How to Play the Game of Love (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  Horses. Finally, a topic where I would shine. Making a delicate noise of interest, I leaned forward. “Oh? Did you acquire your steed on the continent? I hear they breed the fastest Arabian horses in Hungary.”

  Frederick raised his eyebrows. He speared a piece of carrot with his fork, but didn’t eat it. “Arabs are too dainty for war. I’d be a fool to ride one into battle.”

  I frowned. “Doesn’t the French Emperor ride one?”

  “My point, exactly.”

  Lady Dunlop laid her hand over mine, wadded in my napkin. I hadn’t realized I’d palmed it. I relaxed my hold, but she didn’t release me.

  “I didn’t know you had an interest in horseflesh,” she said.

  Mary snorted. “Her sister tells me she’s a masterful horsewoma—”

  I stomped on Mary’s foot. She grunted.

  “Forgive me,” she said, her voice strained. “I meant to say she weighs as much as a horse.”

  My friend shot me a bizarre look, matched only by that of the hostess. I simpered. “A lovely spring we’re having. Unseasonably mild, wouldn’t you say?”

  As Frederick and the hostess engaged in discourse comparing England’s weather to that of Portugal, where he’d wintered, Mary leaned closer to me. “Why don’t you want people to know?” she asked.

  I matched her quiet tone. “I don’t ride anymore.” The simplest explanation, without going into detail that Mary would find offensive. Although she must know that riding astride was unladylike, she would refute the point. Loudly and vociferously.

  Fearing a poor turn of conversation, I didn’t attempt to engage Frederick in meaningful discourse for the rest of the meal.

  As the servants ladled plum pudding onto my plate, a thin wisp of a young woman slipped into the room. She crossed through the hall unnoticed as she approached the head of the table. Stopping beside Frederick, she offered him a curtsey and whispered something in his ear. She slipped a piece of paper into his hand.

  I hid a smile behind a spoonful of my dessert. Bless you, Emily. That must be my message.

  When every plate had been scraped clean, Lady Dunlop pushed back her chair. It screeched across the floor. The babble filling the room quieted. The hostess announced, “Ladies, let’s adjourn to the sitting room. You gentlemen are welcome to join us, if you’d like to forego your port. We’ll play a game.”

  Cloth rustled as the men shifted uncomfortably in place. One man groaned, though I couldn’t pinpoint which. As the hostess narrowed her beady eyes, Frederick stood.

  He gave her a thin smile. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, Louise. I must make some headway on the journey back to Dover before the day is through.”

  Lady Dunlop pressed her hand over her heart. “But you must stay,” she declaimed. “At least until you digest your food.”

  Frederick remained firm. “Duty calls, I’m afraid.”

  She sighed, but leaned forward to kiss him on either cheek when he embraced her. “Thank you for coming, my dear. I hope that dreadful business on the continent will soon be done and you can settle back here instead.”

  He said something with a tight smile, too low for me to make out. Without a word to Miss Johnstone, he strode for the door. My stomach knotted. This was it. As soon as I devised an excuse to slip away, I’d finally have my moment alone with him.

  Chairs scraped as the guests stood and filed from the room. Lady Dunlop called after the gentlemen, “Feel free to join us in the sitting room when you’re ready.” The gentlemen ignored her, fleeing the dining room as fast as the traffic at the door allowed.

  Using my longer legs, I outpaced most of the women and joined the procession squeezing through the door. Pachycaul stepped to the side, motioning for me to precede him. Some men remained gentlemen, unlike men such as the Duke of Beaufort’s second son, who had no qualms about elbowing through women to make his escape. I glared at his back as he branched off from the line of women leading to the sitting room. He followed the men escaping to the right. I sidled to the left, searching for an opportunity to escape. Women passed me, including Mary—who turned to follow the men.

  “Aren’t you coming to the sitting room?”

  She grimaced. “For more games? I’d rather drink port and smoke cheroots with the men.”

  As she continued on her way, I hid a smile behind my hand. In minutes, the men would stampede down the hall to join the women in the sitting room. The first man to point out that Mary was a woman, and therefore unwelcome, would start a war. A measly parlor game didn’t compare to the tongue-lashing Mary unleashed when outraged.

