High Stakes Chattel

by Blue, Andie

  Deciding that it was hopeless, at least for tonight, he stood and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks of sitting for so long at a stretch, bent over microscopes. He wasn’t as young as he’d once been, that’s for certain.

  With a frown, he wondered inanely how old Mrs. Blake was. Not terribly young, for she’d been married, but far younger than his own thirty-five years. Earlier, he’d been certain his attraction to her was returned, but he often grew melancholy at night, and as he made his way down to his bedroom, he wondered if she simply saw him as an old man. Someone to mentor her and help her, but definitely not someone she’d consider having…

  Having what? His thoughts trailed off as he paused in front of the door of the room where he’d instructed Joseph to place her, the one down the hall from his own. He placed his hand on the door, wondering just what he’d gotten himself into, and what he really wanted from her.

  She’d been through enough. He certainly didn’t intend to compromise her while she was seeking his help. But if not, then why was that all he could think of?

  With a groan, he pushed away from the door and continued to his room, though he knew it was pointless to expect that he’d get much sleep.

  For the next two days, Samantha did not so much catch a glimpse of Lord Chattel. She found out from talking to his cook, Mrs. Lotte, that he had been working non-stop and taking meals in his laboratory.

  If he didn’t plan to spend any more time with her than this, she couldn’t imagine why he’d invited her into his home. Her frustration grew with each passing day, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She’d nearly gone out of her mind with boredom since she’d arrived. She wasn’t used to having absolutely nothing to do. She’d browsed his library, read a few books, and gone on a few rides with John, but she was desperate to do what she’d come here to do. If she didn’t learn how to play Chattel better, all the risk she’d taken would be for naught.

  The contest was on December fourth and it was already November tenth. Less than a month. Was it even possible to become a master of the game in so short a time? Not if he never played with her.

  At last, on the third day, he came in late to dinner, looking unshaven, rumpled, and dirty, as though he had been out rolling in the garden. All his former civilized trappings were gone, but she actually liked him better like this.

  His gaze caught hers as he took his place at the head of the long, cherry wood table, immediately to her right. Joseph efficiently placed a plate down as soon as he was seated and then left the room.

  He looked her up and down with his smoldering dark gaze. “Hello, Mrs. Blake. I see you’re out of your boy’s clothing and back to your widow’s weeds. Can’t say they flatter you like those trousers did.”

  “Hello, Lord Chattel,” she said with a radiant smile. “I see you’re wearing dirt to dinner.”

  He gave a surprised bark of laughter and nearly choked on his food. “I’m sorry. Does it offend you?”

  “Not if you stay over on your side of the table.”

  “I often do not have time to change for dinner. That always seemed like an unnecessary custom to me in one’s own home.”

  They dined on a veritable feast of succulent ham, buttery potatoes, green beans with almonds and soft bread. It was much more food than she would normally eat and more delicious than anything she’d ever tasted.

  Lord Chattel concentrated on his dinner and made no attempt to explain his appearance or engage in further conversation. He seemed distracted, obviously by a riddle with his work.

  “You know, I’ve heard that when you are consumed with a problem you can’t solve, the best thing to do is walk away. Let your mind go somewhere else and it will return with the answer when it is well rested.” She gave him an innocent grin, hoping he’d take the bait.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that. It is tough for me to walk away, so I stay, beating myself up for days, trying to come up with a solution.”

  “It sounds like a perfect time for a game of Chattel to distract you,” she said, when her obvious nudge didn’t seem to work.

  He put down his fork and sat back in his chair, seeming to finally focus his attention on her again. “Yes, I suppose we really should. You have been most patient. I know I haven’t been a very attentive host, but I did warn you my work came first.”

  She nodded, trying to hide her annoyance. “Yes, you did and it has been two days. I’ve patiently walked the grounds, visited with your staff and read three books.” She held up three fingers for emphasis. “The contest is less than three weeks away, my Lord. Can you spare a bit of time tonight?”

  “After dinner,” he promised, looking amused. “Unless you’d like me to go bathe and change first.” He baited her with an innocent look.

  “No, but if this disheveled appearance is a tactic to scare me away, it won’t work.” She leaned forward to pluck a leaf out of his dark hair, arrested by the silky feel of it beneath her fingertips. He seemed a bit wild tonight, and utterly thrilling.

  “No?” He gave a rough laugh and grabbed her hand. “I’ll have to use other methods to scare you away. You’re very intrepid, Mrs. Blake. For now, I’ll try to stay downwind.”

  She grinned in reply, loving the feeling of his hand on hers. He had exaggerated about smelling. She’d caught a faint whiff of him when she’d leaned toward him, and it was anything but unpleasant.

  As soon as the dessert dishes were cleared, he led her back to the study where they’d played before. He poured them each a glass of brandy this time, and then they sat up the board in companionable silence.

  “Do I still get to go first?” she asked, once they were ready to play.

  “Of course,” he told her with a wink. “You need all the help you can get.”

  After she made her first move, she took a drink of her brandy, letting the smooth liquid warm her throat as she watched him carefully consider his move. His confidence made her nervous but she was determined to really analyze his play this time. “Can you tell me after each move why you chose to do what you did?”

