Bronwyn Scott's Sexy Regency Bundle

by Bronwyn Scott

  “Why not?” Sophie said hotly, watching the gems dangle from his hand, trying to ignore the delightful tremor that shot through her at the sound of her name on his lips.

  He smiled wickedly and leaned close to her ear, as he had on the dance floor, his breath feathering her neck. Her pulse raced at his closeness. She could smell soap on his skin, all spice and manliness.

  “Because, my dear, they’re nothing but paste. Very good paste, naturally. They’ve been fooling the public at the Tower of London for centuries now, but they’re paste nonetheless.”

  Sophie recoiled visibly. She’d stolen fakes! She’d nearly passed them off as real to di Brazzo. She couldn’t get the bracelet off her arm quickly enough. She dropped it as if it were too hot to hold.

  The dratted man laughed at her. “Are you upset because you’ve been caught or because they’re fakes?” He stepped around her and took a seat on her sofa, propping his long legs up on the low coffee table, making himself comfortable.

  “Get out!” Sophie gestured toward the door. “Take your paste jewels and get out.”

  “I wouldn’t be so hasty to see me go, Sophie.” He was still laughing, his gray eyes sparkling with impishness at her discomfort. “I have something you want, and you, my dear, have something I want.” His hot look left no room for misunderstanding.

  Sophie drew a deep breath. She did not care for the insinuation that she had no morals.” Last night was merely a distraction to gain the room.”

  His raised eyebrows suggested his doubt. “A very effective distraction, I’d say. I was ‘distracted’ all night. How about you?”

  “I won’t sleep with you, if that’s what you’re after.”

  His grin broadened. He settled his hands behind his head. “I’m not in the habit of negotiating for sex. No need to, really.”

  Sophie stamped her foot in frustration. In one sentence he’d made her protest sound like a coy come-on. “You’re the most irritating man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, Mr. Burke.”

  “I liked it better when you called me Julian. Now, do you want to hear what I have to say or do you want to continue your tirade?”

  He was scolding her as if she were an errant child. Sophie reined in her temper. “What do you propose?”

  “As I said before you interrupted me, we are both in possession of something the other wants, agreed?” Sophie nodded and he continued. “I say we play for them. You win, you get your item. I win, I get you. Do you play piquet?”

  Sophie nodded again.

  Julian removed an untouched deck of cards from his inner jacket pocket. “You may inspect the cards if you wish.” He passed the deck to her. “Perhaps we could sweeten the pot with a side wager. For every point one of us wins in our march toward victory, we can ask the other to pay a forfeit.”

  Sophie smiled, in no way concerned over what she stood to lose. He’d had a deck of cards at the ready, giving every impression that he had planned such a gambit, but Julian Burke was about to get his comeuppance. He could have no idea how good she was at piquet. She would gladly wager her ‘favors’ against the diamonds. By the time a messenger came with a reply from di Brazzo, she’d have won the real diamonds and the shirt off Julian Burke’s back, quite literally. Sophie shivered with delight at the image of Julian’s torso naked and revealed.

  “Planning your forfeits already? It’s bad luck,” Julian said with a wink, dragging a table over for them to play at.

  “Luck is just luck. Skill is something else altogether,” Sophie said smugly, taking her place at the impromptu card table. She removed all the cards numbered two through six and shuffled deftly. She dealt twelve cards to each of them, picked up her hand and scanned it with a broad grin. But she was all seriousness as she eyed Julian across the table. “Let’s play.”

  Chapter 5

  Sophie won the first hand easily. “Take off your coat, Julian.” He would think twice about giving her permission to use his first name when she was done.

  No need to hurry the experience. She would win plenty of points today. She planned to savor this disrobing. Julian Burke’s arrogance needed to be taken down a notch and she was glad to be the one to do it. In turn, she’d be able to quench her growing curiosity about what was under those clothes.

  For the second hand, she said, “Roll up your sleeves, Julian.” She was going to play the dilettante and enjoy each moment of this. She had plenty of clothes to lose and from the looks of it, he had far fewer.

  He did so without flinching, his gray eyes ever fixed on her while he flicked back the cuffs of his shirt and rolled the sleeves to the elbow, revealing tanned forearms sprinkled with dark hair, a strikingly masculine contrast against the pristine backdrop of his immaculate white shirt.

  Sophie bit her lip, fighting the rush of desire that coursed through her at the sight. She’d always found a man in rolled shirtsleeves so very appealing. But this man was more than simply appealing. Even after this first win, she was tempted to skip the whole game and…No. she couldn’t do that.

  “I trust you’re not disappointed?” Julian said coolly, dealing another hand.

  “Not at all.” Sophie dimpled.

  She wasn’t disappointed but she was, unfortunately, distracted. When she triumphantly played a ten thinking to take the trick, she was surprised to see him overplay her with a jack; she’d made an error in her counting.

  “My turn at last.” Julian heaved a sigh and relaxed back in his chair, studying her with his gray eyes. Just the feel of his eyes on her, roaming at their leisure, sparked something wanton in her. The length of his perusal unnerved her. She fought the urge to fidget.

  After an interminable amount of consideration, which left her feeling naked already, Julian drawled in low, firm tones, “Take down your hair, Sophie.” A splendid shiver shot through her as he added, “Slowly.”

