“What’s the wager?”
The gypsy acknowledged Grey with an upward flick of his eyebrows and a sardonic smile. Grey instantly liked him. “The lady claims she can split the arrow lodged in the target over there.” The man pointed to a target so far away Grey had to squint to see it.
“Impossible. Unless the lady is built like a man. Which lady?” He glanced at the women gathered around the group. A few of them were thick in arm and might be able to do it if they’d been shooting all their lives.
“There. That fair ghel with the sun on her head.”
“The fair what with what on her head?” Grey reached into his coat and brought out a bag of coin.
“Come, I’ll show you.” The gypsy eyed Grey’s coin and then wound through the throng of people. “You going to wager?”
Was he ever. No need to go showing his excitement and get taken advantage of. “Yes, but I’ll see the lady before I decide for or against.”
“And your friend?”
Gravenhurst shook his head. “I’ll keep my funds in my pocket where they belong.”
Leave it to Gravenhurst to try to spoil the fun. Nothing could spoil this novelty though. Grey shrugged. “Sorry―?”
“Romany.” The gypsy stuck out his hand. Grey shook the man’s hand with enthusiasm. His wasted trip was just about to become profitable and entertaining. Toward the inner circle the man stopped behind a woman whose waves of flaxen hair tumbled invitingly down her back and marked her as the woman with the sun on her head. He chortled at the description. What a preposterous idea to imagine the petite creature standing in front of him had the strength to wield the bow and shoot the arrow true enough to split the one already lodged in the target.
She had a right lovely round backside, he’d give her that, but he’d not give her his confidence. He jingled the bag of money with a grin and held it toward Romany who’d begun taking bets again from the people around him. “I’ll put the whole lot on the lady’s failure.”
With a gasp, the woman whirled around and speared him with a dark look as well as nearly stabbing him with her arrow. “You’re mistaken to wager against me, sir.”
There was something invitingly erotic about the pale-skinned, bronze-eyed beauty wrapped in delicate, lilac silk. She looked dainty and helpless yet she wielded a weapon that could kill and boasted of skills no proper lady would dream of admitting. His lust awoke in a heartbeat. This was the woman he needed to prickle his father and push him toward agreeing to secure a commission. “I’ll be happy if you prove me wrong, yet your stature does make me question your abilities, Lady…?”
“Miss Prattle,” she responded with a conspiratorial look at the curly-headed brunette.
“What an unusual name.” He winked to prod her and was rewarded when her eyes rounded.
“Yes, well, Lord…?”
“Drivel.” He could barely contain his amusement.
She burst out laughing, the merry sound making him smile. “Your laugh is lovely,” he said. Instantly, she sobered, eyed him warily and turned her attention downward on her arrow. She was right to be guarded. His blood hummed in his ears with his desire. Forget his parent’s boring dinner. By tonight he’d have this chit in his bed. The contradiction she presented was irresistible. “I’ll put my money on you and give you all my winnings to make up for offending you, but if you lose, you must accompany me to my townhouse.”
“She’ll not!” her friend exclaimed before the lady herself could reply. When the lady gave her friend a cool look, Grey had to work not to show his satisfaction. She was just as interested in him as he was in her. Today was turning out to be splendid, indeed.
“I’ll take your offer.”
“Excellent.” He ignored her friend’s outraged huff and Gravenhurst’s indiscreet snickering into his hands. “There’s much I want to show you.” Grey imagined her excited expression when she saw his collection of archery sets. Her mouth dropped open. By God, the chit thought he was referring to something sexual. Her expression of barely contained outrage was priceless and intrigued him all the more.
“What precisely do you think to show me? Are you a collector of art?”
Her tone was brittle as glass. The challenge of making her pliable in his hands was going to be quite enjoyable. For now, it might do her good to wonder what he was about. “I only have one piece of art that’s worth your seeing.”
At that, Gravenhurst started guffawing but stopped promptly when the brunette lady glared him into ashes. The woman’s obvious protective instinct over her friend was admirable, even if he didn’t like her interference.
