Dare raised an eyebrow in silent rebuke.
“Surely, you were not so discreet as to go completely unnoticed, especially when the ladies in question came stumbling back to the party rumpled and sated.”
“I’m certain they were sated. As to the rest, I cannot say.” He waved a dismissive hand in the air and headed down the path, content that his tale included enough of the truth to quell any rumors regarding his true exploits.
It didn’t take long to locate the desired tent. It was surrounded by a bawdy crowd of gentlemen, eagerly expressing their appreciation. Undeterred, Dare strode through the throng and secured himself a key vantage point, with Lazby and the others following close behind.
The woman in the center was quite magnificent. Lean and dark, with thick black hair and shadowed eyes, she spun and swayed in a circle. She had four veils draped over her lithe form, with others scattered about on the grass. A chain of gold surrounded her waist, and she held tiny cymbals in her fingers that were barely audible over the catcalls of the crowd. As a dancer she was well skilled, alternating between slow sensuous movements and a more fevered pitch, twirling in mad circles, causing her gold jewelry to flash in the lamplight.
A portly fellow next to Dare gave him a nudge in the ribs. “Called the dance of the seven veils.” Without taking his eyes off the entertainment, he licked his thick lips. “Three are gone and the next few promise to be quite revealing.”
The dancer’s hand trailed along the edge of a gauzy blue scarf, draped from shoulder to hip. The shouts grew louder as the crowd implored her to remove the draping. Once she sensed their attention was maximized, she once again slowed down and loosened the knot at her shoulder. Catching both ends in her hands, she slid the scarf across her body, tantalizing them with flashes of skin.
The tension mounted. Only three scarves remained, covering two scraps of strategically placed gold fabric. She once again picked up the tempo, whipping the scarf above her head before letting it sail to the ground near Dare’s feet.
“God’s blood, she is magnificent,” Lazby slurred at his side. “She would be a ride no man could forget, I’d wager.” Then, to everyone’s dismay, he reached out and grabbed a hank of hair as the dancer twirled by. The sudden tension yanked her from her feet and she collapsed in a heap in front of them.
The crowd erupted with shouts. They were not happy to have their entertainment interrupted. Dare reached over and pried the pup’s hands out of her hair. “Lazby, that is no way to treat a lady.”
“She’s no lady. She’s mine. I saw her look at me. I know what she wants.”
“Here now, Lazby. You must be nice and share.”
The cur slapped Dare’s hand away and grabbed once more for the woman. “I don’t wanna share. I caught her. I keep her.”
Dare was disgusted by his ill-mannered behavior. “No, she’s here to entertain everyone. Perhaps after the show you can seek her out. For now, I think it’s time to leave.”
He motioned to his companions to grab Lazby’s arms and together they dragged him from the tent. The sot flailed around, trying to break free, but they held tight. As they headed up the path, they heard the music in the tent resume.
“Damn,” muttered Graves, “I was really looking forward to the next veil.”
Dare grunted his agreement before turning to the others. “Highstone, see that Lazby doesn’t get into any more trouble. I have no interest in rescuing him again this evening.”
Gravely, Highstone nodded, dragging his disgraced friend off to get some food.
At that, a trio of ladies entered the path ahead of them and Dare thumped Graves on the shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find adequate replacements this evening. Let’s get a drink and begin our search.”
Putting that unpleasantness behind him, Dare spent the rest of the evening in flirtatious conversation with uncomplicated women, accompanied by sly smiles and eager touches. It was just what he wanted. Superficial and uninspired as always, with no mention of his injury, no deep, personal probing into his upbringing. Just unfettered enjoyment. Dare was finally able to relax.
As the evening grew later, exotic fortune tellers appeared, wandering between groups. Draped in gauzy skirts and glittering jewelry, they invariably offered the same predictions. “You will find happiness. You will be blessed with children. You will have a successful night at cards in the near future.” It was all in good fun.
