Beneath the cover of her burgundy silk skirts, Georgie clutched the edge of the velvet seat as a surge of bitterness she thought was long-buried, rose up inside her. Damn Lord Craven to the hottest corner of Hades for all eternity for making me feel less than I ought to be. That I’m somehow lacking as a woman.
But why in God’s name was she even thinking about that contemptible excuse for a man right now?
Closing her eyes, she desperately tried to ignore the familiar swirl of anguish and anger in the pit of her stomach at the mere thought of him; tried again to crush the insidious memory of him to dust and scatter it like ashes in the wind.
Markham was not like him. She had to believe that.
And she was the Duchess of Darby. The ghost of her own self-doubt be damned as well. She was worth Markham’s—indeed any man’s—attention. And tonight she intended to have it.
“Are you all right, Your Grace?”
Georgie’s eyes flew open. Markham watched her, concern creasing his brow.
She sucked in a shaky breath and forced herself to smile. “Yes. Of course,” she replied with false brightness. She took a moment to smooth her skirts then somehow rose with studied grace from her seat. “I think perhaps it is a little too warm by the fire. Perhaps we could take a turn about the room... or play cards?”
She quickly scanned the drawing room as Markham had done. By now, everyone else had split off into various groups. Lord Rothsburgh and the Dunwoods were gathered about the pianoforte, listening to Lady Rothsburgh as she played a rather complicated nocturne. Jonathon chatted with great animation to Lord Farley, Lady Lucinda and their aunt, Lady Talbot, by the doors leading out to the terrace, whilst at the far end of the room, Helena and Phillip played a rowdy game of loo with the quite jovial, newly-wedded couple, Lord and Lady Palmerston.
Markham offered Georgie his arm. “Duchess, I was also going to suggest we play piquet again. However, after last week, I wasn’t certain how such an invitation would be received.”
“Well, worry no more, it is received with pleasure.” Georgie smiled—a coquette’s smile she hoped—then placed her bare hand on Markham’s forearm; even beneath the layers of fabric she could feel the firmness of taut muscle and bone. The memory of those same strong arms wrapping around her, those hands cupping her face and skimming over her arms made her shiver.
Markham smiled and bent toward her ear. “I think I know how to make the evening even more pleasurable.”
Oh, my Lord. Georgie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry and her pulse racing with panic. Or was it anticipation? “What are you suggesting?”
Markham began to lead her in a slow promenade down the length of the room toward one of the vacant card tables. “How daring are you feeling, Your Grace? I propose heightening the stakes this time. Let’s make this match worth both our whiles.”
Daring? Up until tonight, Georgie had never considered herself to be anything of the sort. But the way Markham looked at her right now—his gray eyes alight with amusement and sharp interest—she suddenly felt daring indeed. An uncharacteristic and entirely indecent bolt of excitement shot through her. How silly she was to think Markham wasn’t interested in her. Markham was a man who liked the thrill of the chase and she represented a challenge to him. He’d all but admitted that last week. “I’m listening.”
Markham’s mouth tilted into a no-doubt calculated half-smile. “I propose a wager. If I win this game, you must attend my house party at the end of next week, even if it’s only for a few days. I’ve recently purchased a property at Richmond. On the Thames. Rivergate House. It will be the first time I have received guests.”
Georgie arched an eyebrow in skepticism. “A house party? Really?” Everyone knew there were two types of house parties: those that members of polite society attended. And then there were other affairs that were nothing more than a thinly-veiled excuse for licentious behavior.
They paused by the card table and Markham chuckled, a low throaty rumble that seemed to vibrate right through to her very toes, making them curl in her satin slippers. “Don’t worry. Phillip and Helena shall be there. It will be all aboveboard I assure you.”
Georgie gave Markham a narrow look, still suspicious. The idea of spending several days under this man’s roof—even if her friends were there—sounded much too dangerous to contemplate. For her it would be akin to entering a lion’s den. Her reward for winning tonight would need to be sweet indeed for her to agree to such a bargain. “And if I win?”
Markham’s smile grew enigmatic. “I will tell you how I beat you fairly and squarely, both times last week.”
Georgie sniffed. “If I win tonight, then that should hardly matter to me.”
“Perhaps. Although I would hazard a guess that you are still dying to know all the same.”
Yes, damn you, I am. Georgie’s eyes met his. It was a deal she could hardly refuse and he knew it judging by the arrogantly amused expression on his face. He was tempting her with exactly what she wanted—the very something that had bothered her all week and would continue to irritate her until she knew.
She lifted her chin. “I should say no.”
He cocked a brow, dark mischief dancing in his eyes. “But you won’t.”
Double damn him. She wouldn’t.
Yes. He had her.
His gambit had worked.
Markham couldn’t help but smile to himself as he pulled out the duchess’s mahogany Hepplewhite chair so she could take her seat at the card table. Not only had she taken the bait to play cards again, but he was quite sure he knew what her scheme was—play the siren to befuddle him. It explained why her customary, frosty demeanor had apparently melted away after dinner.