“I won’t be seeing your art, but I will take your money,” the blond-haired chit replied before turning away, raising her arrow and saying in a loud, confident voice, “I’m ready.”
Romany and his cronies immediately called for last wagers, collected the money, and then a hush fell over the crowd.
Grey moved so he could see the woman’s face. He was rewarded for his effort. An adorable crease appeared on her forehead as she pulled the bow back with a creak. Her teeth bit down on her lower lip in concentration, and he could see her doing all the same small calculations he did every time he practiced his archery. She tested the tautness of her bow, the weight of her arrow, and the direction of the wind. Her knowledge impressed him. Her weight subtly shifted, but her skirt swished around her ankles and alerted him to her change in stance.
Fascination stilled him. He might lose, but the loss of his money didn’t worry him. Her fingers lifted off the bow and the arrow buzzed through the air true and straight. He’d underestimated her. Her arrow sliced down the middle of the other arrow and a collective gasp, followed by cheers and groans filled the air. He wanted to cheer too, but jaded lords didn’t cheer.
She whooped, her arms flying above her head in victory and her feet leaving the ground with her enthusiasm. He grinned as he watched her. She had real spirit. He no longer gave a damn about needling his father. He wanted to get to know this chit for her sake alone.
She faced him with a grin that lit her whole face. The sight was breathtaking. “I thank you kindly for your money,” she said. He grabbed her arm before she disappeared into the swell of people wanting to congratulate her and those who wanted a chance to earn their money back.
“I’d still love for you to come to my town home.”
“To see your one piece of art?” She tilted her head challengingly to the side.
“No. To see my archery collection.”
“Oh!” The smile on her face filled her eyes and made them shine like polished bronze.
“By God, you’re lovely.” He’d not been so taken with a woman’s beauty since he’d been old enough to understand women used their appearance to scheme and manipulate.
Her light eyebrows tilted into two twin arches as she gently pulled her arm from his grasp. “Thank you.”
“Miss Prattle,” her friend said through clenched teeth. “Our hour is over.
“Tell me your name,” Grey insisted as his intriguing, blonde beauty started backing away from him. He didn’t want her to go. Not yet.
“You already know it.”
“Your real name,” he amended, advancing toward her so she couldn’t simply vanish into the thickening crowd. “I could call on you. Take you to the theatre. Show you things you’ve probably only imagined.”
A lovely pink blush stained her cheeks. “I’ve a great imagination.”
“Then let’s explore it together.” He didn’t give a damn how forward he sounded.
“Enough!” her annoying companion said. “We must go now. It’s been two hours.”
“Two hours!” his beauty gasped. “Dear me. I really must go, but thank you for the offer.”
He sidestepped in front of her and looked down into her upturned face. “Meet me here tomorrow,” he said, desperate to ensure he would see her again. Her indecisiveness showed as she bit on her lip. “I won’t let you leave unless you agree.”
“
That’s coercion.”
“Whatever it takes.” He loved the word “whatever”. It left so many intriguing possibilities open to explore.
“Please remember that tomorrow.” She sidestepped around him.
A sense of satisfaction filled him. “I’ll see you at the fountain at ten.”
Already a few steps away, she looked over her shoulder. A frown marred her beautiful face. “Goodbye, Lord Drivel.”
He loved that she was willing to play the game. “Fair well, Miss Prattle.”
He watched her depart, her hips rocking enticingly with each step, until he could see her no more. If he was any other sort of man, he would have followed her all the way to her carriage just for a few more minutes in her company. Gravenhurst nudged him in the side. “Do you really think that piece will meet you here?”
“Of course I do. I’d not have let her leave, otherwise.”
One Year Later
Windsor Castle
1805
“Lady Madelaine, your stitch is off again.” Queen Charlotte jabbed her needle into her material and set her embroidery hoop on her lap. “Hand it to me.”
With a quick glance at the queen’s disapproving stare, Madelaine dismissed the idea of summoning tears. The notion had been ridiculous anyway. After a year at Court she knew better. The queen disliked her and no amount of crying would ever change that.
