Taming the Rake

by Monica McCarty

  She settled into her seat next to Mrs. Persimmons across from Lord Rockingham and Lord Ashley. The voice of the coachman rang out, a flick of the ribbons and they were on their way.

  The entire week had been an exercise in frustration. Gina had begun to think that irrespective of how efficient or organized she was, Coventry would never heed the benefits of a wife. Nor could she imagine him hopelessly besotted. In retrospect, the wager seemed doomed to fail. But she wasn’t willing to admit defeat just yet.

  There was always tonight.

  Hell. This is what it must feel like. The torturous twisting of emotions that clawed at him, refusing to let go. Over the last week, Coventry had been plunged into the fiery pits of the eternally damned, and he couldn’t wait to climb his way out.

  Tomorrow it would all be over. Tomorrow would be the end to the charade of propriety, the end of his unplanned house party, and the end of being forced to stand witness to the courtship of Lady Georgina.

  Watching Rockingham fawning all over her this past week had been pure torture. Torture that was slowly driving him mad. His body fired just thinking about the two of them together. Was she aware how his friend’s eyes shadowed with lust whenever she appeared, how Rockingham boldly admired her breasts and backside, how he touched her whenever he could find an excuse? Coventry was finding it harder and harder to not intervene. Harder and harder to hold himself apart. He took a long hard drag of his cheroot, filling his lungs with the calming smoke before slowly exhaling.

  Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

  He stretched his legs out in front of him, sinking deeper into the leather back of the chair as if he could escape from the turmoil surrounding him. The festive din of the crowd made it impossible, but while the other guests made their way to the dining room for a light supper, he removed to the card room, enjoying the sanctuary of solitude if only for a little while. Idly he cracked his jaw, watching the circles of smoke rise above his head and fade into the ornamental plaster ceilings above him.

  His absence would be remarked upon, but he didn’t care. He’d had enough propriety this week to last him a lifetime. But he might as well go back to his usual helling around, as his proper behavior hadn’t deterred Lady Georgina any. She still pursued him relentlessly, taunting him with her sweet beauty. Oblivious to the desire she sparked in him.

  He couldn’t take it much longer. She was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched, an itch that prevented him from thinking of anything else. He was utterly bewitched, taunted daily by the very thing that he wanted above all else, but could not have. Even the blatant offer by the sensuous Lady Darby earlier tonight had not tempted him.

  Something was definitely wrong with him.

  He had to do something to get her out from under his skin. And more and more he’d begun to realize that it would not be a simple matter of finding another woman.

  The soft patter of dainty feet and a gentle perfume of roses alerted him to her presence—he hadn’t heard the door open. He forced himself not to move, even though every nerve ending immediately fired to attention and every muscle in his body tensed. Yet she was blissfully unaware of how close she was to danger.

  “You are alone,” she said.

  He thought he heard a faint trace of relief. “Shouldn’t I be?” He dared not raise his eyes to look at her. He knew how she looked. Beautiful. Desirable. Like she needed to be ravished.

  “I w…wasn’t sure,” she stammered.

  Ah. Lady Darby. Georgina thought he was having a tryst. If only she were right.

  Her tone changed. “It’s quite boorish of you to skip supper.” She looked down her nose at his cheroot disapprovingly. “Your aunt will be furious.”

  “Isn’t that where you should be?”

  “A sudden malady of the stomach.” He knew her eyes were twinkling, but he was too much of a coward to look. “I won’t be missed for some time.”

  God, did she realize how much that sounded like an invitation. His blood pounded. “What do you want?”

  The harshness of his voice made her hesitate. “I had some questions about the travel arrangements for the morning.”

  He sighed. He might not have let her know it, but he was aware how well she’d managed the house party. He’d have to be blind not to admire her accomplishments. But unfortunately, he had perfect vision. He finally met her gaze. “And it couldn’t wait?”

  She blushed.

