A Dangerous Game

by Julia Templeton

  He grabbed her wrist lightly, and she stopped to face him. His arrogant grin faded as his gaze slipped to her chest again. When his thumb skimmed over her erratic pulse, she pulled away.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said, his voice low and intent.

  Unable to stand the predatory gleam in his eye a moment longer, Nicolette turned on her heel and left him staring after her. She could feel his gaze burning into her back. To add to her fury, she heard his laughter all the way back to the ballroom.

  *****

  Salvatore watched the exchange going on outside between Darian and Nicolette as closely as one could while dancing in a room with hundreds of people, and making every effort to be attentive to his dance partner.

  Nicolette’s shoulders were rigid, her chin lifted. Salvatore knew that angry stance well.

  It took all the willpower he possessed not to storm outside and demand to know what Darian had said to upset her so. Instead, he watched helplessly as Darian in turn looked after Nicolette, who reached the ballroom, only to have a group of eager young men converge on her. With a charming smile, she took the arm of a boy who looked fresh out of boarding school, and practically floated to the dance floor. Her laughter was light, like the chime of a bell, and he found himself smiling, relieved to find her anger short-lived.

  “Salvatore, tell me about your life.”

  Salvatore turned to Elizabeth. “I would hate to bore you when we could be doing other things.”

  Her throat convulsed as she swallowed hard. “Other things?”

  He grinned, actually feeling sympathetic toward the young woman who would marry a man who would never be faithful to her. “Yes, like dancing and enjoying the fabulous music.”

  The music ended a moment later and Salvatore breathed a sigh of relief. He took Elizabeth by the hand, bringing it to his lips, kissing the skin covered by her glove, before folding it in the crook of his arm. She flushed and he noted her fingers curled tightly around his elbow. “What a wonderful dance partner you have been,” he said meaning it. Though far from beautiful, Elizabeth had been schooled by the best tutors in London, and she knew her way around a dance floor.

  “It has been a delight, Lady Elizabeth.” Releasing her hand, he turned to Darian. “And it was a pleasure meeting you as well, Lord Kedgwick.”

  Darian merely nodded, his gaze shifting to something over Salvatore’s shoulder. He had been excused, already forgotten. Too below Kedgwick to give him another moment’s notice.

  Oh how the mighty will fall.

  Salvatore turned on his heel and started toward Nicolette. He found her dancing with a gangly youth who was stepping all over her slippered feet, but she smiled and chatted with him.

  He smiled inwardly, proud of the young woman she had become. He had never met another person so talented, so kind and so giving. For over a decade they had lived together, four of those years alone...after the death of his mother. Though it had just been the two of them, they functioned like any family—watching out for each other, and loving each other. Often times he still treated her like a child and he had to catch himself, realizing that she was a woman now.

  When the dance ended, Salvatore walked out to meet her, taking her hand in his, and placing the other on her tiny waist. “How did it go with Kedgwick, or need I ask?”

  “He thinks you and I are lovers. He said as much.”

  He nearly laughed aloud, but seeing her discomfort, he refrained. Did she not know that everyone believed they were lovers? After all, society did not take kindly to two people of the opposite sex living together—particularly unmarried people who continually thumbed their nose at convention and did what they wanted, when they wanted, and made no apologies.

  “That is absolute rubbish,” he replied, holding her tighter. Even now he could see others watching the two of them. No one else in the room held each other so close. He glanced at Darian, to find him among the audience, scowling. So, Darian was jealous, was he? No doubt his brother wished he could hold Nicolette as tightly, or as intimately as he did now. For a moment he gloried in his small victory. The other man yearned for what Salvatore had.

  Excellent.

  “I didn’t expect him to be so...attractive. True, his nose is a bit too large for his face, but his eyes and lips are very nice.” Nicolette released a long-winded sigh. “What if I fall in love with him?”

  Salvatore’s stomach rolled. He stopped in midstep and looked into her eyes. Relief washed over him seeing that she was trying to refrain from laughing, but without success.

  Jest or no jest, he wondered why he had never considered that Nicolette might actually find Darian attractive. What if she did fall in love with him? Women loved harder than men. Once they became intimate with a man, they wanted his heart as well. His mind raced with the possibility. What if Nic lost her heart to Darian, and what if Darian fell hopelessly in love with Nicolette?

  Nicolette lifted a finely shaped brow. “What’s the matter?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re frowning.”

  He shook his head. “It must have been the wine. I have a headache.”

  Concern flashed in her eyes and she put a hand to his brow. She always turned maternal toward him when he complained of the slightest ailment, acting more like a mother than his own ever had. “Perhaps we should take our leave.”

  They had stopped in the middle of the floor, amidst the dancers who all turned to look at them.

  Nicolette seemed not to notice. Instead, she took him by the hand and led him off the dance floor. “Let’s go home, and put you to bed.”

  Salvatore followed behind Nicolette. He glanced over at Darian, and noted that his brother did not look happy in the least. If he was not mistaken, that was jealousy in the other man’s dark eyes.

  It seemed he had already gotten what he wanted. The game had just begun.

