Desire by Design

by Heather Boyd

  They smiled at each other, and then laughed out loud.

  Then they watched others arrive together for a while, trying to figure out who might be beneath the masks and clever costumes. She did not see Lord Wharton anywhere, and that made her a little disappointed in the evening.

  She had enjoyed their flirtation in the carriage. Perhaps too much.

  Lord Carmichael returned, sporting two glasses, and appeared very surprised to see Sylvia standing beside his wife. But he forgot there was anything strange in her attendance after a moment or two and soon fell to teasing her. “No hiding with the wallflowers tonight. If you were invited to this party, you’re one of us now. Besides, that gown you’re wearing deserves to grace the dance floor at least a dozen times.”

  “Are you asking me to dance with you, my lord?” she asked, fluttering her fan and acting coy.

  He laughed. “Indeed I am.”

  “I’m afraid I must decline,” she told him sadly. “Tonight surely must be a rare occasion when a husband might dance with a wife more than twice without the possibility of shocking anyone.” She gestured to Lenore. “Wouldn’t you rather spend the evening with only this beautiful woman in your arms?”

  “You have a point,” he conceded with a grin, slipping his arm around his wife’s waist. “I would like nothing better, actually.”

  Sylvia understood passion very well. “Perhaps we might dance together at a different ball, my lord.”

  “Agreed.” He exchanged a loving glance with Lady Carmichael. “You know, we were actually discussing you on the way here tonight. We think that you should attend more events with us, so you are seen by as many eligible gentlemen as possible this season. Surely one will become smitten by the end.”

  She laughed outright at the thought of someone falling in love with her now. “My dear friends, it is I who is often mistaken for a matchmaker, not you.”

  “Everyone needs a little help when it comes to love,” Lady Carmichael said quietly, stealing a glance at her beloved husband. “Can you blame us for wanting to see you happily matched? After all, you did so much for us, and we cannot think of a better way to repay you than by making others notice you.”

  The strains of the first dance sounded. Sylvia shushed them quickly. “Go and dance and be happy together. That is all I want in return for the little help I gave you both.”

  “If you are sure?”

  Sylvia waved them away. “I am perfectly capable of beating back my hoard of admirers without any help.”

  Carmichael paused, and then moved closer. “A word of warning. This is not the usual sort of gathering you might have experienced before in society. Be careful of rogues and scoundrels.”

  Sylvia was hoping for a little more excitement than what she was used to. “I’ll be fine, my lord.”

  Carmichael clapped his hand on the side of Sylvia’s arm companionably and then swept his wife away to the dance floor. Sylvia watched them from the sidelines for a few minutes and their happiness made her so pleased. They were good together; after a slightly rocky start, the pair was very much in love.

  Sylvia wandered away, marveling at the beauty around her in this home.

  Wharton House was exquisitely decorated for the occasion. Pared down, she assumed, to the bare essentials to display his wealth and good taste. There were crystal chandeliers shining over her head and beautiful gilt-framed painting on every wall. The guests, anonymous too, looked utterly marvelous in their evening finery as they competed with the house for her attention. She explored the public rooms of Lord Wharton’s home, drinking champagne and smiling as if she had always belonged in such a setting.

  It was a very large home for a bachelor, though she had heard the marquess possessed a mother and several siblings. Where they were tonight was a mystery, and she wondered if she’d ever meet them. Would they be tricky like Wharton? She stopped before a portrait of the marquess himself. The painting did not do him justice. It had failed to convey the man’s virile strength, and the flirtatious side of his nature, too.

  She turned—and found the flesh-and-blood Lord Wharton standing directly in her path. He wore a mask but she’d recognize those strong thighs and smirking lips anywhere. Now this view was better than any she’d had so far tonight. He wore a mask as well as he wore everything. Above the mask, his hair hung rakishly over half his face, and he carried a glass of red wine, negligently dangling from his lovely long fingers. He evoked a sense of decadence and an invitation to sin, and perhaps he had every night she’d ever seen him in society.