  “Does Rockingham know where you are?” The question came out more snidely than he’d intended.

  She looked honesty puzzled. “No. Of course not. Why should he?” It was clear from her tone that she was completely oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking with both men.

  “He wants you.”

  Her blush intensified and she lowered her gaze. The long feathery curl of her lashes rested enchantingly against her flushed cheeks. Something squeezed painfully in his chest.

  Her innocence angered him. Such a child. She didn’t even realize what she was doing—teasing, encouraging, seducing. Someone needed to teach her a lesson. Teach her what would happen if she didn’t stop prodding lions.

  “Why are you really here?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “You thought I was with someone?”

  Uncomfortable, she fiddled with the beaded shawl that barely covered the delectable ivory skin revealed by her plummeting décolletage. She forced herself to lift her chin, but he could see the way her mouth trembled. “Of course not,” she lied.

  He took another drag of his cheroot and snubbed it out in a tray next to him. Standing, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Lady Darby’s offer did not appeal to me. Care to see if you can better it?”

  She gasped, her eyes widened with shock. “You shouldn’t talk to me like that. It’s unseemly.”

  “Why? There’s no one here to object. I believe you made sure of that. Tell me, isn’t our being here together, alone, unseemly?”

  In an indignant huff, she spun around to leave. But he knew she’d be back. If not today, then tomorrow. He had to do something. Something that would ensure that she didn’t come back. Ever.

  He’d tried everything to dissuade her foolish pursuit but one. Perhaps he could turn her away with passion, give her a taste of the fire she was playing with.

  But how? He could force her mouth beneath his, but the idea repulsed him. He wanted her willing.

  He had to think of something to appeal to her sense of challenge. His eyes darted around the room. Right before she opened the door that she shouldn’t have closed, his voice reached out to her. “Do you like to gamble, Lady Georgina?”

  She turned. “Of course not.”

  He quirked a brow. “No?”

  Annoyed at the reminder of the race, she pursed her lips. “Occasionally,” she conceded.

  “Then may I suggest a wager.”

  “Whatever for?”

  He had to make it too tempting to resist. “Anything you want.”

  Tilting her head, she gazed at him questioningly. Her luminous green eyes seemed to fill her tiny face. “Anything?”

  She was thinking of a proposal. He’d have to make sure there was no chance of that. “Anything,” he agreed.

  Guardedly, she considered him. “And what do you get if you win?”

  He paused, lifting a glass of whisky from a table and swirling the contents before taking a long swig. The empty glass landed on the table with a slam. “A kiss.”

  Horrified, she looked around as if someone might have heard him.

  “You’re outrageous. I should have guessed you would suggest something so highly improper.”

  His mouth curved. “It’s only a kiss. Bargained against anything you desire.” They both knew what she wanted. Though why she wanted to marry him, he could not fathom. “Surely you’ve realized that if you win, I will eventually be doing much more than kissing you.”

  From the sudden widening of her eyes it was clear that she hadn’t made that particular connection. The littl
e fool. What game was she playing?

  “Your husband would have certain rights… Consider this an opportunity to test our compatibility—a right of first refusal if you will.”

  “I don’t know…,” she started.

  He could sense her wavering, the prospect of achieving her goal outweighing her better sense.

  She folded her arms across her waist and looked at him sideways. “What type of wager?”

  Satisfaction coursed through him. He had her. Shrugging indifferently, he said, “Your choice. Cards, dice, billiards, a flip of a coin.”

  She smiled, and he knew he’d caught her in his web.

  He’d have his kiss, devour her with passion, and frighten little Lady Georgina away.

  Gina was going to break a rule. Her father had made her promise never to play in public, but the opportunity was simply too good to pass by. How like Coventry to bargain a kiss, he truly was a scoundrel.

  Still, she vacillated. She had promised. It went against her grain to break her word, but she reasoned that it was for a good cause.

