He saw her. Clearly, he and Norgrave were not the only ones who were captivated by Imogene’s beauty. Two more gentlemen were hastening to join her growing collection of admirers.
“Oh, the lady in blue.” Tristan pursed his lips as he stared thoughtfully in her direction. “I will admit she is pretty.”
The marquess’s eyebrows lifted in incredulity. “Pretty? Such faint praise for a lady many would view as a goddess.”
“You only consider them goddesses until they fall at your feet,” he said, knowing his friend relished the chase. Once a lady surrendered, Norgrave quickly lost interest in his conquests.
“I prefer to have them on their backs,” his friend countered. “Or on all fours. As for the petite blonde, I long to try her out in all my favorite positions.”
Tristan shrugged. “If you say so.”
Norgrave’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, and it was then that he realized he had overplayed his indifference toward the lady.
“When did you meet her?”
His mild annoyance was not feigned. “I didn’t—”
“You lie quite well, Blackbern, and are capable of fooling most people, but not me. I have known you since we were boys. We have no secrets between us. So tell me, how the devil did you gain an introduction?”
Feeling cornered, Tristan combed his dark hair with his fingers in agitation. “We were not properly introduced.”
“Did her dragon of a mother snub you?” Norgrave’s eyes brightened with glee. “How dreadfully humiliating for you, Blackbern!”
“Enough.”
His friend was taking perverse pleasure in what he perceived as Tristan’s failure to impress a young lady and her mother. “Ho! How the mighty have fallen if your handsome visage and title could not sway the ladies.”
“I fear my reputation casts a long shadow,” Tristan admitted, not particularly distressed by the notion. He had always managed to work around such hindrances in the past.
Norgrave clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder in sympathy. “Well, no one can say that the stories about you and me are untrue.”
“Less entertaining as well.”
“There is that.” The marquess leaned against the column, and stared at Imogene and her mother as if they were a puzzle he desired to solve. “Not to boast—”
Tristan laughed. “When have you ever restrained yourself?”
“Never,” he replied without hesitation. “I should warn you in advance—I saw her first. Not only that, I know the lady’s name,” was Norgrave’s smug reply.
Imogene Constance. It was on the tip of his tongue to admit that he knew her name, however, there was a chance his friend was exaggerating. “You were in the card room. I doubt you had time to be introduced to the young lady.”
Because Imogene was too busy pressing her body against mine.
“Arse. There are other ways to glean information,” his friend said, enjoying their verbal jousting. “We are not the only gentlemen who have noticed Lady Imogene Sunter. Several gentlemen at the table were speculating on her dowry, now that her family is taking great pains to introduce her to all of the prominent families while they are in London.”
“Sunter. So she is—” he said, his brows lifting as he realized that her lineage was almost as impressive as his own.
“The Duke of Trevett’s elder daughter.”
“Her father is well liked by the King,” Tristan murmured, astounded that the Duchess of Trevett had not demanded his head on a platter when she had caught them, limbs entangled, on the sofa. If they had lingered undisturbed a few minutes longer, he would have kissed her.
Lady Imogene is the beloved daughter of a duke who has the King’s ear.
He cursed under his breath. Unless he desired to be leg-shackled, the lady was most definitely off-limits.
“Shouldn’t she be in a nursery or a nunnery?” Tristan muttered, his mood darkening at his friend’s latest revelation.
Norgrave stared at the lady in question. He did not bother concealing his admiration. “She is old enough to marry. According to the gossips, her father had high hopes to match his little purebred mare with a princely stallion. His ambitions almost came to fruition, but I do not know which party cried off.”
Although she had the bearing of a princess, Tristan could not imagine Imogene being happy to be presented as a brood mare for an ugly foreign prince or an infirm, elderly king just to gain a title. The very notion seemed a defilement of her beauty.
“Her father and mother indulge her,” Tristan said, recalling how swiftly she was forgiven by the duchess.
