learned what he desired. There was just one problem, Sabrina thought in exasperation—she had not learned anything!

  “Really, my lord, ’tis a most vexing business. Will you not explain yourself a little?”

  He stopped short at the door and turned so that the golden globe of the candle’s glow once more lit up his face. Earlier in the evening she had for the first time thought him handsome. Now she found herself thinking that his scar was so far from a detriment to his attraction as to be part of it.

  “I never explain myself, Sabrina.”

  She stiffened at his familiar use of her name, a familiarity that in this case defined her status as inferior.

  “I bid you a goodnight. I am late for an assignation. I have not lost my taste for the gaming tables.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Sabrina felt her heart drop into her shoes as she patted futilely the pockets within her gown. “I left behind my winnings!”

  “How very remiss of you.”

  She glanced at him in reproach. “Quite so, my lord. But no matter. I shall go round to the hostess in the morning. Surely someone will have put it aside for me.”

  “You suppose wrongly.” He turned from the door, his purpose of leaving seemingly forgotten for the moment. “Someone will have helped himself to the good fortune caused by your error.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He was amused once again at her expense. “No one would steal my winnings.”

  “Of course they would. Shall I prove it to you?”

  He came purposefully to where she stood and reached into his pocket, then extracted and laid on the table before her a handful of bank notes and coins.

  Sabrina glanced from the money up to him, with a sense of bewilderment. “You? You took my money?”

  His smile was gone. “I reaped the benefits of a neglectful winner.”

  “I cannot believe—” All at once she smiled, feeling quite silly. “But, of course. You are teasing me.”

  Something flickered in his expression. “Shall I make myself clear?” He scooped up the coins and repocketed them.

  Sabrina blushed deeply, ashamed to have been caught in this predicament by the shrewd and judgmental man. “I concede your point, my lord. I was exceedingly foolish to leave the money unattended and I promise you I will take better care of my winnings in future.”

  “I should hope so. ’Tis a costly lesson for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only that I have no intention of returning your coin to you, Miss Lyndsey. Losers weepers, finders keepers, I believe the old rhyme goes.”

  Sabrina stared at him, clearly astonished. “You mean you will not return my money when you’ve just boldly declared that you stole it from me?”

  “I mean precisely that.” His expression revealed no emotion whatsoever.

  “But, why there must be nearly a hundred pounds!”

  “A fifty-pound note, two tenners, and six guineas, to be precise,” he finished politely.

  Sabrina flushed. “How dare you!”

  “I dare a great deal.”

  Something in that phrasing in that cool, polished, unperturbed voice silenced Sabrina’s next sally. She believed him. He would keep her money and if she dared accuse him in public of the act, he would laugh in her face and defy anyone to question him. He knew, as well as she did, that no one would. “You are a scoundrel, my lord!”

  He gave her a short, mocking bow. “See that you remember the lesson, sweet. I stomach no scruples in taking what I want.” His gaze found and took hers prisoner. “And I never ever suffer regrets.”

  There was nothing she hated more than humbling herself, yet she could not allow her hard-won funds to leave in his pocket without at least trying to redeem them. “My lord, that money is all I have in the world.”

  He was silent for a moment, dangerously so. “Do not underestimate my intelligence, sweet. I know you are heiress to a vast fortune.”

  “Then you know that my guardian controls the purse strings.”

  “I see. So then, he disapproves of your gambling?”

  “He does not know,” she said simply.

  “Indeed, I thought not.” He came toward her, his expression emotionless but his voice all persuasion. “What motivates this urgency for money? Is it for the thrill of the gamble? Does your heart beat a little faster each time you wager?”

  He took her hand in a formal gesture and pressed it between his lean fingers. “Tell me you are driven by the reckless desire to risk everything on the possibility of the loss and I will believe you. You’ve had that thrill of victory tonight. What matter a few coins more or less?”

  Sabrina considered many responses and realized at once that begging would not win his admiration. He admired strength. “I need the money.”

  “For new baubles?” His gaze lowered meaningfully to her expensive gown. “Does your guardian’s disapproval extend to your extravagance at the modiste’s?”

  Her chin lifted in instinctive response. “Can the reason matter?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “Then, as a gentleman, you will return my funds.”

  He released her hand and ran his palm up her arm to her elbow, which he cupped in a sensuous caress. “I’m no gentleman, pet. Haven’t your friends told you that?”

  Sabrina experienced a quiver of unease laced with an unexpected thrill. She had not expected he would touch her so personally yet she did not draw away for fear he would think he had frightened her, which he had. “I don’t always listen to gossip.”

  His gaze liquefied with a heat unconnected to compassion. “You should, you should.”

  Sabrina cast her thoughts wide, seeking a witty reply. “If I did then I must surmise that you, whatever else you fancy yourself, are a man who does not like to be in debt to anyone.”

