The teasing jade. If she did not kiss him soon, he would have to extract it for himself.
“I did not know its existence until today.”
She studied him from above the flowers with a candor and length that no proper young woman would dare, but he did not mind her attempts to appraise him.
“You are new to London?”
Feeling restless, he stood up. He did not understand her hesitation. In the card room she had flaunted herself unabashed to any number of men, but now she chose to play coy with him?
“My preference is for Brooks’s,” he stated simply. “Tell me, Miss Sherwood, do your kisses always command a hundred pounds?”
Her lower lip dropped. His loins throbbed, and he found he could not tear his gaze from the maddening allure of her mouth.
“Do the stakes frighten you?” she returned.
“I find it difficult to fathom any kiss to be worth that price.”
“Then why did you ante?”
“As I’ve said, I knew I would win.”
He could tell she was disconcerted, and when he took a step towards her, she glanced around herself as if in search of an escape.
Finding little room to maneuver, she lifted her chin and smiled. “Then care to double the wager?”
“Frankly, Miss Sherwood, for a hundred pounds, you ought to be offering far more than a kiss.”
As I am sure you have done, he added silently. He was standing at the table and could easily have reached across it for her.
Her eyes narrowed at him. No doubt she was more accustomed to men who became simpering puppies at her feet. Perhaps she was affronted by his tone. But he little cared. She was too close to him, her aura more inviting than the scent of the flowers that separated them. He was about to avail himself of his prize when a knock sounded at the door.
“Yes?” Miss Sherwood called with too much relief.
The page popped his head into the room. “Mistress Tillinghast requested a word with you, Miss Sherwood.”
Miss Sherwood excused herself and walked past him. The room became dreary without her presence. Though at first he felt greatly agitated by the intrusion of the page, he now felt relieved. He had a purpose in coming here. And instead he was falling under her spell. Shaking off the warmth that she had engendered in his body, he forced his mind to the task at hand. Now that he had gathered his wits about him, he shook his head at himself. Was it because he had not completed bedding his mistress that he found himself so easily captivated by Miss Sherwood?
He could see how this place could retain so many patrons and ensnare those of lesser fortitude and prudence like Edward. Even Mr. Thornsdale, whom Broadmoor would have thought more at home at White’s than a common gaming hall such as this, revealed that he had known of Edward’s increasing losses to Miss Sherwood because he himself was an occasional patron. Mr. Thornsdale had also offered, unsolicited, that he thought Miss Sherwood to be rather charming.
But Broadmoor doubted that he would find her as charming. The fourth Baron Broadmoor had a single objective in seeking out Miss Darcy Sherwood: to wrest from the wicked harlot what rightfully belonged to his family. And he meant to do so at any cost.
CHAPTER THREE
“NOW WHO DO you suppose that tasty morsel of a stranger be?” wondered Mathilda Tillinghast—dubbed ‘Mrs. T’ by her gaming hall patrons—as she observed Darcy staring into the vanity mirror. Once a beauty who could summon a dozen men to her feet with a simple drop of her nosegay, Mathilda was now content to use Darcy as the main attraction of the gaming hall. “I find the air of mystery about him quite alluring.”
“I thought for certain that I had correctly appraised his position,” Darcy said, still wondering how she had lost that hand of brag. She had begun working at the gaming hall ever since her father, Jonathan Sherwood, had passed away ten years ago and left the family the remains of a sizeable debt, and rarely misjudged an opponent. What was it about the stranger that had sent her thoughts scattering like those of a schoolgirl?
She was both intrigued and unsettled by him. Instead of luring him into more rounds at the card tables—and the kiss would have been a perfect bait with any other man—she found herself timid. Mathilda would have found it incomprehensible that she, Darcy Sherwood, who had taken many a man to her bed in more ways than most women could imagine, should be afraid of a simple kiss. When the page had appeared, she could not wait to escape and was now reluctant to leave the refuge of Mathilda’s boudoir.