  He looked surprised for a moment, but then nodded. “All right.”

  He began to offer her a brief explanation after each move, and she could tell he was being more deliberate now, really thinking things through so that he could explain them to her.

  “Tell me about your family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked, wanting to learn more about him.

  “No siblings.” He looked down at the game, pretending to concentrate.

  “Nor do I,” she said, sensing some loneliness in his eyes. “And what was your childhood like?”

  “There were tutors of course, and neighborhood friends. My father didn’t spend much time with my mother and me. He was always in London, attending to his duties in the House of Lords. My mother missed him terribly, which led to a certain amount of melancholy. But she was still a lively woman, full of warmth.”

  “They are no longer living?”

  “No.” He drained his tumbler of brandy, obviously a bit uncomfortable with the question. “My father met my mother in Greece on his Grand Tour. He said she was like an exotic flower, full of passion and vivacity. He must have loved her once but his desire to work took precedence over her. I could never understand why he convinced her to leave her home and family behind, only to dump her here in cold England, out in the country, all alone. I’m sure this wasn’t what she expected when she married him.”

  She could see the same Greek passion in his tan face but it seemed to be buried deeply under a controlled surface. “It must have been very difficult for her.”

  “I feel guilty for having left her alone myself so often after my father died. I knew how important my visits were to her, but as my fame from the Chattel game grew, I came home less and less. I was too busy going to parties. And then she died.” He poured himself another glass of brandy, his mood darkening.

  “Did she die suddenly or was she ill for some time?” she asked softly.

  “
It was sudden,” he replied. “I wasn’t here when she passed. All I knew was she’d had a sharp pain in her knee, which the doctor attributed to age, but shortly thereafter she came down with a strange fever she never recovered from. By the time word reached me, she was already gone.”

  And he’d obviously been blaming himself for it ever since. “You were a grown man leading your own life,” she told him, meeting his troubled dark gaze. “I’m sure she understood that.”

  He frowned and looked up at Samantha with pain in his eyes. “The infection I’m studying, and trying to discover a cure for, is that which took my mother’s life.”

  Samantha was speechless in the face of his revelation. It was obvious his guilt was a key motivator in his controlled exile from society.

  He took a large gulp of his brandy and changed the subject before she could respond. “You want to make sure you have plenty of money in your purse if you choose the weapon of poison. Although it is more certain than a bow, the likelihood of failing and having to go back to the beginning is great,” he instructed her.

  He felt he had said too much about his motive for his research. Samantha accepted for the moment that she should let the matter go and they played on, discussing the different merits of the hunter’s weapons.

  She decided to try and charm him out of his serious mood. “Are we still playing for a reward?” Perhaps this time, when she lost, which she certainly would, he would take a kiss.

  “Feeling cocky, are you?” He gave her a roguish smile that made her breath catch in her throat. “What request would you make this time, since you’ve already gained the boon you asked before?”

  She certainly wasn’t going to let him know that she wanted a kiss or that he affected her as he did. “I could use another milk cow.” She gave him an innocent smile as she advanced her hunter closer to the dragon.

  “A milk cow?” Her answer surprised a bark of laughter out of him. “I must be losing my touch,” he murmured to himself.

  “And, what would you have of me? Do you have some other chore that needs doing?” She smiled, pleased that she’d gotten him thinking of something other than his mother and the medical puzzle that awaited him upstairs.

  “I’m still thinking about it.” He gave her a long, assessing look that sent a shiver down her spine. He definitely wasn’t thinking of chores or milk cows now, she’d wager. His strong and masculine body seemed to fill the room. Perhaps she would be wiser to tease him less.

  The next two explanations he gave about his moves were so briefly worded that she knew she was nearly done for.

  When he captured the dragon and won the game once again, she suppressed her frustration and tried to be a good sport about it. “Congratulations, my lord. You are certainly a master at this game, although with your age, I think it’s only a matter of time before I surpass you.” She sensed somehow that she had hit upon his weak spot and was playing with fire.

  “Now what? Are you going to blindfold me again?” She gave him a saucy smile, not able to stop herself from flirting with him.

  “No,” he murmured, leaving her strangely disappointed. “The stakes get higher, Mrs. Blake, not easier. Every time. Until you don’t want to play anymore and you go away and stop distracting me from my work.” His voice lowered to a growl as he leaned in closer to her. The intense look on his face was a bit frightening. “Or, it forces you to get good enough to win.”

  “What, then, are the stakes?” she asked, her heart thundering in her chest as she became more convinced by the moment that he was going to ask something physical of her.

  “This time the handkerchief is going to bind your hands,” he told her with a wicked smile.

  She inhaled sharply. What in the world did he mean by that?

  He pushed languidly to his feet, and she took another quick gulp of her own brandy, hoping it would calm her as the slow burn moved through her veins. When he reached her chair he took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

  She knew she should protest this strange request, but she was too shocked to speak, too intrigued to tell him no.

  “What was that you were saying about my advanced age?” His hand lingered on hers.

  Samantha stood staring at his warm hand on hers, unable to form a response.