It wasn’t until Dare was heading out that he felt a prickle of anxiety. Turning around, he was startled by a gypsy woman in darker clothes, appearing more ragtag than sparkly. She grabbed his arm with her strong, narrow fingers, looked deep into his eyes, and whispered, “Your pain is ending. Allow it to happen. Don’t let fear stop your destiny.”
He froze. What sort of odd entertainment was this? He shook off her hand. “Quiet, old woman. I don’t need your ridiculous pronouncements.”
She gave him a steady look, her coal-black eyes boring into his, and then turned away without another word.
Dare felt a shiver run down his back. “Your pain is ending,” she had said.
Well, indeed it was. He had left his pain in the country. And he had returned to his destiny, his life, in London. While that interpretation made perfect sense to him, he could not shake the eerie sensation her words had caused. Determined not to let it overshadow his evening, he did his best to put her out of his head.
Chapter 32
The next evening, Dare and Graves settled into one of their favorite gaming hells. They cordially greeted the other gentlemen gathered around the table, wasting no time joining their card game. It started as a casual pastime, but as the evening wore on, the play became more intense. Upon the arrival of Lord Barley and his more desperate cronies, the stakes rose with alacrity.
“I’m out,” said Graves, after a bad turn of the cards cost him a tidy sum. “I’m going to head to the club. Do you care to join me?”
Dare was having an unusually difficult time playing cards. Every so often, he would hear Nivea’s voice in his head, ruining his concentration. He recalled the morning when he’d told her about his childhood and she pointed out, You gamble. And then, when he mocked her disregard for honoring his father’s wishes, she shot back, I don’t blame you for breaking the fifth commandment.
Her support gave him a queer feeling inside. Why couldn’t he just block her from his thoughts?
But he couldn’t. In fact, she’d been rattling around his brain for the past week. Every time he saw a pair of pretty blue eyes or noticed flowers in the park, he thought of her. Tonight, when nothing in this godforsaken place should have had the remotest connection to her, he still couldn’t get her out of his head. And it was ruining his game.
Determined to end this once and for all, he responded to his friend, “You go on ahead. I’m certain to redeem myself. This run of bad luck can’t continue.”
“Are you sure?” Graves leaned over. “You sound like one of them.”
Dare sneered. “You know better than that. I will never be like them—in any form.”
Graves raised an eyebrow, but didn’t press the issue. Dare waved him away and turned back to his cards.
The stakes rose rapidly as others did their best to recoup their losses. After a few more hands, Dare considered walking away. He had not expected such an intense session and was running low on funds. He would play just one more hand and then move on.
Picking up his cards, he did his best to remain focused. Here was a hand that could not lose. Apparently, others felt the same way, and after a particularly aggressive round of betting, Dare found he couldn’t match the pot.
Well, that was a disappointing turn of events.
He withdrew his jeweled snuffbox and took a second to consider his options. He could leave the table, but it seemed a damned shame given his spectacular hand. His companions sensed his situation and, anticipating his continued bad luck throughout the evening, began to press their advantage. “Landis, old man, it appears you are a
bit out of pocket. No worries there, we are happy to take a voucher from you.”
Like hell they would. Betting more than he could cover was a rule Dare never broke. It was such foolishness that resulted in his family losing their fortune and led to the unfortunate circumstances of his youth.
No, he would leave it up to them to divine another alternative. He leaned back in his chair, assuming his most bored and dispassionate pose and drawled, “Sorry, gentlemen, I fear I may just call it an evening. No point in pressing my luck any further.”
Desperate not to lose his mark, Barley’s eyes roamed over his opponent. “Perhaps you have something else you’d care to wager.” His eyes lit up as they settled on Dare’s snuffbox.
Affecting a nonchalant tone, Barley stated, “We don’t want to end our fun quite yet. Perhaps you have a bit of jewelry you’d like to toss in, like your stick pin or a watch.” He paused a beat before continuing smoothly, “Or maybe that snuffbox would fill in the gap, to let you finish the hand.”