  “You think not?” The brief but reflexive tightening of his fingers on her elbow betrayed his surprise. Yes, she had chosen the right course!

  “I believe you might be willing do me some small service in return for the funds with which I have gifted you.”

  “You gifted?” His eyes narrowed. “I stole, you mean.”

  She took a step back from him and his hand slipped free of her arm. “I prefer to think of it as a gift, in return for the favor you are about to do me.”

  “You’re a strange sort of girl. I am intrigued.”

  She looked up into his molten gaze though she felt as if she were leaning over a precipice. “Then you agree?”

  “I’m least inclined to grant a boon when I already have what I want.” He patted his pocket in case she might mistake his meaning. “What would you require of me, if I were so inclined to offer aid?”

  “I need your help.”

  He chuckled, amusement laced with disbelief. “Mine is the very last sort of help you need.”

  “You are wrong. You know a great deal about a matter which is very important to me.”

  “I’m flattered. What, Miss Lyndsey, do
I know a great deal about that so fascinates you? No.” He placed one long finger against her lips as she opened her mouth to speak. “Permit me to speculate. Life offers me so little in the way of diversion and I do appreciate a good riddle. You must be aware of my reputation?”

  It was a question for which he did not wait upon a reply.

  “I am reputed to be little more than a serpent wrapped around the coronet of a viscount. The West Indies are full of poisonous vipers, you see. Rumor claims I have shed the skin of my fellow Englishmen and become a reptile of the tropics. Those I account my acquaintances will tell you my clothes and smiles do not sufficiently cloak my cold-blooded nature. You have heard this?”

  Sabrina gave a slight nod in answer.

  “Yes, I’m certain your tender ears have been filled with dire warnings against my lascivious inclinations. Do you know I am deadly with a blade? That I’ve killed twice in a fair contest of skill?”

  Again Sabrina nodded. Though she had not been told of the duels, she completely believed him.

  “Still you seek my aid. I am baffled, unless …”

  He was close, too close. He lifted his free hand to her cheek, grazing it with the back of his forefinger. The deceptively gentle caress sent a strong tremor through her that he must have felt through his fingers because his smiled. “Ah, now we come to the point. You have heard something more than the common gossip.”

  She backed up a step and he followed, step for tentative step, until they were caught up in a strange dance of advance and retreat as he spoke. “Perchance you have spoken with ladies of my intimate acquaintance. They would tell you different tales.”

  “What would they say?” she asked quickly, reluctant to reveal her awe of him. Yet she was daunted by his low melodious voice that struck her courage like a pelting of smooth hard stones. She was accustomed to dealing with inexperienced or easily discouraged swains. This man was an altogether different article. Though he had not yet done anything strictly wrong, she felt as if her honor were at stake.

  “My conquests will tell you that they have never known such pleasant company. Never known such proficient skill.” His voice lowered, the words finding a deeper timbre as his eyes held hers captive. “Never served such demand. Never realized there existed within them such reciprocal sentiment of carnal feeling for a man.”

  “I fear I fail to understand you, my lord,” Sabrina murmured as the back of her hips came up against the sideboard standing against the wall. She could move no farther and they both knew it.

  “Do you? I wonder.” He found the curl lying in the curve of her left collarbone and began to toy with it. “Can you be that naive at eighteen?”

  “Twenty!” The spoken number had a hectic quality to it because he was swishing her curl slowly back and forth along the sensitive skin of her neck. A ticklish brush up the side to just under her earlobe made her set her teeth in her lower lip to keep her from giggling or fleeing. Equally detestable displays of vulnerability, she warned herself.

  “Ah, then twenty.” He leaned closer to her, if he were going to kiss her.

  She did not move, could not look anywhere but into his compelling silver gaze. Strangely enough she could hear her blood rushing in her ears, could feel the weight of each heartbeat inside her chest, could feel her own breath pass softly over her lips as she expelled it.

  So this was how truly accomplished rakes behaved. It seemed he possessed some art that made a woman so intimately aware of herself that he needed not do anything to send her seeking and searching for more.

  She lifted her chin in invitation though he had placed no compelling finger beneath it to urge the action. She felt her lids drift down over her eyes so that she need not face the moment of surrender, and then the heavier stir of his breath sent a quiver across her lips.

  At the last moment he turned his head aside and she felt his mouth slid along her cheek before he whispered directly into her ear, “What do you require of me, pet?”

  She did not like the diminutive but she let it pass because she found she could barely stand. He was leaning over her, forcing her into a backward arch so that the furniture at her back was her only support her.

  Sweet reason! She did not dare touch him! Yet this insanity of feeling he stirred up in her urged her to do exactly that, to reach out and place her hands on his shoulders, to curl her head forward and lay her lips on his and learn what it meant to be seduced by this master rake. No, no! That is not what she wanted from him. What had he asked? “I want you to teach me how to gamble—no, how to win.”