“I plan on spoiling her as well.”
His gaze abruptly shifted to Norgrave who appeared to be quite earnest. “I think the word you are seeking is despoiling, you heartless reprobate. The Duke of Trevett will geld you slowly if you so much as speak to the lady.”
If the duke were to learn that he had already touched Imogene, the man would probably slice off Tristan’s cock, too.
Norgrave dismissed his friend’s concerns with a wave of his hand. “I’ll admit that Lady Imogene presents some intriguing obstacles. I have every confidence that both of us could navigate them when the reward is worthwhile.”
Tristan froze. He immediately understood the direction of his friend’s thoughts. “No.”
“Oh, why the devil not?” Norgrave said peevishly. “It has been ages since we’ve been provided with a worthy prize for one of our special wagers.”
He and Norgrave had been born with competitive natures. Even when they were boys they had always sought to best one another, whether it was a footrace or who could swim across the pond first. They had taken turns as victors, but as they grew older, their wagers became more sophisticated and Norgrave’s thirst for victory often took both of them down dark, ruthless paths. By the time they had reached Imogene’s age, women they both had coveted had become fair game. For years, they had charmed, courted, and bedded countless females for the sake of victory.
“Why bother?” Tristan said, though the thought of seducing Lady Imogene was a temptation he was reluctant to dismiss lightly. “The game has grown stale, Norgrave. Not to mention quite boring since I tend to win these wagers.”
“You do not!”
“It is hardly my fault that women prefer my handsome face over yours,” he teased, deliberately baiting his companion.
Norgrave was not amused. “Those silly females may have swooned over the dimples in your cheeks and your soulful glances as you spun flattering lies, but when I have them under me, it is my cock that has them sighing and begging for more.”
The thought of Imogene lying underneath the marquess chilled Tristan’s blood. His friend had a reputation for not being a tender lover. It was the reason why his friend preferred to bed courtesans who understood the rules and were generously rewarded for their services. No, Imogene was too innocent, and bruises on her pale skin would be an abomination. If she was to take a lover, by God, it would be him.
“What are you proposing?”
Norgrave was one inch taller than Tristan, and he took advantage of it as he took a menacing step closer. “A wager.”
Tristan longed to decline the outrageous proposition. He had outgrown such wagers, but he was willing to indulge his friend if the distraction would keep the marquess away from Lady Imogene. “Are we playing by our old rules or are you making up some new ones?”
Confident that he would get his way, Norgrave said, “Let’s keep matters simple and limit our restrictions. This way you won’t be able to claim our game has gone stale.”
“Come now, there must be a few rules,” Tristan protested. “Otherwise, I’ll just bed the closest lady and declare myself the winner.”
“Fine. If you insist.” The marquess paused as he considered a few rules that might satisfy his friend. “Once the game commences, we grant each other equal time with the lady in question.”
“What if the lady finds you repulsive?”
Norgrave grinned, displaying his perfe
ctly aligned teeth. “They never do. However, I insist that we play fair with each other. For example, telling our quarry that I have the misfortune of suffering from the French pox will be viewed as unsporting and a violation of our limited rules.”
It wasn’t something he was proud of, but the tactic had proven highly effective. “To be honest, I only told one lady that you had the pox. Then there was that pretty brunette with the crooked teeth. I recall telling her that you accidentally shot your cock off while cleaning your dueling pistol.”
His friend glanced at his shoes as if he was fighting to control his anger or laughter. When he met Tristan’s eyes, his light blue eyes were clear and direct. “I have always wondered what you had told her. To this day, I sometimes catch that stupid wench staring at the front of my breeches with a puzzled expression.” He shook his head in amazement at Tristan’s audacity. “Your cleverness will not help you win this wager. If you tell our lady lies to discourage her from seeking out my company, the competition ends and I will be declared the winner.”
“Fair enough. What are the stakes? Money? Property? My new stallion that you covet?”