  But now, with him watching her so intensely, she felt it more. She felt it everywhere.

  She nodded to him and started to move past, close, when he brushed his fingers against her thinly covered thigh. She shivered but continued out of the room.

  Wharton fell into step at her side. “Thank heavens I found you. Were you dancing?”

  “I’ve only just arrived, my lord, but the night is young yet,” she admonished. She fluttered her fan to cool her face. Talking with Wharton so much was making her overheat. “Perhaps I shall dance later. If I am asked by the right partner, that is.”

  “Norrington is here, but his wife never came. A headache.”

  Sylvia crashed back to earth upon hearing that news. “Ah, so that is why you keep me company now.”

  “That is not the whole of it,” he promised in a suggestive tone. “However, the one goal I had in mind for the early part of our evening is impossible to achieve now.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. Feel free to gamble with my funds if you like. You can win us a fortune, instead.”

  “I will do my best to only increase them.”

  “I expect nothing less. Later, perhaps, you’ll allow me to do my best for you.”

  Sylvia’s thighs went up in flames at the thought of how he might begin. If not for the mask covering most of her face, everyone might know how his words excited her.

  There was a commotion at the door, and Lord Wharton excused himself. Sylvia watched him go, enjoying the view as she applied her fan vigorously to cool herself. Lord Wharton was a deliciously built man—from every angle. Powerful and well put together. Those long legs propelled him quickly out of sight. A great many young lords could do themselves a favor by using Wharton as an example of how to dress and move.

  She made another circuit of the dance floor, discovered her friends occupied with each other still, and decided to make her way to the card room, where she had an important job to do.

  The activity there was already heating up. A number of tables had been set up and players were taking seats. Most of the tables were full but a few still had empty chairs. She already knew from talking with Lady Norrington the other day that her husband would be wearing a false beard with his costume. She found Lord Norrington easily in the card room crowd, and her tension increased as she saw him sitting down alone at a distant table.

  Sylvia squared her shoulders. If she could not lose to Lady Norrington, there was always Lord Norrington to play against. Lord Wharton hadn’t suggested that she couldn’t approach him. She moved toward Norrington’s table, determined to claim a place at his side.

  Norrington acknowledged her with a nod, but it was clear to see he was eager for the game to come. He hardly looked anywhere but at the little pile of coins piled up beside his hand.

  There were three empty seats at his table. Sylvia took one, quickly placing Lord Wharton’s money out on display. “You don’t mind if I join you.”

  “Not at all.” Norrington stared at her funds, hunger in his eyes but quickly masked.

  She could sense his anticipation for her money. That would work to her advantage tonight. If he was so focused on the coins, he would not pay too much attention to the identity of the woman who was about to change his luck.

  The chair opposite was claimed by an elderly gentleman, one Sylvia didn’t recognize. But Norrington must have. She couldn’t help but notice that his
demeanor changed with the new arrival. He seemed no longer eager to play at this table, and started looking at the other tables with empty seats. But he was stuck here for the moment. He wouldn’t dare leave until at least one hand had been played, perhaps two.

  Was this older man a far better player than Norrington?

  Given that the most accomplished players learned to disguise their skills to fool their opponents in one way or another, Sylvia had to assume the older man was the greatest threat to her game.

  Sylvia took a deep breath as play commenced. She fought to win the first hand. Lost the second because she wanted to, and round and round it went. Soon, she and the older man were evenly balanced combatants. Usually Sylvia relied on people assuming she’d won by chance. But the way her winnings were piling up around her tonight meant her skill at cards would be obvious to a blind man.

  Lord Norrington was looking quite downcast now. He had a pitifully small pile of coins hidden under his tapping fingers. He played with them endlessly, and Sylvia wished he’d stop.

  The older man opposite was an intense sort. He viewed her and Norrington through narrowed eyes. Whenever they lingered on Sylvia too long, she tapped her finger, too, as if discomforted by his scrutiny when she was anything but.