Resisting the desperate urge to recoil, Dare slowly placed a hand on the box and slid it off the table into his pocket. Having seen the speculative light in his companion’s face, he knew that was what he was after. But Dare would go to great lengths to protect that box. The thought of losing it sparked a slow burn of anger that made him want to quickly win this hand and depart.
“The box is nothing but a trinket,” he answered, keeping his voice level. “But you are correct. I am not ready for the fun to end. Perhaps I will wager my…ring.” Sliding the heavy gold piece from his finger, he held it up so the large sapphire sparkled in the candle light.
“It has been in my family for a century or so, and I hate to part with it. You must promise that if I do lose, you will give me a chance to win it back at a later time. I am certain my father would be…perturbed to find it missing.” With that he cringed, giving all indications that he’d filched a valuable family heirloom.
Eager to take advantage of the situation, Barley agreed, “Of course. We are all gentlemen here. We can make an arrangement for you to regain your bauble, should the need arise.” With his answering smirk, Dare knew he was thinking at a hefty price.
The smile disappeared the instant Dare laid down his cards. In silence, the others followed suit, knowing that they’d been bested.
“Thank you for an enjoyable evening,” Dare said, scooping up his winnings. “I fear my luck has reached an unexpected peak. I should take advantage of that and look for another sort of entertainment to finish my evening.” With a jaunty wink, he strolled from the room.
As he climbed in his carriage, he withdrew the snuffbox and stared at it, twinkling in the lamplight. The thought of risking it in a card game was so ludicrous he actually laughed out loud. It was one of his most valuable possessions.
His mind turned back to when he was a young man, just graduating from the university. His father had come to town and they were strolling past some shops when Dare noticed the jeweled snuffbox in the window.
With the brash surety of youth, he announced, “That’s quite the thing.”
“Pshaw,” growled the marquess. “Nothing but a useless play toy for the idle. No son of mine would waste his time with snuff…and certainly not with such a foppish box as that.”
Determined to exert his independence, Dare declared, “I disagree. I think I might get it.”
His hand had not even reached the latch to the shop’s door when his father’s fist slammed into Dare’s head, leaving him with a familiar dizziness.
“You bring that into my house and I’ll bounce you out on your arse, make no mistake,” he bellowed and strode down the street without a backward glance.
Dare could vividly remember the shame and humiliation of his father’s abuse right there on the sidewalk for all the world to see, and anger roiled in his belly.
He had stood there for a moment, gathering his wits, before turning on his heel and marching back to his rooms. The next day, he had gathered all the coin he could find and purchased the snuffbox. It was with great satisfaction that week, upon returning to his home in Raynsforth, that he had sat as his father’s dining table and pulled it out of his pocket.
True to his word, his father threw him out on the spot. It was five years before he was forced to lay eyes on his sire again. Five blessed years. That snuffbox was a symbol of Dare’s freedom and he treasured it above all else.
Feeling restless, Dare instructed his groom to take his carriage to Madame Amora’s. He was certain to find ample entertainment at her elegant and exclusive accommodations.
As he walked in the door, he realized it had been almost two weeks since he’d had a woman. No wonder he was unsettled. That was an extraordinary oversight on his part.
Madame Amora welcomed him as soon as he entered the oversized parlor. The room was filled with a plethora of attractive ladies draped across comfortable furniture and amused gentlemen. Madame pressed her abundant figure against him and asked, “Lord Landis, my pet, we have missed you. What sort of entertainment would you prefer this evening?”
He stared at her, realizing he had no idea. That was odd. Waving a hand, he proclaimed, “I care not. Pick me something new.”
She pondered a moment, tapping a finger to her lips before proclaiming, “I have just the thing. We have an exotic creature from the south upstairs. Quite talented.”
“From the south, you say? Sounds intriguing.”
“Quite,” she answered, stroking his arm.
He followed her upstairs and paused as she knocked on a door to the right. A husky female voice called out, “Si?”