“How could I have lost?” she wondered aloud.
Mathilda snorted. “You sound as if you were in mourning, m’dear. Tisn’t as if you lost any money. Wouldn’t mind taking your place, in fact. Would that I were your age again. Give you a run for your money I would, ‘cept for Newcastle maybe—you can have him.”
Darcy shuddered. “If he had not boasted of how well his former slaves were treated—‘better than courtesans,’ were his words—and then to say that these women ought to be grateful for his kindness—I might have developed a conscience towards him. But knowing that his wealth comes from that horrible trade that ought to be outlawed if only Parliament would listen to Sir Wilberforce, I have no remorse of relieving him of some of that money.”
“He can easily afford it, m’dear. They all deserve what they get if they are fool enough to fall for a pretty face.”
“Who deserves it?” blurted Henry Perceville, Viscount Wyndham, as he entered the room unannounced and threw himself on the rickety bed. Despite his slender build, the mattress promptly sank beneath his weight. His golden locks fell across a pair of eyes that sparkled with merriment.
“Men,” Mathilda answered.
“Nonetheless,” said Darcy as she tucked an unruly curl behind her ear, “I should be relieved to give up the charade and restore what little dignity is left for me. Never to have to counterfeit another interested smile or to feign enjoyment at being fondled by every Dick and Harry…to be free…”
“You have the means to end the charade this instant—you have the deed to Brayten!” protested Henry.
“Which I mean to return. I feel as if I have fleeced a babe.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “What a ninny you are. Edward Barrington is no innocent, as evidenced by what he did to your sister.”
Darcy pressed her lips into a firm line. It had been five years, but the wound flared as strong as ever. She adored her sister Priscilla, her junior by four years, and whom she had always sought to protect. Edward had not only wronged Priscilla, but in so doing, had wronged Nathan, an innocent boy born without a father.
“How you can have the slightest sympathy for that pup confounds me,” agreed Mathilda.
“I will never forgive the Barringtons for their mistreatment of Priscilla,” Darcy acknowledged. “But I could not send a man and his family to ruin in such a fashion.”
“That folly were his own creation. It was not your idea to offer up his own estate for a wager.”
“If I offer to return Brayten in exchange for what Edward had initially lost to me, I could pay off our debts to Mr. Wempole and have enough to live comfortably for many years. Eighty thousand pounds were no paltry sum.”
Henry threw his legs off the bed and sat up to face Darcy. “I am your oldest and dearest friend, and I must say that if you dare return Brayten to that Barrington fellow, I will never speak to you again. At the very least, wait a sennight before making your mind.”
“Make the rascal squirm a might,” agreed Mathilda. “I had meant to tell you that Mr. Reynolds has returned, and I think he is willing to open his purse a great deal more tonight—with the appropriate persuasion, of course. But this delectable stranger is far more promising.”
Darcy blushed, turning away but not before Henry noticed.
“Do my eyes deceive?” he inquired. “Are you interested in this fellow?”
“He is different,” Darcy admitted, recalling the most intense pair of eyes she had ever seen.
“Simply because a man refrains
from ogling you or pawing you does not make him different from the others, darling. Oldest trick in the book.”
“Am I not old enough to know all manner of tricks?” Darcy replied. “It amuses me how often men overestimate the appeal of their sex.”
“They serve their purpose,” added Mathilda with an almost sentimental wistfulness before taking a practical tone, “but like a banquet, one must sample a variety. Our Darcy will not be turned by one man alone, no matter how appetizing he appears.”
“The only use I have of men, save you, dear Harry, is their pocketbooks,” said Darcy firmly before taking her leave.
Despite her parting words, however, before returning to the drawing room where he waited, Darcy stopped at a mirror in the hallway to consider her appearance. She found herself concerned with how the stranger might perceive her. An entirely silly feeling more appropriate to a chit out of the schoolroom than an experienced woman such as herself. She wasn’t even sure that the man liked her. Indeed, she rather suspicioned that he did not, despite his having wagered for her kiss. Nonetheless, she confirmed that the sleeves of her gown were even and that her hair was tucked more or less in place.