Her seductive smiles and sighs, the flirtatious banter, even the way she’d positioned herself on the chaise-longue so that he was afforded a breath-stealing view of her amply displayed cleavage—these behaviors, whilst intriguing, had completely thrown him at first. Right up until the moment she’d made an assuredly out of character, innuendo-laden quip about the roses being pleasurable—then the truth had hit him like a thunderclap. The Ice Duchess wanted to win at piquet so badly it seemed she would go to great lengths to achieve her goal. Even if deep down inside she was uncomfortable playing the role of seductress.
But forewarned was forearmed. No matter how many times Georgiana Dudley fluttered her pretty eyelashes at him, or heaved a bosom-swelling sigh, she wasn’t going to put him off. In fact, two could play at this game she’d started.
Markham took his own seat opposite her, keeping his gaze locked with hers and away from her tantalizing décolletage. For the moment. “Duchesses first. Would you like to shuffle then cut the cards?”
Georgie took a deep breath, her breasts straining against the fabric of her gown before giving a nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
He studied her as she reached for the pack. Her smile might be steady, but her fingers trembled slightly and he could see the pulse fluttering in her neck. Yes, she wasn’t as confident as she appeared.
If he were a better man, he wouldn’t take advantage of the fact.
Whilst she shuffled, he deliberately raked her with an appreciative gaze, his eyes shamelessly lingering on her face, her delicious mouth and then her breasts. As he’d anticipated, color immediately rose to her cheeks. She glanced away from him, suddenly very interested in the cards in her hands.
Leaning forward a little, he drew her gaze to him again. “Because the rest of the company are otherwise engaged and we are still somewhat… alone,” he said in a low voice, “I thought I should take this opportunity to tell you how beautiful you look this evening, Your Grace.”
She affected a little laugh before she placed the cards on the table. Something hot and bright flashed beneath the cool blue of her eyes. Anger or desire, he couldn’t tell. “Heavens, you are full of compliments this evening, Lord Markham,” she said. Although she sounded a little breathless, she arched an eyebrow. “But you must realize by now that flattery will
get you nowhere when it comes to playing. Only strategy will.”
Cutting the cards with a decided flip, she revealed the seven of clubs. Not good by any means. Her lips flattened, her displeasure clear.
“It would seem a modicum of good luck doesn’t go astray either,” Markham ventured with a wicked grin. He took his turn to shuffle and added, “I don’t know about you, Your Grace, but I’m feeling rather lucky tonight.” His cut revealed the knave of hearts. “I shall be the younger hand to begin with.” Although he wouldn’t have first choice from the talon in this first round, the advantage would be his in the sixth and final round of the partie.
“Of course. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.” The duchess observed him from beneath her eyelashes as he started dealing. “Playing with you again will be quite a romp I should expect, regardless of the outcome.”
The seductress was back. He couldn’t help but play the rake. “I can think of no lovelier woman to romp with than you, Duchess.”
This time, when she blushed, it was to the roots of her hair. There could be no mistaking what he meant by romp. He was a devil, but if she wanted to play with fire, she should expect to get a little burned. As soon as the last card hit the table, she hastily picked up her hand and began to study it in earnest.
Grinning, Rafe picked up his own cards. But his smile immediately fled. Bloody hell. His hand was shocking; not a single face card amongst the whole twelve. He would almost assuredly have to declare carte blanche.
He waited until the duchess had made her exchanges from the talon in the center of the table—five cards from the eight, leaving him little to choose from—then made his call. The duchess’s mouth lifted into a bright smile when he gave her a glimpse of his cards.
“Thank you,” she said with a nod. “Perhaps luck isn’t on your side after all, Markham.”
“We shall see.” Minx. The duchess had begun to toy with the ruby necklace she wore; it hung just above the shadow of her cleavage. Trying his best to ignore the play of her fingers and the building tension in his balls, Rafe returned his attention to the cards. He couldn’t afford to be distracted when he had so much lost ground to make up.
As the usual declarations and initial tallying of points commenced, an audience began to gather about them. The Latimers and Lord and Lady Palmerston looked on from their nearby table; Jonathon, Farley, Lady Lucinda and Lady Talbot took up positions behind the duchess; and the remaining couples including Rothsburgh and his wife, Beth, gathered to his rear. They obviously all thought they’d be in for a good show.
Not that Rafe minded. The audience actually worked in his favor. As he’d suspected—and to his immense relief—the duchess assumed her usual, dignified persona again. It seemed she was not quite game enough to play the coquette in front of so many interested gazes.
The playing of tricks commenced, and as he’d anticipated, the duchess won the first round easily. Triumph gleamed in her blue eyes as she took the last trick on a perfect run of diamonds. She’d also managed to score a pique of a bonus thirty points.
Their audience began to clap.
“Well played, Your Grace,” Rafe offered.
“Thank you,” she acknowledged with a gracious inclination of her head.
He sat back in his chair and puffed out a small sigh. Five hands to go yet. He wouldn’t lose sight of the prize; the opportunity to have the duchess—Georgiana—nearly all to himself for a few days. He just needed to keep his head and concentrate on the task at hand rather than flirting.
As the duchess gathered the cards and tapped them into a neat pile, Phillip leaned over and passed him a cognac. “You might need this, my friend,” he murmured. “Go slowly though.”
