To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield (Wicked Wagers BK1-Regency Romance) Long Novella
Page 5
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 on 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 Lady Southall 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.”
He stared down into eyes stormy with anger... and something else. Desire? Yes. She was affected by him—and the reality of what that could mean almost unmanned him. The impulse to make those stunning, ethereal, green eyes deepen in sensual delight, nearly overcame his good sense.
But no. He would not deviate from his plan. While he had no qualms about seducing her it would be on his terms and according to his timetable. Winning the wager came first. Her seduction second. Her agreement to marry third. In that order.
He stepped away from her. “All that fire,” he murmured. “Save it for when you come to my bed. It will enhance the pleasure.” He noted the flare in her gaze, the ripple in her throat as she gave a hard swallow, and smiled. “After you, my lady.” And gestured for her to precede him from the room.
Stepping around him, she dragged in a breath that held a distinct—and satisfying—tremor. “I can’t see what women see in you. You’re such a bore.”
“Ah,” he said to her departing back. “But then you’ve not had the pleasure of seeing all of me.”
Henry sighed. The only response from Caitlin was the tightening of her shoulders and a small misstep.
She had driven no more than a mile from the lodge, with her unwanted escort on Champers trotting along beside her, when they rounded a bend and almost collided with a large carriage. A carriage bearing the Dangerfield crest.
Luckily, neither vehicle was moving very fast and Caitlin had time to pull the reins hard to the left and run off onto the grass verge.
Dangerfield, cursing, rode ahead to chastise the coachman. But before he could reach it, the carriage came to a halt, the door was flung open, and a young lad sporting a very black and swollen eye jumped down.
“I say,” he called. “That was close. Are you all right, miss?”
Caitlin had no time to answer him. He’d already seen the horseman heading his way.
“Harlow.” The boy raced towards Dangerfield’s horse. “You are still at Telford. I was concerned you’d leave before I arrived home from school.”
This must be Dangerfield’s younger brother, Caitlin decided, still humming with shock at the close call. At least he appeared to be unaffected by the incident.
Dangerfield did not dismount as the boy ran up. “I promised in my letter I would be here.” He glanced across to where she sat, and there was the oddest look upon his face. But only for a moment. Then he returned his attention to the boy. “Jeremy, why don’t you jump back in the carriage and calm mother? I’ll see you back at Telford Court. Then,” his tone turned dry, “you can tell me all about the black eye.”
Before the boy could respond a woman stepped down from the carriage. “No need, Harlow. Your mother could do with a stretch.”
Walking toward Caitlin’s gig she smiled wryly. “I’m Lydia Telford. I’m sorry, my dear, I hope we did not give you a fright.”
Caitlin had never met Dangerfield’s mother. She’d seen her from afar but never been invited to approach. Harlow looked so much like her.
The Duchess was still an attractive woman. Only a glimmer of grey showed in the fair tresses. However, while Harlow’s face resembled his mother’s fine aristocratic features, he must have received his dark curls from his father. Caitlin didn’t remember the previous Duke at all.
“Likewise, Duchess,” she responded, politely. “I hope you were not hurt.”
“Not at all. Harlow you must introduce me to your companion, although I can guess who this delightful young woman is. You must be Lady Caitlin Southall.”
As she spoke the young boy—Jeremy—moved to his mother’s side, staring at Caitlin as though she were some evil monster he’d discovered under his bed. The ferocious expression on his face made him far less attractive than she’d originally thought.
“Lady Southall.” The Duchess spoke hesitantly. “May I present my younger son, Jeremy. Jeremy, make your bow to our neighbor, Lady Southall.”
But the boy didn’t move—except to look her over. Then a sneer formed on his lips. “I refuse to acknowledge a Bridgenorth,” he said. And with that he turned on his heel and stalked back to wait by the carriage.
The Duchess’s face paled to the color of milk and her fingers tightened.
“Mother.” Harlow urged his horse closer. “It’s late. Lady Southall must get home.”
Caitlin understood neither the hatred spewing like sulphur from Jeremy’s mouth nor the urgency in Harlow’s tone.
His mother ignored him. “Caitlin—I may call you Caitlin?”
Still completely taken aback, Caitlin could only nod agreement.
“Thank you. Please, Caitlin. Forgive my son. He is young and does not think before he speaks.”
It was more than that, Caitlin knew, but as she had no idea as to the origin of the bad blood between the Dangerfields and her father there was little she could say except, “Think nothing of it, Your Grace.” After all, it wasn’t the duchess’s fault that her son—both her sons—seemed unable to be civil to their neighbors. Why should Caitlin care? All she required was the opportunity to win her house back.