“Never thought to find you here, Lord Broadmoor.”
It was the voice of Cavin Richards, a notorious rake known among women for his seductive grin and among men for his many female conquests.
Broadmoor, Darcy repeated to herself. The name was vaguely familiar.
“And your presence here surprises me none at all,” was the uninterested response from the stranger in the drawing room.
Not put off, Cavin replied, “Yes, I find White’s and Brooks’s rather dull in comparison to Mrs. T’s. Care for a round of hazard?”
“I came not for cards or dice but to see Miss Sherwood.”
“Ahhhh, of course, Miss Sherwood.”
Darcy was familiar with the suggestive smile that Cavin was no doubt casting at the stranger. She held herself against the wall but inched closer towards the open doors.
“Quite pleasurable to the eye, is she not?” Cavin drawled.
“She is tolerable.”
“Tolerable? My friend, you are either blind in an eye or have odd standards of beauty.”
“While I find her appearance does no offense, it cannot hide the vulgarity of her nature.”
Darcy bit her bottom lip. She supposed she had played the flirt quite heavily tonight, but had she been that offensive?
“Vulgarity of nature?” Cavin echoed. “I agree Miss Sherwood is no candidate for Almack’s but that’s playing it up strong. Or is it her vulgarity what draws you? I must say, I never saw that side of you, Broadmoor. I own that I thought you rather a bore, but now you intrigue me!”
The irritation in his voice was evident as Broadmoor responded, “It is clear to me that you know little of me, Richards, and perhaps less of Miss Sherwood or even you would not be so ready to consort in her company. I know your standards to be pliant, but I did not think they would extend to the lowest forms of humankind. Indeed, I would barely put Miss Sherwood above the snail or any other creature that crawls with its belly to the earth. For beauty or not, I would rather be seen with a carnival animal than in her company. It is with the greatest displeasure that circumstances have compelled—nay, forced—me to call upon her. I would that I had nothing to do with her, her family, or any of her ilk.”
“Then what extraordinary occasion would bring my lordship from his Olympus to consort with us lower mortals?” Darcy asked upon her appearance in the drawing room, relieved that her voice did not quiver quite as much as she had feared it would for it was difficult to contain the anger that flared within her.
The Baron seemed taken aback but quickly collected himself. His bow to her was exceedingly low, but the ice in his tone would have sent shivers down the most stalwart man. “Miss Sherwood, I have matters to dispense that I trust will not require much of your time or mine.”
He turned to Cavin and added, “In private.”
Darcy could tell from his eager expression that her former lover desired very much to stay, but she had no interest in his presence either.
“My invitation to hazard remains open should you decide to stay,” Cavin told Broadmoor as he picked up his hat and gloves, winking at Darcy before departing.
With Cavin gone, Darcy placed the full weight of her gaze upon the Baron. She lifted her chin as if that alone gave her height enough to match his.
“I think you know why I have come to call,” Broadmoor said without a wasted second.
“It was not for my song?” She hoped her flippant tone covered how much his earlier words had stung her.
“Do not play your games with me, my child.”
Games? What was he getting at?
“Then what game do you wish to play, sir, brag apparently not being sufficient for you?”
Her response seemed to ignite flames in his eyes. He took a menacing step towards her, his lips pressed into a thin line. “It would be unwise of you to incur my wrath.”
“And you mine,” she responded before thinking. She was not about to allow him browbeat her.
He looked surprised, then amused to the point of laughter. She took that moment to move towards the sideboard for despite her desire to challenge him word for word and gaze for gaze, his nearness was beginning to intimidate her.
“I am prepared to offer a great sum for the return of the deed to Brayten,” he announced. “I am told that the circumstances of the wager between you and my cousin were fair. For that reason alone, I offer recompense.”