  Chapter Two

  One Week Later

  Kedgwick Hall—The Engagement Party

  “There it is, Kedgwick Hall,” Salvatore said, his voice missing its usual zeal. Nicolette guessed the cause. This was his first glimpse of his ancestral home.

  Nicolette set her book aside and looked out the window. The enormous three-story structure built of dark gray stone seemed out of place in the serene countryside. It had been built to take one’s breath away, and the architect had succeeded in doing so by adding an elaborate wrought iron gate embellished with gold that, at the moment, was being opened by uniformed guards.

  And all this luxury belonged to the Earl of Kedgwick, Darian Tremayne.

  The very man she must seduce this week.

  How she despised the arrogant man.

  She must push aside the misgivings that were plaguing her and appear calm and composed. Since meeting Darian last weekend, she had slept very little, her mind too occupied with ways to lure him.

  As the carriage came to a stop before the entrance staircase, Salvatore sat forward. “Well, it looks like the game is about to begin.”

  “Indeed,” she replied with a forced smile, willing the butterflies in her stomach to stop.

  As Salvatore exited the coach, Nicolette inhaled a deep breath and took the hand of the footman who stood at the ready. Once her feet were firmly planted on the ground, Nicolette looked up at the stone manor where Corinthian pilasters stood below a flat roof. An enormous flag of the family’s coat-of-arms waved proudly in the wind.

  Walking up the steps Nicolette could see Salvatore’s demeanor slip further. No doubt he wondered what it would have been like to have inherited his father’s home and title. She, for one, was grateful her father had not acknowledged her. Her life had not been entirely bad. In fact, she at least had the freedom to make her own choices from an early age—something unheard of for a woman. There would be no arranged marriage for h
er, no life full of needlepoint and tea parties, where a husband dictated everything she did.

  She shivered at the thought of marrying for money and prominence instead of love, which in turn made Nicolette wonder if Elizabeth truly loved Darian. Despite the sidelong glances she threw Salvatore last weekend, it certainly seemed as though Elizabeth were besotted with her intended.

  Poor thing.

  Thoughts of Elizabeth evaporated when the manor’s entry doors opened and an elegantly dressed footman wearing powdered wig and too much rouge bowed to the floor. Nicolette looked past the servant to the foyer with its stark marble columns, and the sweeping staircase made of dark, polished wood, which gleamed under the sun filtering through the skylight overhead.

  An aging butler approached. His weathered face speaking of his advanced years, his smile warm and genuine as he bowed stiffly. “Good afternoon, Mr. Casale and Miss Rockwell, your rooms are ready for you. Will you please follow me?”

  The butler’s slow gait allowed her time to take in the surroundings. Her fingers skimmed the polished banister as they ascended the staircase to the second floor where pictures of Kedgwick ancestors hung. She noted how Salvatore’s gaze skipped over the portraits quickly, finally settling on the one of his father sitting beside a stern-faced brunette, and a young boy sitting at their feet—Darian, the late earl and his countess. The countess paled in comparison to Salvatore’s mother, a stunningly beautiful woman of Greek descent, and a daughter of gypsies who enjoyed dancing for her lovers. The earl had adored her...until she became pregnant with Salvatore. He had immediately abandoned her and their unborn child.

  The butler stopped before a cherrywood door and opened it. “Miss Rockwell, a footman will be along with your bags shortly.” He turned and opened the door across the hall. “Mr. Casale, this is your room.”

  With a promise to see Salvatore soon, Nicolette shut the door behind her and took in her surroundings. The room was spacious and warm, with a fire already blazing in the grate. The white marble fireplace was a work of art in itself. The smiling cherubs and gold embellishments must have cost a small fortune.

  The large bed was canopied, with white gossamer panels surrounding it. There was a wardrobe, one high-backed chair, a gorgeous light blue velvet settee, vanity, and assorted tables where vases of freshly cut flowers set, filling the room with their scent.

  Crossing the room, she threw open the balcony doors and was met by a setting that would make any gardener green with envy. There were manicured hedges along graveled paths, rose bushes of every color, and an enormous fountain in a courtyard where statues stood in each corner. Nicolette leaned on the wrought iron railing, taking in the splendor. Poor Salvatore...he had been deprived of such a beautiful home.

  With her partner uppermost in mind, Nicolette went to him.

  His room was as large as hers, yet instead of feminine touches, it was filled with heavy furniture made of dark wood. Amongst such finery sat Salvatore, sitting as still as the statues that graced the courtyard. He didn’t bother to turn when she closed the door behind her. She walked to him and without looking at her; he reached out and took hold of her hand, his long fingers curling around hers.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, even though she knew the answer. His hatred toward his father would never leave him. Being in the man’s home would make the week ahead most difficult.

  He glanced up at her, and the pain reflected in his eyes made her heart lurch. “I hate that my anger nearly strangles me every time I play a private party. Now that I am in his home, it is even worse. The bastard! How I wish I could have met him. I would have loved to have seen his face when I told him I was his son. The son of the woman he had pledged his love to, then turned into a whore.”