  The tide of women carried me toward the sitting room. As I reached the door, among the last stragglers, I quickened my step to hurry past.

  From behind me, Lady Dunlop called, “Dear, wherever are you going?”

  Blast. I’d forgotten she hadn’t left the dining room first. Turning, I donned my most winsome smile. “I forgot my handkerchief upstairs.”

  Latching onto my arm, she towed me into the sitting room. “Here, you can borrow mine. We’re about to play a game of blindman’s buff.”

  Another child’s game. At least it was a chaotic one. No one should notice me missing…if I could slip away. With a thin smile, I accepted Lady Dunlop’s handkerchief and pretended to brush it over my nose. Thankfully, her interest in me waned.

  As Lady Dunlop entered the room of young ladies and their chaperones, she dropped my arm. I claimed a spot near the door, free of other people. The hostess waved her hands to gather the women’s attention. Conversation stopped when Warren’s broad-shouldered form darkened the doorway.

  He offered Lady Dunlop a debonair smile. “You said gentlemen were welcome?”

  “Of course,” Lady Dunlop said. Glee lit her expression and her voice. “The more the merrier.”

  His expression stiffened as he examined the room. “It seems I’m outnumbered.”

  Lady Dunlop ignored his trepidation. “How fortunate you’ve decided to join us. We’re about to begin a game of blindman’s buff. You must play the role of buff.”

  Panic-stricken, Warren searched the room for an ally. As his gaze met mine, it turned devious. “I would be delighted,” he said with a grin.

  I swallowed. He wouldn’t cheat, would he?

  Who was I trying to fool? This was the same man who had told me he refused to lose a game. “Cheat” was his middle name.

  Lady Dunlop produced a brightly colored sash. “Excellent. We’ll need to blindfold you, of course.”

  A grin spread across my face. Even better. With Warren blindfolded, I’d slip away without him knowing.

  Lady Dunlop stepped onto the footstool in order to tie the sash around Warren’s eyes. Even then, his head was level with hers. As she settled the blindfold into place, she asked, “Can you see?”

  “Not a peep,” he said, but a smile played over his lips.

  Liar. I narrowed my eyes. I balled my hands to keep from making a lewd gesture.

  At that moment, a stream of gentlemen poured into the room. Ah. Mary must have arrived at the study and insulted them. Curiously, she didn’t follow. Not that I blamed her. If I had my way, I wouldn’t be in this room, either.

  “Welcome,” Lady Dunlop said. “We’re beginning a game of blindman’s buff. Take up your places, gentlemen.”

  Several of the men wrinkled their nose in distaste, but not one tried to leave the room. They dispersed, finding places among the women.

  “Does everyone know the rules?” Lady Dunlop asked.

  “I’m sure they were ingrained in us during childhood,” Beaufort said as he chose a stance by the door. Sarcasm colored his voice.

  Heedless to the air of fashionable ennui in the room, Daisy shouted, “Yes. Spin him around.”

  Lady Dunlop laughed at my sister’s exuberance. At least someone found it charming.

  The hostess squared her hands on her hips and started the rhyme beginning the game. “How many horses has your father got?”

  Warren ans
wered, “Three.”

  “What color are they?”

  With a resigned twist of the mouth, he said, “Black, white, and gray.”

  “Turn around three times and catch who you may.”

  “Turn?” Warren’s smile slipped. “No, don’t—”

  Grasping him squarely by the shoulders, Lady Dunlop spun him around. Daisy helped, batting at his arms like a kitten as they passed her.

  By the time the pair stepped back, Warren reeled. He spread his legs wide, bracing himself, and flung his hands to either side as he caught his balance. I bit my lip. Don’t laugh. He’ll find you.

  Then, amidst catcalls from the players as they scurried around the room, he turned his head to stare precisely in my direction. That cad peeked through his blindfold!

  I darted away from the door. My heart pounded like a marching army. Quick, short beats. Limbs flailed as men and women scrambled to escape Warren’s path. They whistled, they taunted. My head spun from the cacophony. With his hands stretched out as though feeling his way, Warren navigated around the table and divan. He never wavered from his course, from his prey. From me.