“Are you defying me, Lady Madelaine?” Polite iciness, and perhaps a tad of hopefulness, underlay the queen’s words.
Was she? Her fingers curled around her wood hoop. Did she dare disobey the queen? Her heartbeat banged in her ears. She could do it. Then she’d be ousted from Court and back home where she actually had a friend, instead of here surrounded by a hateful queen and equally cold ladies-in-waiting.
Life would be grand. The fantasy disappeared, as always. Home was no escape. The worry she saw on her father’s face the few times he’d visited her at Court would become worse if she was sent home. She’d rather endure the lectures and the loneliness than further sadden him.
The thumping in her ears lessened as her fingers loosened and she handed her embroidery hoop to the queen.
“What’s this?” the queen demanded.
She swallowed her pride, huge, bitter pill that it was. “A disgrace, Your Majesty.”
The queen’s eyebrows raised high. “Yours, to be sure.”
A spattering of nasty giggles erupted around Madelaine. She should pretend not to notice, really she should. But she just couldn’t do it. Her pride was definitely going to be her downfall. Or perhaps her temper. It was an ongoing debate in her head. She shot an icy glare to each lady who dared to meet her narrowed gaze. Only three ladies out of four today? My, the odds were improving. If she dismissed support as a requirement in a friend she could now count Lady Elizabeth Adlard, whose gaze was focused on her lap, as a friend. Madelaine nearly laughed. Ah, well, at least Lady Elizabeth didn’t join in mocking her.
Queen Charlotte stood, her silk skirts falling in a swish at her ankles as she did. She handed Madelaine’s now bare embroidery hoop to her. “Redo this and then you may join us in the library and play the pianoforte for me.”
Madelaine gnashed her teeth. The queen truly had it in for her today. She was worse at the pianoforte than she was at embroidery. Yet there was a bit of hope. By the time she redid her stitches the queen could well be tired of listening to music and might want to go for a walk through the gardens or a leisurely ride. Madelaine brightened considerably. She could walk and sit with the best of them. “I’ll come to the library as soon as I’m finished.”
“One hour,” the queen commanded and exited the room with the rest of the ladies on her heel.
Well, all the ladies save one, but Grace, with her venomous personality, was hardly a lady in Madelaine’s mind.
“Did you forget your pitchfork, Grace?” Madelaine had learned the hard way to strike first. She’d been the brunt of too many of Grace’s hurtful comments to sit and wait like a fool for Grace’s razor-sharp tongue to lash her.
“Lady Grace.” Lady Grace Frost enunciated each word like only someone who truly wasn’t a lady would do.
“So you keep saying,” Madelaine murmured, “yet it seems to me true ladies have kind hearts.”
“Be sure to work slowly, Madge. I’ve a bit of a headache and don’t think I can tolerate your pounding on the keys today.”
In swirl of skirts and blonde hair, Grace was gone. Madelaine snatched up her needle and spool of thread and furiously pushed the pin into the fabric while indulging the fantasy that Grace was the fabric. It was stupid to let Grace upset her. That’s exactly what she wanted. Yet Madelaine was upset, foolish or not.
When the clock struck the hour, Madelaine stuffed her hoop into her embroidery box and trudged down the hall. Lost in her own thoughts, it wasn’t until she was at the library door that she realized how quiet it was. She entered the library and could not help but gape at the empty room. Finally, she’d hit on a bit of luck in a year of providence drought.
She gazed at the rows of thousands of books, and a sliver of anticipation raced through her. She hurried toward the bookcase, but as her fingertips touched the first spine, the distinct creak of the door being opened filled the room. Her shoulders slumped. How ridiculously silly of her to hope for five whole minutes alone. “I’m coming.” It was hard to make her tone falsely pleasant.
“Is that disappointment I hear?”
Madelaine whirled toward the door and blinked. Lady Elizabeth, with her head of curly black hair and light blue eyes, smiled at her. “I’m not disappointed,” Madelaine lied.
“Really? I’d be if I’d thought I was going to be alone for a bit and then my hopes were dashed.”
