by Tarah Scott
Sophie looked up at Adam through her lashes. “You are an uncommonly fine dancer, sir.”
His gaze flicked to her bodice. “As are you.”
She blinked. Had that been desire in his voice?
His hand tightened on the small of her back as he sidestepped another couple, and her abdomen pressed against the hard length she instantly recognized as arousal.
He was trying to seduce her.
She flushed warm and broke eye contact before realizing she’d done so. She had to do something. She was willing to do battle with her father and refuse to marry the marquess—and she would have gladly allowed a passionate kiss between Adam and her. But the man was openly trying to seduce her. That would not do.
Sophie caught sight of a short man standing near the dancefloor, his narrowed gaze on them as they passed, and she wondered if he was the dance partner who should have had the dance Adam had taken. Adam steered them to the left, through the crowd and away from the man.
Adam guided her around two other couples, and before Sophie realized his intent, he twirled her in a circle that made her head spin and blazed a path through the crowd and out onto the balcony. They came to a sudden halt near the stone railing. Cool night air brought a rush of gooseflesh across her warm arms. Half a dozen other couples milled about on the balcony. At least her father couldn’t fault her for being with a man on the balcony when they were surrounded by other people.
“It is quite warm in the ballroom, is it not?” she asked.
“A stroll in the gardens will cool you off sufficiently” he said. “I hear Lady Seafield’s gardens are spectacular.”
A stroll? Under almost any other circumstances, she might have said yes, but she half-feared her thoughts would betray her. If Adam had the slightest notion of her dreams…. Worse, if word reached her father that she had dallied with a man in Lord Monthemer’s employ, her father might try to make good on his threat to marry her to Robert Barrett. Sophie inwardly grimaced. She would run away before she allowed that.
Sophie looked up at Adam. “I really don’t think we should.”
“Do not think.” Adam grasped her arm and nearly pulled her down the steps to the lawn.
“Adam—Mr. MacAlister,” she cried. “Really, my father will—” She broke off.
He looked down at her. “Your father will what?”
“Surely, you understand he would not want me to stroll in the garden with a man?”
“Is your mistress here?”
“Yes,” she replied tentatively.
A couple passed. Though Sophie couldn’t discern their faces in the dim moonlight, she felt certain they were staring as she and Adam passed. They neared a fountain with an angel in the middle. The cold began to work its way through her exposed arms. She shivered.
“Forgive me, Beatrice.” Adam shucked his coat and placed it over her shoulders.
The fabric was warm from his body, and she shivered again.
“Are you still cold?” he asked.
“Nae, I-I am fine, thank you.” But she wasn’t fine. It felt odd to be wearing his coat.
They reached the fountain and sat down on the stone bench that surrounded the fountain. The murmur of voices somewhere deeper in the garden told Sophie they were not completely alone—but they were alone enough. She should return to the ballroom before someone missed her. She had already slighted one gentleman by giving Adam his dance, no doubt the next gentleman on her dance card awaited his turn.
“Is your mistress enjoying herself?” Adam asked.
“What?” Sophie nodded. “Oh, yes, of course.”
“What does she think of Lord Monthemer?”
“She thinks no differently of him now than she did when she arrived,” Sophie replied.
“Meeting him in person has not altered her opinion?” he asked.
“Why should it? He is only marrying her for her money.”
“Ah, yes, I forgot that.”
Sophie looked at him and frowned. “Is something amiss?”
“What would be amiss? We are at a lovely party and I’m sitting in the garden with a beautiful woman.”
He thought she was beautiful?
He slid an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, so they sat thigh to thigh. She flushed. This was a dangerous game she played. Everything was fine until her father had arrived. If not for him, she could have continued to see Adam until she left. Now….
Sophie stood. “Perhaps I should return to the ballroom.” She took his coat from her shoulders as he stood. Cold air washed over her. “Thank you for the use of your coat.” She handed him the coat, then started toward the ballroom.
Strong fingers closed around her wrist and Adam swung her to face him. “Mr. MacAlister,” she said in the instant before his mouth covered hers.