It was then that Darcy recognized the eyes—the same color of coal as Edward Barrington, who sported much lighter hair and whose lanky form did not match his cousin’s imposing physique. Her mind sank into the recesses of her mind to connect the name of Broadmoor with one Radcliff Barrington.
She had heard only that his manner tended towards the aloof. She should not be surprised that, like his cousin, he tended towards the arrogant as well, but nothing had quite prepared her for the condescension that overflowed with each deliberate word of his.
“Pray, what great sum are you offering?” she asked with nonchalance as she poured herself a glass of burgundy.
“The proposal of a monetary recompense interests you, I see,” he noted.
How she wished she could turn the lout into stone with her glare. Instead, she feigned a sweet smile and said, “Yes, we lower creatures of the earth prefer the petty and base interests.”
“I am prepared to offer one hundred thousand pounds, Miss Sherwood.”
Darcy began choking on the wine she had tried to imbibe just then. After coughing and sputtering and feeling as if her face must have matched her beverage in color, she straightened herself.
One hundred thousand pounds…it was enough to discharge the debts and provide a decent living for her family. By returning Brayten, her intention from the start, she could have done with the gaming house. She was tempted to take his offer without a second thought, but various words he had said rang in her head. Had he called her a child earlier?
“Your cousin was in debt to me for eighty thousand pounds before he lost Brayten,” she said, stalling. “One could say you are offering me only twenty thousand pounds for Brayten. I think the estate to be worth far more than that, surely?”
His eyes were flint, and her heart beat faster as she tried to ignore the way his stare bored into her.
“What sum would you find more appropriate?”
The question stumped Darcy. She had no impression of what Brayten could actually be worth.
“Two hundred thousand pounds?” she guessed.
This time it was Broadmoor’s turn to choke and turn color. “You are refreshingly forthright of your greed. I have known many indulgent people in the course of my life, but you, Miss Sherwood, are the epitome of cupidity!”
“And you, sir, are the epitome of insolence!” she returned.
As if sensing that the gloves had come off, Broadmoor sneere
d, “I am relieved to discard our pretenses of civility. My courtesy is wasted on a wanton jade.”
“If you think your impertinence will aid your efforts to reclaim Brayten at a lower sum, you are a poor negotiator!”
“My offer stems from my generosity. I could easily consult my barristers and find another means of retrieving what is mine.”
“Then speak to your barristers and do not misuse my time!”
The words flew from her mouth before she had a chance to consider them. She wondered for a moment if she were being unwise but then decided she didn’t care.
In his displeasure, he clenched his jaw, causing a muscle in his face to ripple. “You may find my cousin easy prey, but I assure you that I am no fool.”
“How comforting,” Darcy could not resist.
“Impudent trollop! I have a mind to drag you into the street for a public whipping!”
Unable to fend off her anger, Darcy glared at him and declared, “You have persuaded me that to part with Brayten for anything less than three hundred thousand pounds would be folly.”
“Jezebel! Are there no limits to your wickedness?”
Darcy shrugged and looked away. Her heart was pounding madly.
“I see plainly what is afoot,” Broadmoor observed. “You mean to punish me for taking Edward from your sister.”
She glanced sharply at him. “You! You took Edward?”
“A most wise decision on my part, for I would rather see him in hell than attached to a family such as yours!”
Her heart grew heavy as she remembered Priscilla’s pain and thought of the life that should have been afforded to Nathan had Edward done right by them both.
And it was apparently the doing of Edward’s arrogant cousin!
“I would not return Brayten to you for the world!” Darcy cried. “If I were a man, I should throw you from the house. You are a lout and a mucker!”
He took a furious step towards her. “You ought consider yourself fortunate, Miss Sherwood, not to be a man else I would not hesitate to box your ears in. You do not deserve the decency afforded to a trull...”
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