by Darcy Burke
“Caitlin is not like most woman,” Harlow muttered dryly.
Henry’s eyes bored into his, “Are you sure this is the right course to take. If you feel nothing for her...”
He felt something for her all right. “When she originally walked in, I couldn’t think of anything worse than marrying the hellion, male dressing daughter of bloody Bridgenorth. However, on reflection, I believe she’d make me a perfect Duchess.”
“How so?”
“There is no denying she’s enchanting. Getting an heir will prove to be very enjoyable. She’s local. The villagers love her. And she prefers the country to town.” He took a large gulp of brandy. “Which will leave me free to spend the majority of my time in London away from her, knowing my interests in Shropshire are in good hands. A marriage for my convenience.”
Marcus gave a gruff bark. “What of your mother? Will she mind having Bridgenorth’s daughter—and, of course, Jeremy’s half-sister—living here?”
Dangerfield merely quirked an eyebrow. “Mother is fond of the girl and bears her no ill will. I suspect she’ll be pleased with my choice. She’ll assume my marrying a local girl means I intend to settle down at the estate. She couldn’t be more wrong.” He stretched his legs out and sighed. “As for Jeremy, he already knows she’s his half-sister. Besides, once he has Mansfield he’ll be too busy on his estate to care who I’ve married.”
“But,” Marcus said, slowly, “it would appear Caitlin doesn’t know of her father’s disgraceful conduct, or of her resulting sibling. How do you think she’ll react?”
Henry answered Marcus’s question. “I suspect she’ll be pleased to have a brother. It’s tiresome being an only child.” Henry undid the cravat he’d hurriedly straightened when Caitlin had arrived. “The one person who loses the most in this is Caitlin. She loses her freedom and her house. A tad unfair if you ask me.”
Dangerfield sighed. “Henry, you are far too noble to be friends with the likes of Wolverstone and me. No one forced her to accept the wager. In fact, she offered the first challenge. And one can hardly call ending up married to a duke ‘unfair’. She’ll have everything she desires. Riches. Clothes. A home. Once she understands the benefits this marriage brings her she’ll forget all about Mansfield Manor.”
Henry pursed his lips “I’m not so sure. There is more to her than other simpering ladies of the ton. She cares about her home and her tenants. I don’t believe the trappings of a grand life drive her.”
Marcus merely drank more brandy, apparently bored now the parameters of the wager had been decided.
Harlow sipped his drink in contemplation. Henry was right. Caitlin had never had a Season. He wondered if lack of funds was the reason. She would have taken the ton by storm and probably have received many proposals of marriage. He ran his hand over the back of his neck. Why did that idea bother him?
His plan was the only correct option open to him. He might be a womanizer and a consummate rake, but he drew the line at taking advantage of a young woman whose home her disreputable father had gambled away. She’d come to him in desperation. He would not take advantage of that.
The most uncomfortable aspect of the situation was that he was not displeased at the outcome. He kept asking himself, had he known the house was held in trust for Caitlin, would he still have accepted Bridgenorth’s wager?
Probably not. Which meant he could never have contemplated taking Caitlin into his bed. And he wanted her in his bed. Wanted it a great deal.
His blood heated at the thought of her soft curves in his hands... her tender, creamy skin beneath his lips... her body moving against his in the throes of passion...
Larissa. Thank God she and the other ladies were leaving tomorrow because he’d lost all and any desire for her. Not really unusual given she’d been with him for over twelve months—the longest he’d kept any woman. But the fact he wanted only Caitlin was telling.
With the number of women he’d bedded, with the many more he could easily seduce, he should not hunger for one woman to this degree. He thought he’d taught himself that one woman was much like another. But his body recognized what his mind refused to believe.
Caitlin Southall was different.
And therein lay the danger.
Chapter Four
Caitlin arrived in plenty of time for her first Faro lesson. She was early on purpose, hoping for time alone with Henry and the opportunity to play on his chivalrous nature and learn all of Dangerfield’s secrets.