  Gina would be the first to secure a proposal, and the first to win the wager. She would bring the most notorious rake in London up to snuff and publicly reject his proposal. Victory would soon be hers. There was no risk of her losing. Then why did she suddenly feel awful. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it?

  She couldn’t dodge the feelings of hypocrisy. The similarities between her game with Coventry and what he did to other women could not be reconciled. Undeniably, his conduct was wrong, but was hers any better? Would his comeuppance be any less cruel because it was born of righteous, good intentions?

  Unhappy with the answer to that question, she set her guilt aside and pretended to consider the choices. After a moment she said, “Very well, I suppose a game of billiards.”

  He studied her carefully. “Do you know how to play?”

  “My father enjoys the game. I’ve watched him.” It was the truth, she just left out that she’d played with him since she was a child—until recently, of course. She frowned, realizing she hadn’t played since he’d remarried. “One game of 100 up?”

  “Do you have that much time? You’ll have to be getting back to the dining room soon.”

  She smiled sweetly. “This won’t take long.”

  With a sweeping flourish of his hand, he indicated for her to begin. Gina crossed the room and inspected the table and cues, not knowing quite what to expect. Although billiards was a popular game, the equipment was hardly standardized. Thankfully, the offerings at Palace House were luxurious and modern—not too different from her father’s. The carved wooden rectangular table had six pockets and a latticed bed of wood slats covered with a custom fit cloth of finely spun wool. She tested the rails, noting the layered cushion of wool felt covered with cloth and leather . Next she rolled one of the ivory balls, satisfied that they were new enough that their shape had not yet deteriorated from too much play. She chose three balls that were not too dissimilar in size and weight.

  A circular rack in the corner held a collection of beautifully carved marquetry cues, some inlaid with mother-of-pearl and others with gold. She picked up and examined a cue with an intricate floral design and an unusual rounded tip. Never having seen the like, she’d have to remember to describe it to her father. Placing it back in the rack, she chose a cue of light-colored wood with inlaid mother-of-pearl that had the familiar flat-ended top wrapped with a leather patch.

  Coventry watched her preparations with a slightly amused smile playing about his mouth. How did he always manage to appear so superior? As if the world was his private joke. It was one of the things that annoyed her most about him.

  After she’d made her choice of cues, to her surprise, Coventry chose the odd cue with the strange tip.

  A few minutes into the game, Gina had made an important discovery. Playing billiards with Coventry wasn’t anything like playing with her father. Each time she lined up her shot, he stood behind her, too close, practically breathing down her neck, sending shivers of awareness all over her. But her concentration truly faltered when he “accidentally” brushed his body against hers. The shock of sensation made her hands shake, causing her to miscue the ball, and ended her inning.

  Furious, she turned on Coventry. “Stop that, you’re cheating.”

  He smiled innocently. “Does my standing so close bother you?”

  “Yes, it does. And you very well know it.”

  He chuckled and stood back. “My apologies.”

  He took his turn at the table and quickly narrowed her lead. It was clear that he was an accomplished player. With the amount of time he spent loitering about his clubs, she should hardly be surprised. Gina was confident that she was the better player, but due to her lack of recent play, tonight they were well matched.

  After every few shots he took out an odd snuff box and rubbed the tip of his cue into a white powder. Play continued back and forth until Coventry led ninety-two to eighty-five. She wiped her hands on her skirts. Dear heaven, she could actually lose this game.

  The next time he removed the box, she gazed at it suspiciously. “Is that chalk?” She’d heard of its use, but her father claimed that it didn’t allow the leather to grip the cue ball, leading to more miscues. Coventry’s chalk, however, appeared grittier.

  A secretive glint gleamed in his eye. “It’s a very special chalk. A magical ‘twisting chalk.’”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Gina grumbled something uncomplimentary and proceeded to score a remarkable fourteen spot strokes in a row. Her masterful play even impressed Coventry. His sultry swagger dulled a bit, and he was no longer smirking. In fact he looked quite serious, and maybe, just maybe, a teensy bit worried.