  She had never thought to see him surprised, yet the incredulous look that came into his face quite amazed her. For an instant his eyes widened and his mouth loosened as if to draw breath between his lips and then he leaned back from her and erupted in laughter, harsh mocking laughter that made her face burn.

  She sidestepped away from him, then turned her back. “I am pleased to provide such diversion for you, my lord. If you allow it, I will withdraw, for I am quite weary.”

  But he blocked her path, his movement so swift that she did not have a chance to evade the arm he thrust out. When she turned away he thrust out his other arm, effectively trapping her along the wall between his spread arms.

  “Teach you to win!” he scoffed. “Have you no understanding of what it is to gamble? By its nature there remains always the element of chance.”

  Sabrina set her jaw. “I am not entirely unfamiliar with the concept. Yet, I have heard it said that a true gambler knows ways to curry the favor of chance.”

  Jack wondered if she had ever realized how lovely she was. Did she know how compelling her voice was, how tender her mouth, how appealing her violet eyes? Everything about her was encouraging him in his duplicitous endeavor. “The only true way to curry luck is to cheat, sweeting.”

  “Then teach me to cheat.”

  She answered so readily that he suspected she had expected his answer. He supposed she had been spoonfed enough ill-character observations of him that she would suppose him capable of all and any crimes.

  “As it happens, I do not cheat.”

  “So much the better,” Sabrina murmured in relief. “Then teach me to play cards as well as you.”

  He dipped his head, entrapping her in his gaze. “What is to be my reward for this office?”

  “I will share a—a third of my winnings with you.”

  “That is a foolish offer.” His tone was sharp. “Do you not require every penny? You should offer me something less valuable than your hard-won coin. What is of less value to you? Your reputation, perhaps? Your honor? Your virtue?”

  The conventional suggestion did not shock her. It seemed all men came to that proposition sooner or later. “I should imagine, my lord, if half the tales told of you are true, you have a sufficiency of women willing to bed you.”

  “Ah, but that is beside the point.” The mocking cadence was back in his voice. “I am a man of wide and generous but often fickle appetites. I am likely to crave that which is not presented.” Once more he leaned toward her until his mouth hovered an inch above hers. “If you were to offer yourself to me, I should not stint upon savoring so lovely a morsel as yourself.”

  Sabrina’s mouth thinned in anger. What a fool she was! To think he might have been in the least serious. Seduce her? That was the very last thing she would ever allow.

  She placed a hand flat against his chest and though she did not push, she applied a resisting pressure. “I have no interest in bedding you, my lord. And I am disappointed that you cannot think of a more creative and remarkable inducement.”

  “I am a simple man of simple pleasures.” His smile gave lie to every syllable.

  “It seems a simpleminded pleasure, my lord. You are reputed to be a gentleman who thrives on risk, the recklessness of chance.”

  He pulled back a fraction, the better to look into her eyes. “You have a purpose in your challenge?”

  “I value myself
more highly than you might believe. Your help is a beginning, but I require results.”

  “This beggar would ride a rather fine horse?”

  “Precisely.”

  “What do you offer me?”

  Sabrina did not make the mistake of thinking she had won. She was gambling with the devil and she knew it. But if she could hold her own with him long enough, she might induce him to help her to achieve her needs. She had sworn the night she left London that she would do whatever it took to gain Kit’s freedom. No hazard would be too great. So then, why not wager her reputation against the viscount’s expertise? It was a risk worthy of her goal. And, unlike the viscount, she had every intention of cheating him of the very prize she was about to offer.

  “I need to win a small fortune. Five hundred pounds would suit me nicely.”

  “I see. And if you win?”

  Sabrina found she could not look directly at him and hoped she would assume it was from modesty rather than dissembling. “If you require it, instead of a hundred and a quarter of my winnings, I shall give myself to you for exactly one night.”

  Jack knew he should have been amused, triumphant, scornful of her foolishness in that she had offered him the very thing he wanted most from her. But he felt strangely disappointed by the offer. It reduced her to the level of the dozens of duchesses, countesses, and baronesses who nightly paid their gaming debts with boudoir trysts with those to whom they were obliged in debt. He had expected more of her.

  Why? Why expect more of anyone than you expect of yourself? he mused cynically. Would it have made his revenge any sweeter to debauch innocence? Though her face might be worthy of adorning an altar, she possessed the ripe curves and lush bosom of a wanton. He should rejoice that she had willingly offered herself to him. And when he was done, she would have no reputation, no honor, and no understanding of the true cause behind her downfall.

  He touched her again, this time impartially, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. “Wash this powdered filth out of your hair. I much prefer your natural ebony shade.”