  There were many ways to throw off an opponent rather than staring. False signals worked well for a round or two.

  The older man’s gaze switched to Norrington. “How’s that lovely wife of yours tonight?”

  “She’s very well.”

  So they knew each other. Sylvia’s interest was piqued, especially since Norrington had just lied about his wife’s health. Not that he had to be truthful if he didn’t want to be.

  “Is she here tonight? I should like to pay my respects.”

  “It is a masked ball,” Norrington murmured. “You’ll see her, if she lets you.”

  “Wharton will discover her first,” the old man said lazily as he dealt the next hand. “He sees through all our disguises, especially those of pretty women he favors.”

  Their fourth, until now silent, agreed. “He does like a challenge. I thought he’d be playing but I wonder where he has got to tonight? Did he leave his own party to meet his lover like he did last year?”

  Norrington’s coins scattered across the table. Sylvia gently nudged a stray coin back toward Lord Norrington’s clenched fist.

  The older man was trying to put Norrington off his game by throwing suspicion on his wife, and Norrington had foolishly taken the bait. Now his attention would be split from his desperation to win the game to confirming Lord Wharton’s whereabouts. And his bad play would likely only get worse.

  Sylvia picked up her cards quickly. She had to lose this round before Norrington had no more money left to win with. If he left the table now, she might never get a second chance.

  The cards she was given were appalling, but she made her play as if she had a fighting chance.

  Norrington, she noted, only had one eye on his cards. He kept scanning the crowd. Sylvia had no idea where the marquess had got to either, but she did not imagine he would be far away. He was too worried about Norrington to abandon the man at his own event. She hoped to see him in the room soon because she had to remind Norrington that it was his turn. When Sylvia faced her real opponents, the pair were exchanging knowing smiles—and betting high.

  A cautious player would fold. Sylvia couldn’t.

  Sylvia made a bold play, discarded and picked up another pair of cards and bet heavily.

  To her astonishment, she found herself with a surprisingly good hand. Very nearly the best possible.

  If Norrington was going to lose, then she would win and find another way to get Wharton’s money into his coffers. She would not let this pair, obviously acquaintances of Norrington’s, take a penny more through ungentlemanly tactics.

  “Call,” the old man drawled.

  There was, by her estimation, six thousand pounds on the table. It should have gone to Norrington, but she’d win it instead. Sylvia nodded. It wasn’t an ideal outcome but what else could she do?

  The old man opposite laid down his cards, a low hand that wouldn’t win against hers.

  Their fourth revealed his hand next, wearing an insufferable grin as many onlookers whistled and cheered.

  “Well played,” the old man announced, as if the game were over already.

  Sylvia was quite looking forward to making the pair lose those false smiles.

  She spread out her cards, smiling serenely as she trumped them both.

  The old man choked. “What the devil?”

  “It looks like my luck has returned,” she murmured softly and clapped her hands together. “How exciting. It’s my lucky night after all.”

  “I say,” Lord Norrington muttered to himself. “Oh, I say.”

  Sylvia turned to him, concerned that he might be upset that she’d won the hand that could have been his.

  However, Lord Norrington was trying not to smile.

  He suddenly laid down his cards and grinned. “I believe this is my hand, my lady, gentlemen, and I’m truly the luckiest one tonight.”

  Sylvia tried not to show she was thrilled for Norrington as he dragged his winnings across the table and started stacking everything into tidy little piles. She made a quick tally of his winnings and wanted to hoot with happiness. Norrington had won several thousand pounds more than Sylvia had hoped to lose to him.

  Celebrations were short lived as the older gentleman quickly started to deal out cards for a new round, determined to win his money back.

  Sylvia held up a hand. “Gentlemen, I am afraid I must leave you now.”

  “Too rich for your blood, madam?”

  “Not at all. But I have promised to dance with a handsome stranger.” She hadn’t really, but it was as good an excuse as any to leave the card room right now. They couldn’t dispute her claim unless they followed her to the ballroom and tried to meet her imaginary dance partner. Men like these were addicted to the game. They wouldn’t follow her. She’d made a little money for herself and was satisfied. Sylvia also had no further need to lose any more money in gambling tonight, so she was free to leave at any time.