Rafe had to agree.
After three, very close, heart-hammering rounds—to Georgie’s immense relief she’d won two—Helena insisted they all break for tea.
Georgie gratefully accepted a steaming cup of Darjeeling from Helena. The tension of concentrating so hard had taken its toll—the beginnings of a headache pulsed in her right temple.
When Helena had finished dispensing the tea to the other guests, she took up a seat beside Georgie at the fireside. “You are doing well,” her friend murmured with a conspiratorial glint in her brown eyes. “And I’m sure that after tea, a number of our guests shall take their leave, which means you will be free to distract Markham again.”
Georgie pursed her lips. “Hmm. I don’t know about this tactic of yours, Helena. I’m not even certain it achieved much in the first instance.”
“Fie. What nonsense. You absolutely flogged him in the first round didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that was more to do with how the cards fell.”
“I disagree. Never underestimate the power of feminine wiles. Once a man’s member is engaged, his brain all but ceases to function.”
Georgie gasped, shocked at her friend’s frankness. “Helena!”
She laughed. “It’s true, mark my words, Georgie darling. If you want to be certain of winning, you must be prepared to do whatever it takes. Remember, the rules of fair play do not always apply in love and war.”
Georgie’s frown conveyed her skepticism. “Even if that means acting like a harlot?”
“Georgie, that is something you could never be. And there’s nothing wrong with playing the temptress.” Helena winked at her over her tea cup. “In fact, it can be quite fun.”
“But your situation is entirely different,” Georgie protested. “You’re married to a wonderful man.”
“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be wed to such a man too.” Helena leaned closer and touched Georgie’s hand before adding sotto voce, “If you give Rafe a chance, who knows… perhaps he might amount to more than just a paramour for a season. He might even be the one to win your heart. But first you need to decide he’s worth the risk.”
The one.
Georgie was not fool enough to deny that others were fortunate enough to find their perfect match in life. Phillip and Helena obviously had. So had Lord and Lady Rothsburgh. And Jonathon and Teddy had been the picture of bliss during their years together.
However, she was not like other people. If her past had been different—if she were different—then perhaps Markham might have been that special someone.
But not for her. Not now. She doubted that even someone like Lord Markham—Rafe—would ever be able to convince her otherwise.
And any further speculation was pointless because in her heart of hearts, she knew she would never take such a risk.
Chapter 5
The assembled company had thinned considerably by the time the ormolu clock in the drawing room heralded midnight. Only the Latimers, Jonathon and Farley remained to witness the final round.
Which meant that Georgie could at last attempt to flirt with Lord Markham again.
At this stage, she dealt from a position of relative strength. She’d won three out of the five rounds played and had gained a quite respectable score of seventy-six. Markham, on the other hand, had a running total of sixty-four.
With only one hand to play in this partie, victory was definitely within her reach. She was certain she could easily make one hundred or more. To beat her, Markham would have to earn an incredible number of points. His only advantage at this point was that he was now the elder hand and had the first choice of the cards from the talon.
The wicked, uncharitable part of her prayed she dealt him something dreadful. And that she had the bravado to flirt as if her life depended upon it.
As she shuffled the cards, she moistened her lower lip with her tongue, then gently pushed her teeth into the soft flesh. The effect on Markham was immediate. He sucked in a sharp breath and Georgie risked a glance at him. His gaze was riveted to her mouth.
Helena had been right, curse her. But could she keep up the performance?
She had to. She couldn’t bear the idea of spending a whole day, let alone several, in Markham’s company.
With a deep, bodice-str
aining sigh, she deftly dealt out their hands then spread out the talon.
Thankfully Markham had transferred his gaze back to the cards, giving her time to both sharpen her concentration and muster her strength for her next series of moves.
She fanned out her hand of twelve—more spades and clubs than the red suits. A decent run and a trio of jacks. There was potential there, but she would need to work hard. And as Helena advised, do whatever was needed. God forgive her.
She slipped Markham a glance. His brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth set in a determined line, he seemed focused—too focused—on what was in his hand and the exchanges he made. She had to unravel him. Crushing down a wave of nervousness and a bothersome pang of guilt for using grubby tactics, she set about twirling a curl of her hair around her finger whilst biting her lip, as if deep in thought.
Markham’s gaze was instantly on her again, a decided glint in his eyes—whether it was amusement or sexual interest, she couldn’t tell. “Your turn to exchange, Your Grace,” he said, his lips tipping into a smile.
Is he laughing at me? Oh God, she hoped not. Releasing her curl, she reached for the remaining three cards in the talon. “Thank you.”
Oh no. Nothing but red. And not a single face card. Panic squeezed her heart for a moment whilst she fought to keep a neutral expression. She could still win this. She had to believe it.
Discarding what she’d picked up from the talon, she ventured another look at Markham. It was time for the declarations. Would he be honest or would he try to sink her at this juncture by not declaring everything he had?
He cocked an eyebrow. “Point of six.”
She arched an eyebrow in return. She had a point of seven in spades. An additional seven points that raised her score to eighty-three. “Not good,” she replied smoothly.
The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 Page 7