  “Put your hands up, over your head,” he instructed as he guided her back against the window. His hands were tight on her waist.

  Blushing furiously, she obeyed, feeling confused and nervous. Something about his commanding presence and the way he spoke made it impossible to resist.

  He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and bound her wrists tightly together over her head, to the window latch above her. She still couldn’t believe he was doing this to her. The window was very cold against her back, making her shiver. He gave the cloth a tight yank to test its security.

  “Ow,” she said, though it didn’t really hurt.

  “Yes, dear, this is not pretend. You may be in some real danger now. Are you sure this game is worth it?”

  “You can’t scare me,” she told him brazenly, suddenly sure that was his intention.

  “Can’t I?” He stared at her, unmasked hunger in his dark eyes. The dark beard stubble on his handsome face gave him a predatory look, like a pirate or a bandit of some sort. She caught her breath as he let his hands trail from her bound wrists down her arms, along her sides, until he held her waist with his strong hands, pulling her toward him.

  She was pinned tightly between himself and the window. She could feel the demanding insistence of his erection pressed against her. The coldness of the glass was a sharp contrast to the heat of his big body. He slowly lowered his mouth toward hers.

  “I wish you were still wearing those trousers,” he murmured, with his mouth a mere inch from hers. “I can’t sleep at night for thinking of the way your lovely little bottom looked in them.”

  At last his lips met hers, and she fell into his kiss as though she’d been waiting for it her entire life. Perhaps she had, because the fire that spread throughout her body was nothing she’d ever felt before. She writhed in his hold, anxious and frustrated, wanting to touch him.

  He deepened the kiss and moved in even closer, if such a thing was possible. His erection rubbed against her and made her shamefully wet between her legs. It made her crazy to not be able to act on the passion flaring within her. She tried to press against him, but as she did, he leaned away, creating a gap between them.

  He stopped and smiled at her. What a beautiful smile. What a bastard he was. She let out a ragged breath. “You’re torturing me.”

  “Just looking at you tortures me. Your nipples are showing through your gown. And all that writhing around is making things worse. Can you imagine what seeing you helpless like this does to me?”

  He leaned in again, teasing her, with his mouth very close to her mouth. As she leaned forward to kiss him he moved back with a smirk on his beautiful face. “Maybe I haven’t lost my touch?”

  “Oh, you are going to get it, when I get out of here.” She writhed again, trying to free her hands, thinking about her revenge. One day she would beat him at his own game and then she’d have him tied and helpless before her, so that she could finally touch him the way she wanted to.

  “Promises, promises,” he whispered.

  He brought his hand to her breast, slowly brushing her nipple with the tip of one of his fingers. He gave her nipple a little pinch through the material of her dress. A wave of hot pleasure shot through her. “When I get free, you had better sleep with one eye open. There is going to be no end to my revenge.”

  He laughed and gave her another long kiss.

  “You scare me, Samantha.” She loved the sound of her name on his lips, like music, soft and low. “I want to take you right here and make love to you.”

  She closed her eyes, wanting him to do just that. She could imagine his powerful body on top of hers, thrusting deep inside of her.

  He backed away after taking one last kiss. “And so, I
do believe it is time for me to end this, before I do something we will both regret.” To her surprise, he turned and began walking toward the door.

  “Are you just going to leave me here?” she yelled, although he had already gone out the door. Furious did not begin to describe her state, as she stood there tied to the window, blushing and heated.

  How dare he awaken such passion within her and then blithely walk away?

  For long moments she stood there, bound and helpless, but at last crisp footsteps echoed down the hall. Thank God. He’d come back.

  Just as she was about to say something cutting, in walked Joseph, his eyes firmly fixed to the floor. “Lord Chattel said you’d gotten yourself in a bind, and I needed to come release you.”

  She blushed furiously, humiliated beyond measure as Joseph worked to release the bonds that had held her. Yes, she had gotten herself in a bind. Now she needed to figure out how she was going to put him in one.

  After a sleepless night, Nico was feeling quite a bit worse for wear when he joined Samantha at the breakfast table the next morning. She glared at him and then ignored him, speaking only to the servants. He gave her an amused grin and read the paper, pretending not to notice her either, when in truth all he could think about was the way she’d felt in his arms last night.

  He certainly hadn’t intended to let things go as far as they had, perhaps the brandy had played a part. Having her tied up that way, completely at his mercy, had been one of the most arousing things he’d ever experienced. She brought out something in him he couldn’t quite explain.

  How he’d found the strength to walk away, he still wasn’t certain. She’d looked like an angry cat when he’d left her there, and his desire had only been tempered by his amusement.

  He felt oddly guilty that he’d never mentioned his courtship with another woman to her. Now, it would seem like a strange thing to blurt out after kissing her. Lady Morgan was the complete opposite of Samantha. She was a widow, important in society, who was pleasant to be with, but never aroused the kind of feelings he already felt for Samantha. To be honest, he’d never had this much curiosity in any woman before. He didn’t like it. His plan was to marry a woman who could support his work, perhaps even help it, with her political connections. Certainly, he didn’t want “love”.