He slipped his tongue inside her mouth. He tasted of brandy. She liked brandy, though she’d never tasted it on a man’s tongue before. Her stomach did a somersault. He pressed her close and she became aware of the hard length digging into her belly. Her head whirled. It had been too long since she’d experienced a man’s desire—though Adam’s desire seemed far more insistent than Matthew’s ever had.
Sophie broke the kiss. “Sir,” she said in a too-breathless voice. “I believe we should return—”
The murmur of voices intruded upon them. Sophie jumped back, heart racing. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. She was acting like a girl still in the schoolroom instead of a widow. Adam thought her to be Beatrice Frasier, companion to Miss Sophie Shaw. Would a companion be afraid as she was? Yes, Beatrice would be afraid of being considered a loose woman, as ladies didn’t like having loose women as companions.
A couple emerged from the shadows beyond the fountain, and Sophie realized Adam hadn’t put on his coat. She wanted to turn aside in order to hide her face but feared Adam would think her childish. Wasn’t she acting childish? She’d protested coming into the garden but had allowed Adam to lead her here. She’d said she should return to the ballroom, yet still stood here with him. The couple passed, and Sophie spun and started toward the mansion. Adam fell into step alongside her as he slipped on his coat.
They reached the ballroom, and she halted. “I am quite thirsty.”
“Then I suppose I should get you something to drink,” he said.
She nodded, gaze on the floor. “Thank you.”
“I shall return in a moment.” He started through the crowd.
Sophie immediately scanned the room for signs of her father, Beatrice, or Lady Seafield. She didn’t see her father. That meant he was likely with other gentlemen off drinking brandy. She caught sight of Beatrice on the dancefloor with a tall, handsome man who looked down at her as if she were Aphrodite. Beatrice looked as if she wanted to run. It was high time she learned what it was like to have male attention.
Sophie couldn’t locate Lady Seafield and decided now was a good time to make an escape. Adam would be angry that she had deserted him, but she couldn’t risk that her father might talk to him and learn it was he who had taken her to the oyster cellars. Without doubt, her father would insist the marquess terminate Adam’s employment. It would be all her fault for not telling Adam who she really was. He would never have agreed to spend time with her if he’d known. That meant she couldn’t see him again.
Sophie grasped the dance card hanging from her left wrist and looked at the second line and gasped at sight of Lord Monthemer’s name for the dance Adam had poached. Her father would be furious. Normally, she wouldn’t worry overly much about her father’s frustrations. He rarely got angry or even upset with her. But on the rare occasions he did get angry or make demands, he seldom relented. Why was he suddenly so insistent that she marry?
She looked around and realized she had better get lost in the crowd. It wouldn’t do for Adam to return with drinks. Lord only knew when the marquess might show up, demanding the dance she’d given away.
She glanced again at the dance card and read the name Mr. John Evers on
the third line. She didn’t know Mr. Evers and didn’t want to. Sophie pushed through the crowd to a hallway and turned down the first open door she came. She stopped short and looked around the room. Men occupied nearly a dozen tables playing cards.
Sophie released a breath. Adam would never think to look in here for in the cardroom.
Chapter Sixteen
Adam wasn’t surprised to find Beatrice—Miss Shaw—gone when he arrived with champagne. She might have deduced that he knew her true identity and had gone in search of her father in hopes of finding a way out of the web of deceit she’d woven. He recalled their kiss in the garden and his cock began to rise. A mental picture flashed of the beauty beneath him as he plunged so deep into her that he touched her soul. Adam gritted his teeth. He really was no different than his father. He had terrible taste in women. Adam drank both glasses of champagne and considered going home.
Sadly, Miss Shaw was only half the reason he’d come to the party. He needed to at least let Balfour see him here. He had yet to see the man tonight. Lady Seafield’s ball was one of the most important events of the Season. Balfour had to be here.
Adam made one turn around the ballroom in search of Balfour, then was caught by Lady Seafield.