  When she rose, Lord Norrington rose as well, and drew near. He held out his hand, searching her gaze. “Thank you for an enjoyable game, madam.”

  “And to you, too.” She took a step away, but then turned back. “Are you not forgetting something, my lord?”

  His brow creased.

  She could not leave Norrington at the mercy of better players with his pockets replenished. “I thought you’d be off to find your wife to share the news of your good fortune?”

  Norrington hesitated, clearly torn. She could see him debate within himself whether or not to keep playing in the hopes of winning further funds.

  Sylvia so hoped he wouldn’t stay. A poor gambler ought to know to quit while he’s finally ahead.

  “Maybe your wife is being entertained by Wharton,” someone suggested somewhere behind Norrington.

  Lord Norrington stiffened and turned to the table. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I have a promise to keep,” he said, and then, money secured in his coat pockets, he fled the card room.

  The old man’s jaw clenched and he made a joke about Norrington running off to find his mummy.

  Sylvia seethed at their bad grace, but made herself saunter from the card room. She was quite satisfied with her success on one hand, but now disappointed on the other. She’d more or less fulfilled her promise to Lord Wharton, and the excitement and thrill was fading fast. Would she be just another dull wallflower to him after this? Wharton would likely have no further need to seek her out again.

  There was a short corridor between her and the ballroom, and to her surprise, she found Wharton lounging against one wall there.

  He was engaged in a loud conversation with a group of gentlemen, blocking the way.

  She moved toward them, but none seemed to notice her presence at first, probably becau
se she was a full head shorter than them all. She had to clear her throat loudly to garner their attention. “Do move aside, my lords, so I might pass by.”

  The gentlemen all apologized and clustered together on one side.

  All but Wharton.

  He remained an immovable obstacle in her path until she cleared her throat again. Wharton straightened and put his back to his friends, casting an admiring glance over Sylvia before moving closer. She shivered at the heat in his eyes behind his mask. A slow smile grew over his features. The man was flirting again—just by smiling at her.

  There remained a sliver of space around him, and when she was level with him, he whispered for her ears alone, “Meet me in my chambers at the top of the stairs in five minutes.”

  Her step faltered but she kept her chin high as she passed him by, as if he’d said nothing untoward, as she would have done with any unwanted attention from a scoundrel. But her skin tingled with excitement over his invitation.

  Whatever Lord Wharton wanted with her would undoubtedly be ruinous for her reputation. Did she dare meet him? Did she dare not? It might just be the last time she was alone with him.

  Chapter 9

  Alexander stood in the center of his bedchamber, fearing he’d be let down tonight. By his calculation, it was nearly thirty minutes since he’d spoken to Sylvia Hillcrest and invited her to join him upstairs. She had not appeared yet. Admittedly, she’d not said that she would, but she hadn’t said no, either.

  He was fairly certain he’d conveyed the urgency of his request well enough. He’d said five minutes, but perhaps she had decided the risk to her reputation was too great.

  He was disappointed by that.

  He’d thought he and Sylvia Hillcrest had understood each other. They had things to discuss. First and foremost in importance was her loss to Lord Norrington at the card table. He wanted to congratulate her. Thank her for a job well done. She had exceeded even his expectations. Norrington had immediately left the ball after leaving the card room, pockets full and hopefully gone off to take care of his suffering wife.

  The second—and by no means less important, now—was to convey his wish to improve their acquaintance in private. Tonight. Here. But adherence to decorum and propriety must have, as usual, spoiled any chance of frank conversation concerning desire with a woman he found attractive. He was not usually so impulsive when he pursued a woman for pleasure. Negotiations with his last mistress had taken a whole month before he’d taken her to bed. But with Sylvia, he’d only just discovered their mutual interest. Perhaps he’d been too bold himself where Sylvia was concerned.