The idea that Jonathon wouldn’t see her tonight disappointed him more than he thought it would. More than it should, to be honest.
Resuming his stance against the alcove wall, he decided he simply needed to contact Mrs. Primsby; however, he’d neglected to inquire as to her residence while in Milan. Then again, as her chaperone, Mrs. Primsby would no doubt be staying with Miss Harrington. Was he to the point of cajoling one of the patrons here into arranging a meeting with her?
He was not so far gone as yet.
Just then, Miss Harrington walked in. She was flanked by two others — a woman with dark hair and dark eyes whose complexion declared her to be Italian. And Lord Dursey.
But Miss Harrington stood out. Dressed in a rich blue with silver embroidery, she was just as stunning, if not more so, than the other night when she dressed in gold. Silver combs held up her hair, and wisps of golden blonde ringlets framed her face.
Once again, she commanded his attention.
With some reluctance, Jonathon tore his gaze from Miss Harrington to her companions. The Earl of Dursey, prominent in Parliament and a talented diplomat, was also single and well respected. Jonathon was not surprised Miss Harrington discovered Dursey. Or perhaps Mrs. Primsby steered the woman in Dursey’s direction?
A quick glance assured Jonathon he hadn’t missed the matchmaker; she wasn’t in attendance this eve.
Miss Harrington’s gaze swept the room with the confident knowledge of someone who knew the area and those around her. She looked right past him, but Jonathon wasn’t surprised at that.
It was simply one more trait about her that intrigued him.
Dursey looked surprised to see him but pleased, and called out to Jonathon. Crossing the large room in assured strides, he ignored Miss Harrington and greeted Dursey.
“Duke.” He called. “An unexpected pleasure to see you here.”
“Taking care of the king’s diplomatic relations in Milan?” Jonathon asked with as much interest as the question needed.
“As always.” Dursey nodded and turned to his female companions. “If you’ll allow me, Duke, may I introduce my companions: Miss Isabella Harrington and Principessa Natalia Dolcini of Sardinia.”
Jonathon nodded to the principessa, took Miss Harrington’s hand, and bowed low over it. “Miss Harrington, good to see you this evening.”
Her dark eyes shot hot fire at him, and he smothered a grin. Cool, perhaps, and collected — but not without passion.
“Your Grace,” she said, each letter short and sharp.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Dursey said with an odd look between Jonathon and Miss Harrington. “We have a game waiting on us.”
Jonathon nodded in acknowledgement and watched her walk away. He felt Principessa Natalia’s gaze appraise him, but he didn’t do more than glance in the other woman’s direction. Isabella Harrington captured his entire attention.
She continued to ignore him, but when she sat, her gaze flicked up to meet his. Her face remained impassive, but that look still showed the fire beneath her control.
Jonathon wanted very much to break that control.
“You’ve seen her now,” Edmund said, suddenly beside him.
Jonathon looked at his friend and raised an imperious eyebrow. Edmund stared right back, clearly unaffected by the glare.
“Shall we retire for the evening?” Edmund asked with a hint of amusement.
“Why don’t you play a few more games,” Jonathon suggested in a tone that was more order than suggestion.
Edmund’s mouth quirked in a less-than-subtle grin. “You do love your mysteries. I think you’re more intrigued by her mystery than you let on. What would Hamilton say to all this?”
“Let’s not discuss Hamilton’s unique perspectives,” Jonathon said.
Ignoring Edmund’s laugh, Jonathon didn’t want to think about his cousin, he sought Miss Harrington out again. A much more pleasant sight.
She smiled around the table and looked far more relaxed there than he’d seen her during their interactions. She didn’t look up, but seemed to concentrate on her game of whist.
“Are you truly interested in her?” Edmund asked. Then, though Jonathon hadn’t answered — or maybe because of that — added, “It would be just like you to choose the most unsuitable woman.”
Jerking his head sharply to his friend Jonathon leveled a harsh glare at him. Edmund blinked in surprise, but held his ground.
“If I deem them suitable,” Jonathon growled, “that’s all that matters.”
The other man nodded, his brown eyes assessing. “As you say. I think I will join another game,” he said slowly, still studying Jonathon.
Jonathon didn’t like that look and gathered all his ducal pride to him in another formidable glare. It had considerably less effect on a man who’d known him nearly his entire life than the Duke of Strathmore would’ve liked.
He moved across the room for a better advantage to watch her. His entire posture warned others away, but he didn’t care. Jonathon wasn’t in the mood to make conversation tonight. Each move she made held a grace he’d noticed the other night but had done his damnedest to dismiss.
It was that grace he watched now, as she played her hand and bet. She won the first game, and then lost the next two. There was a curious tilt to her head, not a tell exactly, but the way she held herself.
Jonathon wondered if she lost on purpose.
Her companions were good natured about it; Dursey looked as if he enjoyed her winning. The principessa slightly less so, though not in anger or jealousy, as far as Jonathon could tell. Until, that was, an American gentleman Edmund had spoken with earlier took a vacant seat during the next hand and began a very intense flirtation.