“You are a rogue, sir,” she chided a mock sternness. “I did see you on the dancefloor with Miss Shaw.” The older lady’s eyes twinkled. “She is quite beautiful.”
“Indeed, she is, ma’am,” he said. “I thank you for arranging the dance.”
“You have a second dance with her, you know,” she said.
“I am looking forward to it. Until then—”
“Until then, my lord, you will dance with Miss Hawthorne and then Lady Phoebe.”
Adam blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
She slipped a hand into the crook of his arm and began slowly walking through the crowd. “You did not think that I could allow a handsome man like you to stand on the sidelines like a wallflower?”
He navigated her around a group of men. “I did not plan on stay late, Lady Seafield.”
He patted his arm. “You are young, a few dances will not hurt you.”
He snapped his head in her direction. “A few dances?”
She smiled serenely, eyes straight ahead. “Ah, yes, there is Miss Hawthorne.”
Nearly two hours later, Adam managed to escape the dancefloor. He hadn’t attended a ball in over a year. This would teach him to stay home.
He had seen hide nor hair of Miss Shaw. She had likely gone home. Which is exactly what he planned on doing, once he found Balfour. But where? Then Adam knew.
Five minutes later, Adam found the cardroom where a dozen card tables were set up and games were in progress. He caught sight of an old friend, Sir Henry Waits, at the far table. Of course, Balfour also sat at the same table. Adam headed in that direction. When he neared, Henry’s eyes shifted past the players’ heads and locked his gaze on him. Henry grinned, then threw down his card and rose.
Adam clasped Henry’s outstretched hand and shook. “What the devil are you doing in Edinburgh?” Adam asked. “You never leave the north. Is Dorothea with you?”
Henry laughed. “Dorothea is, indeed, with me. In fact, she’s the reason I am here. She insisted we visit her cousin, who is expecting.”
“And she dragged you here, tonight?”
Henry grimaced. “Aye, the lass can be quite persuasive when she puts her mind to it. Thankfully, she didn’t insist I stay with her in the ballroom all night. Why don’t you join us for a hand?”
“Against you?” Adam snorted. “I think not.”
Henry grinned. “Still have not recovered from the thrashing I gave you last year at Penelope’s?”
“You were damned lucky that night,” Adam replied. “But then, if I recall, you had Dorothea at your side. She always did bring you good luck.”
“She is not here now,” Henry said. “Have a seat.”
“Yes, do have a seat,” Balfour said.
As if only just noticing him, Adam turned slightly toward where Kenrich Balfour sat in the chair to Henry’s left. “Not tonight,” Adam said.
“If you are afraid of Henry, I am sure we can talk him into sitting out a hand,” Balfour said.
Adam gave him a cool smile. “I wouldn’t think of asking Henry to sit out. Especially when he is winning.” Adam looked at his friend. “You are winning, as usual?”
Henry’s gaze sharpened. “I have won a hand or two. Small stakes, though, I assure you. Lady Seafield does not allow anyone to leave her party more than a thousand pounds poorer than when they arrived.”
“Surely, even you can afford to lose a hundred pounds,” Balfour said to Adam.
“I never gamble with my money,” Adam replied.
Balfour’s brows shot up. “Not many men learn such valuable lessons from their fathers.”
If not for the money Adam would make by catching the bastard red-handed with the King’s money, Adam would ram his fist into Balfour’s mouth. Instead, he gave Balfour a cool smile, “I believe it is best you and I stay on good terms, Balfour.”
Satisfaction flickered in Balfour’s eyes, and Adam knew Balfour believed he had him.
Good.
“Gentlemen.” Adam angled his head, then said to Henry, “Perhaps we could meet tomorrow?”
Henry nodded. “I rise early, as you know. You may call at eight.”
Adam winced inwardly but nodded, then turned. He got halfway to the door when he caught sight of Beatrice. He mentally cursed. He had to quit thinking of her as Beatrice. She was Sophie Shaw—and she sat at a table, cards in front of her.