“Since Jeremy has chosen to be rude,” the duchess continued, “I do hope my eldest son is not bothering you.”
“Not at all. He has been helping me with a project dear to my heart.” That, at least, was true.
; “How interesting.” The duchess sent Dangerfield a beaming smile. “I do hope Harlow remembers that he is a gentleman.”
Dangerfield looked even more uncomfortable and his mother laughed. “I heard some interesting gossip in London, Harlow. I shall discuss it with you when you get home.”
Caitlin watched, fascinated, as the dreaded Duke of Dangerfield’s cheeks flushed a very unmanly shade of pink.
“Mother, is there any need for this?”
“Absolutely. We shall discuss the significance of your social schedule later this evening. Don’t be late I shall be waiting up. It has been lovely to meet you, Lady Southall.” And, with another smile, the duchess turned back toward the carriage. “Come along, Jeremy.”
“Can’t I ride back with you, Harlow?” Jeremy asked.
“Not today,” Dangerfield said. “I have to see Lady Southall home first. You go with mother. We can go out riding tomorrow morning.”
Once again the boy shot a furious glare at Caitlin. She, in turn, studied him, making sure to keep her face as expressionless as she could. What on earth was wrong with the boy? She couldn’t understand why he’d taken such an aversion to her.
He didn’t look much like Harlow. They both had dark hair, but Jeremy’s face was longer, not as square. He had the same nose, like their mother’s, straight and in proportion to the rest of his face, but his eyes were nothing like Harlow’s. Harlow had his mother’s beautiful, wide gray eyes, accentuated by long black lashes. Jeremy’s eyes were more hooded and she couldn’t quite make out the color. But he looked somewhat familiar. And he certainly looked a mess with his black and swollen eye. He’d been in a fight. There were scratches on his cheek and his knuckles were scabbed.
She tried not to listen to the pair’s private conversation, but Jeremy was so loud.
“How did you get the black eye?” Dangerfield looked grim.
Jeremy flushed and bit his lip. “It was nothing of importance. A few of us were practicing our boxing. My face accidentally got in the way.”
Harlow couldn’t see Jeremy’s expression, but Caitlin could. The boy was lying. Why?
Harlow must have guessed this because he said, “Do you need me to come to the school?”
“No.” Jeremy’s chin lifted and his fists clenched tight. “I can fight my own battles, thank you. I don’t need you to treat me as if I’m still a child. I can manage on my own. But what are you doing with her?” He stabbed a finger accusingly at Caitlin. “I don’t need my older brother, the Duke, to marry a Bridgenorth just so I...”
“Be quiet.” The ice in Dangerfield’s tone was enough to freeze his brother into silence, but it was too late to retrieve the words.
Need him to marry a Bridgenorth? What on earth did Jeremy mean by that? Was this why Dangerfield was trying to ruin her? To try and force her into marriage?
Caitlin almost laughed aloud. The Duke of Dangerfield was the last man on earth she’d consider marrying. The Duke loved women. All women. Numerous women. More women then she could imagine. And that was the problem.
She wanted her husband to love only her.
Besides, if they married they would undoubtedly come to blows. The man was so arrogant, so overbearing, so… so… so male! And her response to him frightened her.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. There was no doubt he was handsome. Too handsome. How could she compete with the rest of the female population? They all longed to be in his bed. Even her own body responded to his beauty. But somehow his spectacular dark looks made the prospect of... of sharing his bed—
Her panic built, threatening to choke her.
Now it was more imperative than ever to win their wager. She couldn’t find herself betrothed to the Duke of Dangerfield. Not after what he’d done to her father. To her.
She gave herself a little shake. It was getting late. She must hurry home. The last thing she needed was for her father to ask difficult questions. She hated lying.
“Thank you for your escort, Your Grace,” she said with all the calm and hauteur she could manage. “I can see myself home from here—”
Jeremy snorted. “See, there is no need to fuss over a Bridgenorth.”
“Jeremy, that is enough.” Harlow’s voice fairly shook with anger. “Apologize to Lady Southall. Immediately.”
Jeremy bowed exaggeratedly low. “I do apologize. Give my regards to your father.” And he marched back to the carriage without a further glance at either his brother or Caitlin.
Really, Caitlin thought as she maneuvered the gig back onto the road, the boy seemed a trifle unhinged. There was real animosity in those cold eyes. Why? What had her father done to deserve this hatred? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
By the time she—still escorted by Dangerfield—reached the gates of Mansfield Manor she was fuming.