  “You use your stick well,” he said dryly.

  “Thank you,” she replied. “A smooth stroke ensures proper placement into the pocket.”

  His mouth twisted, and Gina had a feeling that he was laughing at her.

  Play turned to him and they both knew that this would be the determining round. If he lost his turn, she only needed one more point. He scored seven quick points, but then it happened. He left himself without a clear shot. His only possible move was defensive, and even that was a difficult shot.

  Gina tried not to gloat. “Careful,” she taunted. “Don’t miss.”

  He shot her a deadly glare and walked around the table a few times, examining the possibilities. Finally, he lined up his shot. Gina couldn’t imagine why he was aiming where he was, but she didn’t care. She was going to win!

  She started to hum the overture from Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro.

  His face took on a gray cast. A faint sheen of perspiration gathered on his forehead as he painstakingly moved the cue back for the strike. Gina watched in jubilation as he hit the side of the ball.

  But what occurred next defied belief. The ball spun, moving sideways, twisting in an unnatural line and striking his target, which then proceeded to slowly roll into the pocket.

  The color slid from her face.

  He’d won.

  “H…how did you do that?” she sputtered. She literally couldn’t believe what she’d just seen. She turned on him. “You cheated!”

  He returned her stare, raking his eyes over her like a hungry wolf did a fat, succulent lamb. “No cheating. I promised you magic, remember?”

  “Let me see that.” Angrily, she yanked the box from his hand and inspected the delicately carved sterling case from every angle, pouring a bit of the powdery substance into her palm and jabbing her fingertip around in it. He’d cheated, she just knew it.

  He crossed his arms across his broad chest and grinned. “Find anything unusual?”

  “Where did you get this?”

  “A man by the name of Jack Carr.”

  “I’ve never heard of him.”

  “You will.” His arm whipped out to circle her around the waist, pulling her securely against his body
.

  Hot steel. That was her first coherent thought. He radiated heat from a body that didn’t give an inch. Chest to chest, he crushed her against him until she could feel every rigid muscle of his powerful, unyielding body.

  Despite the heat, she shivered.

  He lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He wasn’t hiding anything now. His stormy eyes, dark as the midnight sky, revealed the enormity of his desire, of his hunger. “I’ll have my forfeit now, Lady Georgina.”

  The huskiness of his voice made her tremble. She fluttered like a bird trying to escape an iron cage. “You can’t really mean to hold me to such a ridiculous wager.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Can’t I? Why do I suspect that you would have held me to mine?”

  She didn’t bother to answer him, because, of course, he was correct. “I must be getting back. I’ve stayed overlong. Your aunt will be wondering where I am.”

  But he would not be denied. Ignoring her feeble attempt to escape, his mouth dipped. Her heart raced as he quickly narrowed the gap separating them. “Don’t worry, this won’t take long,” he repeated her taunt, groaning into her mouth as his lips finally touched hers.

  The immediate spark jolted her, flooding her with an unimaginable euphoria.

  Heaven. This must be what heaven feels like. All of her senses collided in perfect harmony. Being held in his arms, his lips covering hers in a heart-stopping tender embrace, was the most pure moment of her life. Nothing had ever felt more right.

  And then it was over.

  Her eyes flickered open and their gazes met in shocked silence. He’d felt it, too. And clearly, he was none too happy about it. Still wrapped in his arms, she laid her cheek on his chest, nestling against the warmth, taking solace in the frantic pounding of his heart.

  Coventry swore.

  The harshness of the sound startled her from her reverie. Confused by his anger, she tried to push away. “Very well, you’ve had your kiss.”

  “That wasn’t a kiss,” he growled, furious, but whether at her or himself, she couldn’t tell.

  “It certainly felt like a kiss to me.” An impossibly sweet kiss that made her heart ache for things far beyond her reach.