What the devil was she doing playing cards? Had she followed him into the room? Nae, that didn’t seem likely. She appeared to be well into a game of Vingt-et-Un. Adam veered toward the table but stopped five feet away and leaned a shoulder against the wall. If her attention wavered from the game and she looked up, she would see him, but her focus remained locked on her opponent.
Lord Vance Emerson turned over the second of his cards to reveal a jack. With his king, that made twenty. Miss Shaw’s two face-up cards were an ace and a four. A hush fell over the onlookers gathered around the table. The dealer asked if she wanted another card. Miss Shaw acknowledged with a gracious nod, and Adam marveled that she gave away nothing of her face-down card. She had seemed far too innocent to be such a good player. But wasn’t that how she had deceived him? She grasped the card and turned it face up. A six of spades. Cries of delight from the ladies mingled with the gentlemen’s muttered curses.
Emerson angled his head in assent. She reached for the bills piled in the middle of the table—no more than two hundred pounds—but Vance covered her hand with his. She shifted her eyes to his in question.
“One last game?” he asked.
She laughed the same laugh Adam had heard in the oyster cellars, sending a message to his cock that reminded him yet again of their kiss.
She shook her head. “The hour grows late. I am afraid not.”
“High card takes all.” Emerson slid the remainder of his bills in the middle of the table. Another thousand pounds, if Adam didn’t miss the mark.
She frowned. “There is only two hundred pounds in the pot. I will not wager another”—she looked at the pot—“eight hundred pounds.”
“Closer to a thousand pounds, Miss Shaw.” Emerson held her gaze. “I understand your will not be on Town much longer.”
A shadow flickered across her face and Adam suspected she was wondering if she would be leaving Edinburgh as the Marchioness of Monthemer.
A murmur rippled through the small crowd, and a man near Adam whispered to another man, “She married at sixteen and poisoned her husband to be rid of him. They call her Belladonna.”
“I thought he died of natural causes,” the other man replied.
The original man laughed. “Do you believe everything you read in the newspaper? I hear she has half a dozen lovers.”
“Perhaps Lord Emerson is counted among
that fortunate list?” The other man replied with obvious envy in his voice.
“I do plan to return home soon, sir,” Miss Shaw said to Lord Emerson.
“The pot against me escorting you home tonight,” Emerson said.
“I am to wager the pot against your company on the trip home?” She frowned. “I think not, my lord.” She started to scoop up the bills into her reticule.
“I see,” he said.
She paused and looked at him through dark lashes. By God, this woman was far more a vixen than the Beatrice he’d escorted to the oyster cellars.
“Luck may still be on your side,” he said.
She laughed. “You are saying that I won by luck?”
“We all get lucky now and then.”
She regarded him. “High card wins.”
Emerson’s brows shot up in surprise. “That is surely a game of luck.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “That will even the odds of you winning.”
Laughter drifted through the onlookers.
“You are too kind.” Emerson picked up the deck, which sat in front of the man sitting between them, and shuffled. He set the deck in the middle of the table. “Ladies first.”
She grasped the deck, then lifted nearly half the cards and turned them face up on the table before her. Jack of spades.
The crowd oohed.
She betrayed no emotion. Adam had to admit, she had nerve.
Eyes on Miss Shaw, Emerson cut the deck, then dragged the deck across the table to him and turned it over. If Adam had looked away for the barest of seconds or even blinked, he would have missed the very skilled sleight of hand that slipped a card to the top of the deck. Emerson turned over the card. King of hearts.
***
Ten minutes after Sophie lost the cut of the cards to Lord Emerson, she stopped alongside Lord Emerson at the front drive and allowed him to help her into his waiting carriage. He vaulted up behind her and pulled the door shut as he dropped onto the seat opposite her.
Despite the note she left her father that she had allowed Lord Emerson to escort her home, her would be angry. Sophie thought of Mr. MacAlister. If her father knew Adam had kissed her, he would insist Lord Monthemer turn him out without a reference. Allowing Lord Emerson to escort her home would show Lord Monthemer that she wasn’t the woman for him, and no one would get hurt.