From Jonathon’s vantage point, Dursey looked utterly taken with Miss Harrington. He grinned and laughed and, Jonathon realized, looked completely smitten.
The hot surge of jealousy at the intimacy surprised him. Narrowing his eyes, he watched Miss Harrington win another three games — a very hefty sum.
The table broke up, and she slipped her winnings in her reticule. She accepted Dursey’s arm as they headed for the buffet table.
Pushing off the wall, Jonathon closed the distance between them, his long legs eating up the space in unhurried strides.
“Pardon me, Dursey.” He nodded to the other man. “Miss Harrington, may I have a word? I’d like to revisit the discussion we had the other night.”
Unable to hide her surprise, she jerked her head up; her eyes widened slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. Miss Harrington looked from him to Dursey and back before giving a small nod.
A flash of satisfaction rushed through him at that surprise. Not the surprise so much as the way his words took her off guard. He wanted to do that again.
Jonathon caught the look Dursey sent her, but Miss Harrington nodded with that same coolness she normally displayed.
“Of course, Your Grace.” She turned to Dursey and offered a small curtsey. “If you’ll excuse me, my lord.”
She turned back to Jonathon and nodded regally to him. He didn’t offer his arm, knowing she wouldn’t accept it anyway, but turned for the balconies. She walked beside him as they kept to the wall, away from the tables and as private as a room like this offered.
“I’ve observed you this evening,” he said as they stepped outside.
“I’m well aware,” she said with the control that so fascinated him.
He raised his eyebrow and bit back a smile. Oh, that restrained passion captivated him. “I’d no idea you were so skilled at the games,” he said instead, leading her carefully along.
Watching her, he had the feeling she knew his game and didn’t rise to the bait. Jonathon bit back another smile.
“You didn’t give me an opportunity to show you the other night,” she said with a small grin that was more pride in her talents than interest.
But her gaze remained steady on his, darker in the shadowed balcony. Miss Harrington s
tood straight, with none of the deference normally given a duke. And none of the deference a woman in need of a suitable match to return to England ought to show.
She fascinated him all the more.
“And if I’m ready now?” His voice lowered, and Jonathon didn’t fool himself when he saw her breath hitch.
Her smile turned predatory. “I wouldn’t mind relieving you of the coin from your purse.”
He leaned closer and lowered his voice again. He watched her, knowing she followed his every move and was not unaffected. “Money holds no interested as a wager.”
She raised her own eyebrow in question. “You wish to make it a more interesting evening, then?”
“What terms would you suggest,” he asked softly, his breath a caress along her cheek, “to make it more stimulating?”
Chapter Five
She’d turned away when he spoke. But as his breath caressed her smooth, pale cheek as he wanted his lips to, Miss Harrington slowly turned back to face him.
Even in the dimness of the balcony, he saw her eyes alight with interest. The sounds of vendors shouting and carriages rumbling through the streets did nothing to intrude on their intimate moment.
Her smile pulled slowly along her lips, widening them until her look was more anticipatory than accepting.
“There are so very many things that make for interesting wagers,” she said in a soft, inviting voice. “However, I do not believe you have the fortitude for such high stakes.”
Jonathon didn’t jerk back, certain that was her goal. Instead, he leaned just enough to look her directly in the eye. Allowing a slow, knowing smile to curl his lips, he studied her for a heartbeat.
“I have the fortitude for anything you can conceive of,” he whispered in the breath between them.
One eyebrow raised, she stepped back — though not in retreat, he was pleased to note. In blatant perusal.
“You know what I desire.”
Her words were low and soft, no less forceful for that. Jonathon studied her, the direct gaze, the stubborn tilt of her head.
Easily dismissing Edmund’s warnings, and his own agreement to meet Mrs. Primsby’s potential match, Jonathon nodded. Isabella Harrington suited him — she didn’t hold back, didn’t retreat when he upped the ante.
She held her ground.
That stirred something deep within him. He wasn’t willing to acknowledge it, not just yet. Right now, he wanted to revel in this new game. One with a thoroughly worthy opponent.
“To be my duchess,” he clearly stated in response.
She nodded. He held himself in check and studied her for one final moment. “Those stakes are very high, indeed.”
Miss Harrington didn’t deign his observation with a reply. When she spoke, it was with that same bluntness he admired. “And if you win? What do you desire for your part of the wager?”
“You.”
She merely nodded. Jonathon felt a flush of arousal, though she hadn’t yet accepted his offer. Not because he’d taste her no matter the outcome. Because she refused to back down.
“I see you do want to taste the tarnish on my reputation,” she said in a low voice that moved like warm honey between them.
The shadows shifted and he couldn’t see her face now. But he felt her gaze on his. Then she turned, leaned against the balcony, and looked out over the city.
He wouldn’t have put his interest in her so crudely; the way she said it, however, it made him wonder just how far she was willing to take this bet. Jonathon didn’t move but studied her from his place behind and to the left of her.
It was just enough of an angle to see how she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. She held it a moment, then another, before slowly releasing it.
Still he didn’t move. He’d not rush her — he didn’t believe in gambling higher than he could pay and had, upon occasion, refused a table with those he knew couldn’t pay when they lost.