  She squeezed his hand, hoping for the words to ease his torment. “You are better off having not known him.”

  He laughed sardonically. “Yes, I would much rather be a struggling musician for the rest of my life, than be a wealthy lord who spends the day frolicking with friends.” He ran his free hand through his hair. “I wish I had your courage, your ability to forgive.”

  “You know, we are hardly struggling. In truth, it could be worse.”

  He smiled then, his white teeth flashing, and he even chuckled.

  “See, I knew you could not stay depressed for long.”

  A soft knock on the door brought him to his feet. He kissed her hand before releasing it. “That would be our bags.” He took a deep breath. “And I am quite finished feeling sorry for myself.”

  She laughed, relieved. “Thank God!”

  He was almost to the door when he turned. “Perhaps we shall be fortunate enough to run into the lord of the manor.”

  “Perhaps,” she replied, when she actually hoped that the earl had decided to miss his own engagement party.

  *****

  An hour later Nicolette had still not seen Darian or Elizabeth.

  Instead, she and Salvatore had managed to get themselves involved in a competitive round of croquet, which, at the moment, she was in danger of winning.

  Though she usually ignored gossip, she found that the loose-lipped Lady Mariweather, a beautiful widow at the age of thirty, had more than a few tidbits to share regarding Darian and Salvatore’s father.

  “The earl’s appetite for women and gambling put him out of favor with the ton,” Lady Mariweather said under her breath as she delicately hit the ball, scarcely moving it from its previous position.

  Salvatore leaned on his mallet. “Surely he wasn’t as bad as that? After all, most men take mistresses.”

  “Please, call me Charlotte.” She laughed and playfully hit Salvatore on the arm, her gloved hand lingering on his bicep. “Oh, my dear, man, of course all men cheat, but the earl had the audacity to attend a soiree with a woman on each arm—two actresses who were young enough to be his daughters. Fortunately, his wife was away on holiday in Paris but a friend was present, and she immediately wrote the countess. By the time the countess arrived on English soil, the earl had managed to lose their London townhouse in a card game, had been challenged in two duels, one of which left him with an injured leg, along with an opium habit that rendered him unrecognizable.”

  Nicolette looked past Salvatore and Lady Mariweather to the lavish home and gardens. “If he squandered the family fortune, then how can his son afford to keep this fine home?”

  Licking her lips, the widow leaned closer to Nicolette. “Well, after his father’s death, Darian reinvested heavily in several ventures which did measurably well, but not well enough.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure they were the only ones within hearing range. “Hence, the reason he is marrying the Duke of Durham’s horse-faced daughter.” Lady Mariweather snickered wickedly. “You may have already heard, but the Duke made sure that in the marriage contract Kedgwick would pledge his fidelity to Elizabeth and not stray. If he were to take a mistress or have a liaison, the marriage would be annulled and Kedgwick and his family would be ruined.”

  Nicolette met Salvatore’s gaze. His lips quirked the slightest bit.

  “Do you know that Kedgwick’s mother has seen to it that only men attend her son?” She lowered her voice further. “Rather than have the temptation of a maid cleaning his quarters, a footman has the honor.”

  Doing his best to appear a tad sympathetic, Salvatore frowned. “Come, Charlotte, do you not feel a little sorry for the man?”

  Charlotte sighed dramatically. “The earl deserves everything he gets.”

  Salvatore lifted a brow. “You sound like a scorned lover.”

  Lady Mariweather flashed an innocent smile, her gaze shifting from his, down his long length and back again. “Why, my dear man, I do not know what you mean.”

  Annoyed by the blatant flirtation, Nicolette lifted her mallet, and slammed her ball into Salvatore’s with enough force to sen
d it sailing through the green lawns and into a thicket of deep brush. The small group of onlookers laughed in delight, and she smiled innocently as Salvatore glanced at her with brows lifted.

  Walking toward the brush, he grinned devilishly and pushed up his sleeves, showing muscular forearms. A moment later he disappeared into the thick foliage.

  Nicolette was amazed Charlotte didn’t follow him.

  The ball shot out on the lawn, right in line with Lady Mariweather’s. The buxom woman clapped her hands together, clearly delighted. “Oh, will you look, Salvatore, your ball is right next to mine!”

  Excitement filled the air as Salvatore stepped out of the bushes, a confident smile on his face as he swung the mallet over his shoulder—a smile that quickly lost its luster.

  Seeing where his gaze was directed, Nicolette turned and her breath caught in her throat.

  Darian leaned against a tree, arms crossed over his wide chest, watching the game. His horse grazed nearby, his riding clothes evidence of where he had been this morning. Staring straight at her, he nodded in greeting. Nicolette gave a curt nod and quickly averted her gaze.

  Damn, she’d hoped the man had been delayed, or found some other distraction to keep him from the party.

  Salvatore’s arm slipped about her waist. “Look who has finally joined the festivities?”

  “So I see,” she murmured.

  “When the game is finished, perhaps he will come over and say hello.”

  “Salvatore, you are not going to hit me, are you?” Lady Mariweather said, her voice provocative. Apparently the older woman didn’t like being left out of the conversation.