“I was aiming for something more original. After all, we do not want you to grow bored. How about something so rare and precious to the owner that it can only be claimed once in a lifetime.” Sensing he had captured Tristan’s curiosity, he paused to heighten the anticipation. “The lady’s maidenhead.”
“The owner of the maidenhead might consider the price too high for a gentlemen’s wager,” Tristan said lightly, though his stomach was heavy with dread.
The ladies they had pursued and fought over had never been innocents. Some had been married and others widowed. There had been celebrated courtesans, actresses, and singers. All of them had been women who had surrendered their virtue years ago. Granted, these liaisons never lasted, but no one was truly hurt.
“The lady in question does not need to know about the wager. Her family is intent on placing her on the marriage market. No one will question our deliberate courtship.”
Norgrave was a depraved bastard. “We are speaking of Lady Imogene Sunter, I presume,” Tristan said bluntly.
“A most exquisite challenge, do you not agree?”
“Surely you jest. Do you recall the part of our conversation when I mentioned that her father is likely to castrate the fellow who lays a hand on her?”
“The danger adds spice to the chase.”
Tristan hesitated. He despised the part of himself that was grudgingly intrigued by the challenge his friend presented. The wager gave him permission to seek out the lady and pursue her, because his attraction to Lady Imogene was far from honorable. Perhaps Norgrave sensed this depravity he tried to keep hidden, and was dangling the lady’s virtue as a delectable temptation that he did not want to refuse.
Still, he resisted. “No, it isn’t fair. Choose another lady. Another stake.”
Norgrave grasped him by the chin. Instinctively, Tristan struggled to break free of his grip because he disliked being directed by anyone, especially his friend. However, it was not a battle worth winning and soon he found his gaze settling back on Lady Imogene.
“Look at the gentlemen hovering around her like drones around their queen,” the marquess whispered in Tristan’s ear. “Do you think any of them would not sample her charms if given the opportunity?”
He recognized many of the gentlemen vying for the lady’s attention. The urge to stride across the ballroom and stake his own claim startled him. He blamed the man standing beside him. All of Norgrave’s talk of wagers and seduction was awakening Tristan’s protective instincts toward someone who was more vulnerable than she could possibly fathom. “With the intention of marriage, not ruination. You go too far, even for you.”
The marquess parted his hands in a gesture of capitulation. “Very well. Then I shall declare myself victor of this wager.”
Tristan’s hands curled into fists. Their friendship was too competitive for him to yield without a fight. Through clenched teeth, he muttered, “If you must, to appease your pride.”
“Scruples make you grumpy, my friend. However, you are correct. What is a triumph without the spoils? It all seems so hollow.” Norgrave stepped in front of Tristan, blocking his view of Lady Imogene. “I have a brilliant idea. What if I honor the spirit of the wager before I declare my victory?”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Without your interference, it should be appallingly simple to seduce Lady Imogene. She will surrender her innocence, thus fulfilling the conditions of our nonexistent wager. Do not fret. When I coax her into my bed, she will be begging for my touch.”
“The devil you say.” Tristan’s jaw hardened with mute fury. Whether he accepted the wager or refused, Lady Imogene would lose her maidenhead. Norgrave, the manipulative bastard, had backed him into a corner. He had a choice—stand aside and watch his friend seduce Lady Imogene or fight for the right to claim her for himself.
I had seduction in my thoughts long before Norgrave tossed his wager like a goddamn gauntlet at my feet. Why not take her?
It was a weak excuse for committing debauchery, and he silently cursed his friend for goading him into agreeing to his wild scheme. “I have reconsidered. I will accept your bloody wager, and I shall be the victor in your sordid little game.”
Instead of being angry, the marquess appeared oddly satisfied with Tristan’s declaration. He took a step backward as if he sensed his friend was resisting the urge to punch him. “You can try. However, Lady Imogene has her part to play. I am curious to see which one of us she will eventually choose as her lover.”