That was exactly how Madelaine felt, and this was the first time in a year anyone had made an effort to have an actual friendly conversation with her. She could protect herself from further hurt and ignore Lady Elizabeth or she could take a chance and reach for the olive-branch. She was always one for taking a chance. “Did the queen send you to retrieve me?”
Lady Elizabeth grew serious. “Worse. I’m to take you to the tower where you’re to be whipped for insubordination.”
“What?” Madelaine’s stomach plummeted.
Lady Elizabeth moved further into the room and took Madelaine’s free hand in her own. She studied Madelaine. “Yes. Didn’t you know? A lady who cannot properly embroider must be banished from polite society until she can master the skill.”
Madelaine gripped her embroidery box tighter to her side with her left arm and swallowed the catch that had suddenly come up in her throat. “It’s just embroidery.”
Lady Elizabeth shrugged. “Yes, but you messed up the precious pink peony. No more chances for you.” The corners of Lady Elizabeth’s mouth tugged into a smile.
Madelaine slowly released her breath, too happy that Lady Elizabeth had been teasing her to be angry. “I didn’t know you had a sense of humor.”
“I’m terribly funny, once you get to know me. You should have seen your face.”
“I can imagine.” Madelaine pressed her hand to her chest. “For a moment, my heart stopped.”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry. I was only teasing. Come, we better go. Oh, and Her Majesty says to leave your embroidery.”
“Does she now? You expect me to believe the queen means to be kind to me? I may be gullible but I’m not a fool.” She hated how prickly she sounded, but her nerves were already on edge.
“No more foolery. I promise. We’re to take an invigorating walk in the gardens since the weather’s unusually warm. The queen is beside herself at the prospect of pointing out new plants to us.”
“A punishment worse than the tower.” The minute the words left Madelaine’s mouth she froze. Had she gone too far?
“I know!” Lady Elizabeth burst out laughing. Madelaine’s immense relief made her laugh almost hysterically.
“The queen will be most displeased to hear what I just have,�
� a voice said from the doorway.
Madelaine abruptly stopped laughing and met Grace’s hostile stare. If she pleaded, it would only give Grace satisfaction and make matters worse. She watched as Lady Elizabeth flew across the room.
“Lady Grace, please. She’ll throw us from Court.”
“I imagine she will.” Grace untangled her arm from Lady Elizabeth’s desperate clutch.
“Please, you mustn’t say a word.” Lady Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at Madelaine. “We meant no harm.”
Madelaine fought the urge to intervene, clenching her teeth on her need to speak.
“It sounded harmful to me,” Grace said.
Unable to stand the helplessness and Lady Elizabeth’s groveling a moment longer, Madelaine blurted, “I’ll buy your silence with my quarterly allowance.”
“How much?” Grace demanded.
“Ten pounds.”
“Not enough.”
“I’ll recommend you to my brother,” Lady Elizabeth pleaded.
Lady Grace’s eyes narrowed. “Which brother?”
“Whichever you prefer.” Lady Elizabeth turned deathly pale.
“Well, Lord Foxhaven is the heir, but Lord Grey does thrill me to the bone every time with just one look.”
Madelaine wanted to silence Grace’s viperous tongue, but the way she had in mind wouldn’t garner her in any better favor with the queen. Proper ladies did not resort to violence. Oh, how she wished she didn’t have to be a proper lady.
Lady Elizabeth sighed. “Fine. I’ll post a letter to Grey tonight.
“That’ll do nicely. Yet I require one more thing.”
“What is it?” Lady Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped and her voice shook.
Grace gave Madelaine a narrow-eyed look. “No more speaking to her, unless it’s to insult her, of course.”
Madelaine’s pulse shot from a simmer to a boil, but she struggled to keep her face relaxed. She ignored Grace’s stare and instead looked at Lady Elizabeth and tried to convey with a quick smile that it was all right. It wasn’t at all, but she’d never let Lady Elizabeth know that. A tear trickled down Lady Elizabeth’s cheek which she quickly dashed away. “I understand,” she whispered, dropped her arms and walked out the door.
What A Rogue Wants Page 2