“I have a gentleman who would like to meet you.”
The door opened and a lithe young woman appeared in the doorway. Her even white teeth flashed at Dare as she leaned her slim hip against the frame. Her long black hair hung in a thick curtain around her scantily covered body. The candlelight illuminated the gauzy fabric, turning it transparent.
“Welcome, milord. My name is Marita. Please come in.” She let her eyes walk slowly over his form as she gestured toward the room.
“Is she to your liking?” asked the madam, silkily.
He nodded and crossed the threshold.
Marita directed him to a chair and slid his jacket off his shoulders. As he sat down, she whispered in his ear, “First we will relax and get to know each other a little, mi amor. It is important to soothe the mind as well as the body.”
“Hm,” he grunted.
She crossed to the sideboard and poured him a glass of brandy. Crossing back, she knelt in front of him, and placed her small, warm hands on his thighs. “Do you have any troubles you would like to tell me about? I am a good listener.” She stroked his tight breeches and looked up at him with a coquettish smile.
No.
No, he did not want to talk. Nor confess any troubles. Or be touched, for that matter. Which didn’t bode well for the evening. So Dare took a good long pull of brandy and tried to put himself in the proper frame of mind.
When he didn’t answer, she let her fingers brush the placket of his trousers and slide open the first button. She licked her lips and slanted him a look of lust.
“No? That is all right. Perhaps you would like to take me to bed, then?” She took his hand and pulled him up from the chair before heading toward the bed. When he didn’t follow, she stopped and gave him an alluring glance over her shoulder.
She was sensual and erotic. She was here to give him pleasure, and, judging by her movements, he could expect considerable enjoyment. Yet Dare was dismayed by his complete lack of interest.
Determined to shake off the unsettling mood, he bestowed an appreciative smirk on Marita and strode toward the bed. When he reached her side, she raised her arms to the buttons on his shirt. He snatched her hands and pulled them to his lips. Just because he had let Nivea see his scars, he wasn’t going to open that door to everyone.
Adopting a tone that implied he was sharing a secret of utmost importance, he whispered, �
��Indulge me, darling. In my line of work, I prefer to keep on as many clothes as possible. It allows for a safe and speedy exit, if needed.”
Like all women, she looked suitably impressed. Having dodged that issue, he took her into his arms and began to stroke her long, silky hair. He inhaled her scent—a spicy, exotic mixture filled his head. He ran his hands down her spine and pulled her close, allowing her flat stomach to press against his manhood.
And nothing.
He felt nothing. What the hell? Normally, he would be primed and ready to throw her down and take his pleasure, but not tonight. Determined, he reached down to knead her derriere while burying his face into her neck.
She ran her hands through his hair and undulated her hips against him. Then she pressed him down onto the bed and began to unbutton his trousers, her knuckles brushing his thighs.
He pulled open her silky robe and stroked her coffee colored skin.
And felt…nothing, absolutely nothing. It just felt…wrong.
She was too bony and small. Her skin wasn’t smooth and pale. She tasted wrong, spicy and exotic, not like sweet English cream.
Unbidden, visions of Nivea flashed through his mind. His hands stroked her skin, translucent and voluptuous in the flickering shadows of a single candle. Breathing in her delicious vanilla scent as he buried himself inside her soft willing thighs. That was what he wanted.
He froze. My God, no. Why was she tormenting him here of all places? He was being entertained by an experienced, exotic beauty ready to serve his every desire. How could he even be thinking of Nivea?
She was clingy and needy and constantly pressing him to discuss things he had no intention of sharing. She was certain to be his downfall, either trapping him into marriage or subjecting him to a public betrayal. Or both.
Suddenly the room seemed stifling. Hot and stuffy, with an overwhelming foreign smell.
This was lunacy. As Marita leaned down to remove his boots, he decided that this would not happen. Could not happen. It was time to leave. Which put him in a quandary.
How would he get out of this?
Dare to Love Page 21