But this, this was what he could offer: a place as his mistress. She wanted to up the stakes, and he accepted. Even if he lost, the bet was well within the limits of what he was willing to pay.
Finally she turned. Out of the faint light from the street, he once more couldn’t see her face clearly. Her posture remained the same, tall and confident. She didn’t flinch or fidget or even breathe heavily.
She merely watched him.
“Very well.” She nodded once. “I will spend an evening or two with you.” Her smile was slow again, and though he couldn’t see her eyes, he knew that smile didn’t lighten them. “Should you be fortunate enough to win this game.”
He had a feeling a night or two — hell, a week or two — wouldn’t suffice.
“That’s not enough.” He closed the distance between them. “You would require marriage of me.”
His hand slid over her bare shoulder, up her neck. She shivered beneath his touch, but once again remained still. Other than that one reaction, she didn’t move or flinch or push him away.
It was incredibly arousing.
He dropped his hand and straightened to his full height. “I would need more of you than a mere two nights.”
There was no mistaking the suspicion in her gaze. “What would you require?”
What did he want from her? As many nights in his bed as it took to purge himself of this sudden need. Of the way she haunted him. Of the way he needed to taste her, to touch her. As many nights in his bed as he wanted until he tired of her.
Jonathon refused to believe that wouldn’t ever happen. He always tired of his mistresses.
Isabella was nothing like them, and he knew it. One meeting and she’d worked beneath his skin until she was all he thought of.
It was unbecoming of a duke.
“For you to return to England.” He watched her carefully. “For you to become my mistress. I am not, however, an unreasonable man. I’ll give you time — we can negotiate the length later — to find a match, if that is what you want. But married or not” — he moved closer again and dropped his voice — “you’ll still be my mistress.”
He read the surprise in the jerk of her shoulders, the gasp that escaped her. “I would not dishonor a husband in such a way. Unless he was the amenable sort—”
“I can promise all discretion. None would ever know, if that is how you want it.”
Innuendo dripped from his words — Jonathon couldn’t help that. She looked up at him, and despite the shadows, and her impeccable, alluring control, he swore he saw arousal in her, too.
She slowly nodded once. “This is, indeed, a serious wager.”
Jonathon tilted his head back and acknowledged, “It is.”
“I’ll need to clarify my terms as well,” she added.
“What would you like?” he asked, curious.
Jonathon merely waited. If she wanted to add to their terms, he wasn’t going to stop her, though marriage to a duke was a considerable wager in and of itself.
“Should I win this wager of ours,” she started carefully, “I want more than to simply become your duchess.”
“Oh?” He nodded at her to continue.
“Should I do so, I want to be treated with respect by you.” She took a deep breath. “You may have all the mistresses you desire, but I demand discretion. I don’t want to be ignored should I require your attention.”
Jonathon masterfully stopped the smirk that wanted to curl, and he nodded instead.
“Nor,” she said, “would I wish to be treated in any fashion that does not befit the station you give me.”
“I would add to this side of the wager.” Jonathon waited for her nod and said plainly, “I require an heir.”
“Of course,” she agreed quickly. “I’ll give you your heir, with the understanding that I can’t promise a male heir. However, I shall endeavor to do my best.”
He paused and considered her carefully. Her dark eyes looked at him with shrewd honesty, and she held herself with slightly less tension than when they’d first walked onto the balcon
y. However, the terms of their wager were too high to not ask.
“Why have you not become pregnant before now?” he asked in a quiet but no less insistent voice.
She paused, her face impassive, but she couldn’t hide the emotion in her eyes. Her conflict and suspicion were clear, and Jonathon knew the reason for that: she feared a trap. He patiently waited as she watched him.
He could reiterate how serious he was about their wager, about the outcome of this game, but preferred silence. Another test of her fortitude and resolve.
Finally she nodded, a slight movement of her head as if giving herself permission to speak. “The only gentleman in my life could not father children. He was injured during the war.”
For one mad moment, he thought the rumors mistaken. “Does that mean the two of you were never intimate?”
She titled her chin higher and her gaze cleared of all emotion. “He was a man. He simply could not be a father.”
“That is acceptable.” Jonathon watched her for another moment then shifted back slightly, still watching her intently. “Is there anything else?”
She paused for several minutes, and he watched her mull them over. He quickly went through them once more and was satisfied with the way they played out.
He’d give her whatever she needed to be the Duchess of Strathmore and maintain that station. She’d share his bed, provide him children, and...he wondered if he need mention her own affairs, but decided after the taint that still clung to her, Miss Harrington wouldn’t do anything that might revisit such gossip.
Any affair she indulged in would be discreet.
The very thought of her with another man twisted inside him. Jonathon shoved it aside, positive he only felt that way because of the newness of the affair. All passion cooled eventually.
Shaking her head, she said clearly, “I believe we have a wager.”
“Agreed.”
He turned, then, and motioned for her to precede him off the balcony and back into the gaming room. She nodded and swept past him. Jonathon caught a whiff of perfume. No, not an artificial scent, but something deeper, something all her.
Improper Wager: Scandalous Encounters Page 4