She’d slept little during what had remained of the previous night. Tossing. Turning. Worrying.
What on earth could the Duke of Dangerfield gain by forcing her into his bed? He certainly was not short of bed partners. Why would he want the likes of her for his bed sports? Was it his ultimate revenge against her father, to see his daughter ruined?
If only she could learn why the pair hated each other so. Perhaps she could put an end to the bitter quarrel and appeal for time to reimburse her father’s debt. If she could delay the settlement until after the race at Newmarket, then she might be able to afford to buy the Manor back.
Henry would likely know the answer. And that was another thing. This wager didn’t sit easy with Henry St. Giles, Earl of Cravenswood. How strange. He appeared genuinely appalled at Harlow’s behavior, yet he too was a renowned rake. Perhaps some rakes were more honorable than others. Well, she would soon find out.
She halted her gig outside Ashley House, the Earl’s grey stone, impressive hunting lodge. It was a large house—much larger than she remembered.
A stable lad arrived to help her down and take care of her horse and equipage. She’d come dressed as the very proper Lady Caitlin this afternoon, hoping to remind Dangerfield of her status—a virginal, well-bred lady, and not some fallen woman he could seduce.
She’d barely had time to straighten her dress when she heard the sound of thundering hooves. She turned in time to watch Dangerfield gallop up the drive on Champers, streaking past the trees lining the driveway. They seemed to bend in his wake.
She tried not to, but she couldn’t help but drink in the sight of his board shoulders braced against the wind, his muscular thighs hugging the horse’s barrel. The daredevil billow and furl of his greatcoat as it fluttered behind him completed the picture of perfect masculinity.
He reined in and skidded to a halt not far from where she stood, mesmerized. The large steed pranced in place, as magnificent as its rider. The duke gave her a ridiculously arousing smile before dismounting in a graceful slide.
So much for getting time alone with St. Giles.
He swept off his hat and bowed. “How lovely you look this afternoon, Lady Caitlin-may I call you Caitlin? I thought I’d catch you arriving early for our lesson. No doubt ready to prey on Henry’s good nature.”
Their gazes clashed, and annoyance coursed through her veins—mixed with something that edged the annoyance higher. Excitement. His dark-lashed, grey eyes twinkled. The man knew precisely the impact his arrival was having on her.
Caitlin’s lips parted. Her heart pounded against her corset, which was obviously tied far too tightly. She had to remind herself to breathe. In. Out. Ignore him.
Harlow’s smile widened, and he brought her limp hand to his lips for a butterfly-light brush of a kiss. Heavens, but his eyes seemed to be burning right through her, reading her thoughts as a blind man reads the darkness. He was all male, preening before a female.
Her lungs burned. But still she kept looking… looking… powerless before him… powerless to wrench her hand, or her gaze, away.
“I still prefer you in trousers.”
His husky declaration broke the spell that held her captive. “Then I shall ensure never to wear trousers again,” she said, warmth flaring in her cheeks.
He straightened. “Quite right. My apologies.” His little bow mocked her. “I don’t prefer you in trousers. I’d prefer you in nothing at all.”
She should have been angry, but the notion of being naked befor
e this man’s gaze made her pulse quicken. What was the matter with her? “That will never happen.”
“When I win this wager it will. I’m looking forward to it. In fact, it is all I could think about last night. You—naked—in my bed.”
She suppressed a shiver. He made it sound as though it were a foregone conclusion. “If you win, don’t you mean?”
He smirked. “Not even getting Henry on your side will change the outcome. I will win. I always win.”
Before she could think of a retort, he offered her his arm—and, in that instant, the rake disappeared and a focused, determined competitor took his place.
“Now, Caitlin,” he said, with a flash of white teeth that reminded her of predators and danger. “Shall we step inside and begin your Faro lessons?”
Her tiny hand fluttered uncertainly on his arm, and he could sense her reluctance to touch him.