Chapter Five
“I was told you attended Lord and Lady Kingaby’s ball last evening,” Lady Charlotte Winter said, after their hostess, Lady Yaxley, had introduced Imogene to the nineteen-year-old young lady since they were close in age.
She glanced over at her mother who was chatting with an older woman who was unfamiliar to her. As if sensing her scrutiny, the duchess halted her conversation and gave Imogene and her companion a brief appraising look before she returned to her conversation.
Her mother had told her that the connections she made in town were likely to follow her for the rest of her life. There were days when the weight of being born the daughter of a duke and duchess was a burden.
“Yes, I was there with my parents.” She nodded, pleased that she had something to contribute to the conversation, though, so far, Lady Charlotte appeared to be capable of handling both sides.
The young lady loved to talk.
“I attended with my parents, as well,” the blonde said, her hazel eyes warming to her subject. “Did I mention that Lady Kingaby is a very close friend of my mother’s?”
“No, I was unaware,” Imogene murmured. As she listened to her new friend explain her family’s connection to Lady Yaxley, she discreetly studied the other attendees.
They varied in age from the ten-year-olds who were helping themselves to the tarts and biscuits that were artfully displayed on one of the long tables to the elderly woman her mother had engaged in conversation. There were other young ladies her age and gentlemen who appeared in their prime. If variety heralded the success of a literary saloon, then Lady Yaxley’s gatherings were destined to be popular this season.
“I have never attended a literary gathering. Were we supposed to bring our favorite book?” Imogene asked, praying she did not sound too provincial. “Mama did not fully explain what I should expect, and no one seems particularly interested in books.”
Lady Charlotte giggled, though there was kindness in her hazel gaze. “These types of gatherings are common throughout the year, and depending on the guests, can be rather boring. Lady Yaxley can be relied on to invite all the right people.” She leaned forward and whispered, “When I say the right people, I speak of ensuring there is a proper balance of males and females. Not too young and not too old.”
“For what purpose?” Imogene asked, mystified. “Are you tal
king about people or books?”
“People, you silly goose!” Lady Charlotte stood several inches taller than Imogene. At a passing glance, they might have been mistaken for cousins. “More to the point, the proper gentlemen. Lady Yaxley’s literary saloon is a good place to inspect some of London’s most eligible bachelors. An afternoon stroll in the countess’s gardens gives us the opportunity to admire each gentleman’s attributes. You would not believe the flaws that can be overlooked in candlelight.”
Imogene pursed her lips as she contemplated her companion’s words. “A brilliant notion. I had not considered—” Her thoughts abruptly shifted to the duke she had clumsily tackled. His body had been lean muscle and bone and his eyes had enthralled her. In candlelight, she had thought him quite beautiful … an Adonis, she thought, the god of beauty and desire. “So I should not trust my eyes if I meet a handsome gentleman in a ballroom?”
Enjoying that she could impart her knowledge to a friend, Lady Charlotte impulsively hooked her arm around Imogene’s and they strolled the perimeter of the drawing room. “Not in the least. There are some bachelors residing in town who are divinely handsome. If you have doubts, I would recommend a stroll through a garden or a drive in a park.”
Since everyone at Lady Yaxley’s seemed content to visit, explore her house and gardens, or nibble on her tempting refreshments, Imogene was pleased she had encountered Lady Charlotte. If she was expected to pick a respectable husband, she needed all of the sound advice she could collect.
“Tell me more,” she entreated.
* * *
“Since this was your brilliant notion of how to waste an afternoon, tell me again why we are attending this gathering,” Tristan grumbled. It was the third time he had complained in five minutes, and knew he was drifting steadily toward being the type of person he detested—a fellow who whined.
“It is a literary saloon, Blackbern, not an execution,” Lord Norgrave replied, seemingly in a fine mood considering their less than stimulating surroundings. “Intellectual, like-minded individuals who discuss and debate their favorite books. I have been told it is quite invigorating.”
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