Nor did Dangerfield give her any time to ask him questions. He merely inclined his head, said, “Until tomorrow,” and galloped back off toward Telford Court.
“How extraordinary.” Caitlin said out loud.
She wished she had someone she could talk to about the Duke and her father. What had happened in the past to cause such a rift? Why did he want the Bridgenorth estate so badly? Why should he consider marrying to get it when he’d already won it? And why, if the house meant so much to him, risk losing it again in a wager? Unless he was sure of victory.
She rubbed her nape. Nothing about this made sense.
Cheat. Would a man like the duke cheat? No. The idea was laughable. It was beneath him. Yet he would force you into his bed. That was not honorable.
Caitlin didn’t know what to think. She’d have to watch him closely. She didn’t mind losing in a fair wager, but if he tried to anything underhanded, she’d... What would she do?
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to offer herself up to a cheat.
She’d draw the line at that.
Chapter Five
His mother’s inspection might have been as disinterested as that of a stranger, but Dangerfield had to fight to resist the urge to tug at his cravat. She knew him too well. Dammit, he could even feel embarrassment warm his cheeks.
He made his face form a relaxed smile. “I hope you had a pleasant stay in town.”
His mother shrugged, clearly enjoying his discomfiture. “It was lovely to catch up with friends. Listen to the gossip doing the rounds. However, it was rather unnerving to hear my son was the topic of conversation. I learned you’d managed to win Mansfield Manor. All they could talk about was how skillful, you’d been when playing Bridgenorth. And how ruthless.”
“I did not force the man to play, or to wager his estate.”
“You understood his weakness and played on it.”
Harlow’s voice turned cold. “As he played on your weakness fourteen years ago. I thought you’d be pleased. I managed to hurt him in the only place he feels anything—his purse.”
“It is his loss, my dear. In every way.” She smiled, but her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “But it is hard for me to stay angry at the man who gave me Jeremy. I’ll never think of my boy as a mistake or a sin.”
Harlow’s anger lessened at his mother’s smile. “I did this for Jeremy. I promised him.” She was right. It was Bridgenorth’s loss. Jeremy was a fine boy. “Jeremy’s a corker. That’s why he deserves Mansfield Manor.”
“Come.” His mother patted the settee beside her. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not too old to sit with your mother. I’m lucky to have Jeremy, with you so grown up and busy with your own life. I hope winning Mansfield Manor will help you let go of the past. Are you satisfied now?”
“Perfectly.” He sat and she took his hand in hers.
He would not be made the villain here. Not after he’d had to pick up the pieces of his mother’s shattered heart when not much older than his brother. “Jeremy will get what rightfully belongs to him.” He let none of his simmering resentment show on his face.
Such a pity his mother smelt blood.
He felt his cravat tighten around his neck. “She is upset, obviously, to lose her home.”
“Of course. And?”
It took work to keep his features blank, but the last thing he needed was his mother interfering in his plans. “She asked for the chance to win the house back.” When his mother’s eyebrow lifted, he continued, “And I gave it to her.”
“Oh?” Lydia laughed, a ripple of amusement. “I wonder why? Everyone in London knows how long you’ve waited to get your hands on Mansfield. And yet all his daughter had to do was ask and you’re ready to give it up?”
Caitlin’s face and succulent body shimmered into Harlow’s mind’s eye. He shifted restlessly and cursed his mother’s interference. “I felt honor-bound to do so. The house was her mother’s and held in trust for her. Bridgenorth didn’t really have the right to stake it.”
“Then why not simply give it back to her? If it was to be Caitlin’s it never really could have been Jeremy’s. Maybe that is why Bridgenorth wouldn’t acknowledge him. He was embarrassed to admit there was nothing to give him. The title couldn’t go to Jeremy as he is illegitimate, and the estate was not Bridgenorth’s to dispose of.”
“Perhaps.” His mother’s question left him unsettled. “But I can’t simply give it to her. People would assume the worst and talk.”
“Is that because she’s a beautiful, unmarried young woman?” He nodded. “I see. So will you let her win?”
“That depends on Jeremy—and I can’t see him releasing me from my promise. He hates Bridgenorth. I can’t say I blame him.” He met his mother’s disconcertingly sharp gaze. “Therefore I’ve instigated a plan where when I win I both keep the house and protect Caitlin’s reputation.”
His mother’s hand fluttered outward. “I don’t see how you can achieve that unless you marry—” Her mouth dropped open for a second before she composed herself. “Marriage? You’ll offer her marriage? That seems somewhat extreme. You hardly know her.”