  Somehow, in a tangle of arms and legs, I found myself beside Daisy.

  “Lord Hartfell,” she called. “Over here.”

  A grin flashed across the lower half of Warren’s face. He took full, ground-eating strides toward me. One of the ladies shrieked with laughter as she jumped out of his path. Catch her, I prayed. Warren stepped past her.

  I shoved at Daisy, but she stubbornly clutched to my sleeve. “What are you doing?” I kept my voice to a whisper. It barely carried to my own ears, let alone hers.

  Somehow, she heard. She laughed. “You cheated the last game. This is revenge.”

  She shoved me toward Warren. I tripped over the hem of my dress. As I teetered forward, I shut my eyes.

  I impacted Warren’s chest with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs. My ears rang. He stumbled before catching his balance. He clutched me by the upper arms, his grip unbreakable. The strong, crisp scent of sandalwood induced tingles over my skin.

  “I have you,” he said. His voice was low, male, and rough, meant only for my ears.

  Daisy heard him and giggled. She edged away, out of danger.

  Warren raised his hand to lift the blindfold away.

  Lady Dunlop shouted, “Wait.”

  He stilled, hand half-raised, the smile slipping from his face.

  “You must guess the identity of the person you caught. Without taking off the blindfold.”

  Warren groaned. “Must I?”

  From my position so close to Warren that my nose pressed against his collarbone, I couldn’t see Lady Dunlop’s expression. But glee dominated her voice when she said, “Don’t worry. If you can’t guess by the third try, we’ll take pity on you.”

  Warren’s chest heaved as if he might sigh. The motion tickled my nose. He withheld it and said, “Am I allowed a hint?”

  “You may guess from the feel of her, of course. Ask her questions if you’d like, but she’s not obligated to answer.”

  Then what was the point of asking? Surely any sane person would withhold their answers so the person guessing wouldn’t identify them by their voice. Not that Warren didn’t know exactly whom he’d caught. I rolled my eyes, waiting for him to make the obvious guess.

  Instead, he released my upper arms to strip off his gloves. He tucked them into his pocket and groped for my skin. He teased the rim of my glove. A shorter glove, for this affair; it covered no more than my wrists. He ran the rough pads of his fingers over the bare skin of my arm, pausing to trace the bottom edge of the short dress sleeve.

  “I’ve caught a lady.”

  Lady Dunlop had already handed him that answer by referring to me as her.

  He trailed his fingers over the swell of my shoulder. With his index finger, he traced my collarbone all the way to the hollow of my throat. His touch burned me, leaving the exposed skin he touched tingling to the cool air.

  “No necklace,” he mused.

  As if he could possibly recall which ladies wore necklaces tonight. I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Impatient, I see,” he murmured. This time, he lowered his voice. It carried to my ears alone, raising goose bumps over my flesh. My breath hitched.

  He roved over my neck to my chin, tracing the curve of my jaw. His big hand bracketed the entire left side of my face, an acute, uncomfortable reminder of the intimacy we’d shared this afternoon. Luckily, his hand covered the heat that flushed my cheeks.

  When he ran his thumb across my skin, perilously close to my lips, I snapped my teeth at him. He withdrew the digit, but the smile on his face didn’t lessen.

  “And feisty.” He dropped his hand. “I know. It must be Miss Babington-Smith.”

  Peals of laughter rang around the room. I narrowed my eyes at him, bristling. Considering he stretched out his hand nearly on the level of his own head—for I stood no more than a head shorter than him—he knew he spoke a falsehood. Mary was only an inch taller than Francine.

  “You’re wrong,” Daisy exclaimed, her voice shrill with laughter. “Guess again.”

  I begged the room for an ally. No one stepped forward, not even Pachycaul. His gaze seethed with resentment, but he crossed his arms across his chest and brooded in silence. The ladies giggled. I’d receive no help from them, either.

  Panic stole my breath. Where was Miss Johnstone?

  With an exaggerated frown, Warren ran his hands over my face again, this time moving to my hair. The tips of his fingers caressed the shell of my ear. I shivered involuntarily. The sensation chased down my spine.