He wanted to touch her… everywhere
She looked beautiful this afternoon. His groin reacted to the vision before him when he drew up beside her on Champers. When Henry saw her dressed like this, dressed like an angel, he’d try to call the wager off. Her innocence shone like a beacon, enough to lighten any dark soul.
Even his.
For a brief moment he wondered what he was about.
Yet beneath her innocent cloak of respectability a vibrant, lush, and sensual woman curled and stretched, wakening to life. He could almost see it happening. The delicious flush that bloomed across her cheeks. The pale green of her eyes as they darkened and flashed almost as deep as emeralds. Emeralds. He wanted to see her lying naked on his bed with only emeralds draped at her neck and wrists.
He had not lied when he told her he’d dreamed of her. He’d dreamed of nothing but her.
Nonetheless, in the early hours of that morning he’d decided his seduction of Lady Caitlin Southall would serve several purposes.
First, it would unsettle her and make it easy to win the wager. Second, he hoped it would make the idea of marriage to him less repugnant to her. And third, the most primal reason of all, he wanted her.
Henry’s arrival—and his expression of utter consternation at the demur and virginal looking Caitlin on his friend’s arm—confirmed every one of Dangerfield’s fears. Henry’s lips formed into a straight line and he turned his disapproving gaze Harlow’s way.
Oh, yes. The man wanted to put a stop to the wager—would probably do his best to do so.
But Dangerfield could not allow gentlemanly scruples to ruin his plans. In order to keep Mansfield Manor for Jeremy, yet still protect Caitlin from the poorhouse or worse, he had to marry her. She was beautiful enough to garner many an offer even without a dowry, but he refused to consider the notion that he could arrange an acceptable match, and see her married off elsewhere.
He also denied it was guilt that drove him. Guilt at seeing her lose something that by rights should be hers. Given her stubborn pride—which he admired—and her dislike of him—, which he didn’t admire at all—Harlow doubted she’d accept a straight marriage proposal. A wager, even a scandalous wager, was far more acceptable to her.
Panic gripped as he realized what lay behind his reluctance. Possessiveness. She was his. No other man could have her. He would not allow it.
“Lady Caitlin,” Henry said into what had become a difficult silence, “how lovely you look today.”
“Please, call me Caitlin,” and she inclined her head in a regal nod which had Henry reddened like a schoolboy before clearing his throat and continuing. “My lady, I must ask you again; are you quite certain you wish to continue this wager? As a gentleman, His Grace would not hold you to it. I’m sure he will allow you to withdraw.”
No, he bloody won’t! He wanted to shout it at Henry—at them both—but he remained silent, wondering what her response would be.
She took a deep breath. “I do not wish to withdraw.” She removed her hand from Dangerfield’s sleeve and placed it instead on Henry’s arm. It took all his composure not to snatch it back. “Thank you, for your concern. But”—she flashed a defiant look his way—“I’m more than positive I can beat His Grace. If I do not then at least I know I have tried.”
Not until that moment did he realize he’d been holding his breath.
A few hours later, Harlow had to admit to himself that she was rather good—for a woman. She’d already known Faro to be a game of chance where the odds were enhanced with mathematical skill. She’d also known the players had to keep track of the cards that had been played in order to ascertain the odds of what was still to be played.
She’d also picked up the nuances of the game very quickly and, unfortunately for him, had a good head for numbers.
Most men had to use a case-keeper to keep track of the cards that had been played, but Harlow could keep them in his head. It would appear Caitlin, to a certain extent, could too. It was most annoying. He’d hoped to have that advantage at least.
However, while she had won the last few turns, she had yet to understand that one needed a strategy when playing faro.
“This is not as difficult as I imagined.” Her beaming smile took his breath away, and for once he remained silent.
Henry, however, did not. “I would be remiss if I didn’t suggest that, for this wager, it is not how many turns you win, Caitlin, but how much money you earn off each turn. It is the total money won over the course of the game that counts. Whoever wins the most money in this game of faro will be the victor in this challenge.”
Her frown squinched that cute nose of hers up, and Henry demonstrated.
“Let’s think about this turn. Given you’re near the end of the fifty-one cards, and you know the cards that have been played, you can place higher bets knowing the odds are more in your favor.”
She fiddled with the bracelet at her wrist and studied the layout. “I see. I know there are still a king and two queens left, and there are more low value cards left than higher. Therefore, as we get closer to the end of the deck I should place more money on the lower cards. Is that right?”
“Yes, this is what Harlow has been doing. He increases the amount of money he bets as he calculates the odds of the cards that are left falling due.”
“But it’s still a gamble,” she insisted. “You could lose more.”
Harlow let his gaze wander over her. “That is why it’s a hazardous game. There is always an element of luck. Are you feeling lucky? Luckier than your father?”
The mention of her father cooled Caitlin’s satisfaction in picking up the game so quickly.
“How can you sit there and boast of the way you ruined my father?” she snapped. “I assure you, I won’t be as easy to ruin.”
He didn’t look away or appear embarrassed. Instead, he reached out and cupped her face in his hand. “If I made it known you were here on your own, alone with two rakehells, you’d already be ruined. No, it is not your ruin I want.”
In spite of her resolve not to let him rattle her, Caitlin’s breathing quickened. Her heart missed a beat, then jumped into her throat. After a quick swallow, she managed to curl her lip. “No, it is a house that does not belong to you.”
He had the audacity to laugh. “But it does belong to me. That is why you are here. Let’s not forget that point.”
Caitlin fought to focus her mind back on the task at hand: to learn faro and to win the first challenge. She did not wish to have to win the cake baking. That challenge could go either way given her lack of cooking skills.
The glittering regard in Dangerfield’s darkening eyes made her feel hot and uncomfortable—and more than a little unsettled. She itched to cross her arms over her breast, even though she had little in the way of a bosom to ogle. She was half convinced he could see through her layers of clothing to her naked form beneath and she was worried that what he saw wouldn’t entice him. Her mind pictured Larissa’s voluptuous figure, and envy streaked over her heated skin.
What was wrong with her?
She glanced at the clock o
n the mantle and then back down at cards in front of her. “It’s time I left. My father may miss me if I’m out too long.”
“I shall see you home.”
She had been placing her coppers back on the table, but Dangerfield’s cool effrontery had her chin jerk up. “No. That won’t be necessary. If my father saw me with you...”
“I shall escort Caitlin home.”
Henry’s voice brooked no nonsense. Her shoulders relaxed in relief. The journey would give her a chance to question him.
“No.” Dangerfield’s response came out as a growl. “I don’t trust her with you, Henry. She’ll beguile you into revealing secrets best kept. Won’t you, vixen?”
Provoking man. “Of course I will,” she snapped. “Or I’d try.” She turned to Henry and gave him a smile that was both apology and thanks. “Please stay, my lord. I’m quite capable of seeing myself home. I’ve been seeing myself home for quite a few years now.”
“Nevertheless,” Dangerfield said as Henry bowed and reddened once more. “I shall ride with you until you reach the boundary of Bridgenorth.”
His tone told her it would be useless to argue, so she didn’t. “Suit yourself.” She pulled on her gloves, determined not to speak another word to him, and to drive home as though he were merely a shadow in her wake.
If the woman thought she was going to treat him as though he didn’t exist she was going to have to think again. More than once.
Dangerfield waited until she tried to sweep out past him before catching her elbow.
The delicate bones under his hand did not match her Amazon personality. The softness and heat of her body through the cloth sent messages racing to the part of his anatomy he should keep under control around her. The last thing he needed, if he were to win this challenge, was a woman who understood the power she had over him.
She immediately wrenched her arm free. “Let go. There is no need for you to touch me.”