  “Then it must be Miss Annesley.”

  Even Francine smirked. “I hardly think so,” she said as others in the room chuckled.

  The corners of Warren’s mouth twitched as he tamped down a smile. His overly-pronounced frown dominated the lower half of his face as he returned to learning every last contour of my face by touch. When his fingers brushed the hollow beneath my ear, I gasped. He moved his hands gently over my forehead and cheeks. I shut my eyes as he traced their shape and moved lower to do the same with my nose.

  Then he returned to my lips. The rough pads of his fingers brushed over them with exaggerated care, learning the precise dip and curve of my mouth, then tracing my bottom lip.

  “I know what will help,” he said, canting his head as a slow smile stretched across his face. “A kiss.”

  “A kiss?” Daisy twittered with laughter. “Oh, yes, you must.”

  Cocking his eyebrow over the blindfold, Warren turned his neck to peer in Lady Dunlop’s direction. “What does my fair hostess say? Do the rules allow it?”

  Lady Dunlop turned pink with glee. A grin capped her face. “By all means,” she said. “If you cannot guess any other way.”

  Gleams of interest entered the gazes of the gentlemen present. They sized up their prey.

  I braced my palm against Warren’s chest and tried to push him away. He didn’t budge. “Please,” I said. “You know precisely who I am.”

  Catching my wrist, he turned my hand over and pressed his lips against my palm. Thank goodness for gloves. They muted the sensation, but he left a hot, scorching mark as he clutched my hand to his chest, over his heart. A devious smile lit his face.

  “I’m afraid I do not, madam.”

  Madam? Oh, the boor riled me on purpose. I refused to give him satisfaction. I tugged at my hand, but he pinned me in place.

  My breath caught as he lowered his head to mine. I froze. My heart pounded. Please reconsider. We stood in the middle of a crowded sitting room, with everyone intent on us.

  “Have a care for my reputation,” I whispered.

  “Why?” he answered, every bit as soft. His breath teased over my lips, less than an inch away. “The hostess has allowed it.”

  The hostess wanted to see every man and woman married by the week’s end. I refused to play her game—not with Warren.

&n
bsp; I bucked away with all my might. “You fiend,” I snapped. As I stumbled out of his range, my hip banged the divan. I staggered away. “This is outrageous. This is demeaning. I won’t stand for it.”

  Shock and no small measure of disappointment bloomed across Lady Dunlop’s face. She could denounce me, for all I cared. Her displeasure couldn’t harm me. The only man who caught my interest at this party left this very night—perhaps this very moment. I stamped from the room, hoping I hadn’t dallied too long and that Frederick would still be waiting as my note requested.

  The air cooled my ire as I stepped into the hall. I gulped for breath as it bathed my fevered skin. My spinning head settled, along with my rapid heartbeat. I crossed to the front door in two strides and yanked it open, determined to leave.

  Night had fallen, painting the courtyard in dark, undecipherable shadows. The welcoming smell of horse and manure wafted from my right. I bunched my skirts in either hand as I crossed down the steps and headed toward the stables.

  The glimmer of an oil lamp cast long shadows next to a sleeping stable boy. I tiptoed around his form, keeping to the darkest shadows as I reached the back of the stables. I waited in the shelter of the wall for my eyes to adjust. When they did, the stable’s silhouette stood distinct from the sky, as did the nearby trees.

  But no one waited here except for me.

  Was I too late? My shoulders slumped. My lips parted in dismay. Had Frederick grown frustrated with my absence and departed? The wretched game couldn’t have consumed more than twenty minutes. Leaning against the stable wall, I bolstered myself with the scents I found so comforting in childhood. So elusive to me now, when propriety ruled my every move.

  I straightened as the rustle of footsteps sounded behind me. Someone approached.

  Chapter Ten

  My heart pattered so loudly, it competed with the sound of the approaching gentleman’s footsteps. I turned, fisting my hands in my skirts as I battled to compose myself.

  A great bear of a man separated from the shadows. Warren.

  The glimmer of hope I’d held, that Frederick had waited for me to arrive, fizzled into nothing. Anger replaced it, just as warm and heady.