  Two could play this game of allure. If she was going to risk distraction at the sight of his arms, perhaps he would find her hair just as distracting. Sophie held his gaze and reached for the comb holding her hair in a loose twist, knowing that as she did so the fabric of her gown drew tightly across the breasts he’d adored the previous night. She shook her hair free, letting it fall about her shoulders and down her back in an unrestrained cascade of gold waves. Julian drew a gratifying sharp breath. “Be careful what you play at, Sophie,” he cautioned in a predator’s growl.

  Sophie tossed him a sly look through the curtain of her hair, undeterred by his warning. “I’ll take your shirt next and your trousers will follow.”

  “Probably should take my boots first,” he quipped. “For convenience sake, you know—easier to get the trousers off.”

  “As you wish,” Sophie said smoothly, picking up her cards and sorting her hand with expert deftness. She felt his eyes on her, and looked up. “What?”

  “Don’t you want to know what I’ll take next?”

  Sophie feigned indifference and furled her hand. “You can tell me if you like. Seems you have your heart set on sharing.”

  “I’ll have that pretty yellow dress of yours, Miss I’ll-have-your-shirt-first-and-your-trousers-next.”

  “It’s always good to have dreams, I think. It gives us something to work for.” There was so much on the line; the diamonds, her freedom. But as serious as the stakes were, she hadn’t had this much fun in ages. Sparring with Julian Burke was good sport. He was funny, witty and positively charming while he lost. It was hard to remember why she had to keep her guard up. It was hard to remember the game was about more than divesting the handsome man across from her of his clothing.

  Julian chuckled at her sassy retort. “Just in case, you might want to build up the fire in here.” He shot a pointed look at her breasts. Sophie fought the ridiculous urge to cross her arms and shield herself. She wouldn’t let him see that he discomfited her. Damn him, could he tell her nipples were already pebbling at his merest suggestion? She had the elder hand so she unfurled her cards into a neat fan and named her points.
Julian responded with ‘equal,’ indicating he had a suit of similar length and strength. Sophie glared at him.

  Julian arched his dark brows. “I mean to have that dress, Sophie.”

  It was war then.

  He lost his shirt and took his own sweet time peeling it off his back while Sophie watched in unabashed delight. Julian really did have the most delectable chest; one of those sculpted, smooth and hairless chests with a bronze tan. The only item that marred his torso’s perfection was the small half-moon scar under his right breast.

  “How did you get that?” Sophie asked in an awed whisper. She nearly had to sit on her hands to avoid going over and tracing the mark with her finger.

  “I got too close to someone else’s knife once,” was all Julian offered.

  It was clear that Julian was going to say no more on the matter, and that was fine. Her mind was swiftly moving its attention to other considerations. There was something about the smoothness of Julian’s chest that made her want to touch it, to run her hands over the hard shape of his muscles even though this game was strictly look-but-don’t-touch. That rule had been quickly established by their pattern of forfeits. To touch might result in a repeat of last night’s madness. Might? Who was she kidding? Julian Burke was a man to be desired, and she definitely desired him.

  Still, looking wasn’t without its risks. It wasn’t every day a woman had the good fortune of having an exquisite representation of manhood sitting unshirted across from her. Perhaps, given the circumstances, it wasn’t surprising that Sophie lost the next hand and her dress. She had the good sense of a sportsman not to protest his choice, but she did shoot him a scolding look for good measure, just to ensure that he knew she wouldn’t give up without a fight.

  “What?” Julian responded to her stare. “I told you the dress was next and I am a man of my word.”

  In the end, the thought of sitting there in her undergarments was far more risqué than the actual event itself. Her petticoat and camisole left not much more bare than a low-cut ball gown, and there was still her corset and stockings beneath that. Not to mention that her latest ensemble was working in her favor. Julian’s eyes had turned the color of hot liquid mercury. He lost the next hand and consequently his first boot.

  He lost the second boot quite quickly after that.

  Sophie picked up the next hand, hardly able to contain her glee over the excellent cards. Julian threw his hand down. “I surrender. You win.”

  The announcement was strangely deflating. “Are you sure? You have your trousers to lose yet,” Sophie cajoled.

  “That would be the end of our game, and I’ll definitely lose with this hand,” Julian said casually.

  “Oh.” Sophie colored slightly at his implication. He must not be wearing any small clothes beneath. She cleared her throat. “I see.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage with your numerous undergarments.” Julian gestured to her petticoat and blue-ribboned camisole. “I am assuming there’s another layer beneath it? It was hardly a fair game. I had no chance to win against the dictates of female fashion.

  “Is that disappointment I sense? I thought you’d be more than pleased to win our little competition.”

  Ohhhh, the man was insufferable. Even in defeat he was high-handed and arrogant. She’d never admit her disappointment now. Instead, Sophie smiled grandly. “I accept your surrender, sir.” She could be magnanimous in her victory. She held out her hand. “I’ll take what is mine, please.”

  “Of course.” Julian reached for his long-ago discarded jacket. Sophie stared in confusion as he withdrew a small silver object from his outer pocket. “It’s a nice lady’s piece.” Julian placed her gun in her open palm. “I can see why you’d want it back.”

  Sophie’s good humor vanished. “I want the diamonds. We played for the diamonds.”

  Julian frowned. “I must respectfully disagree, but we said we’d play for something I wanted and for something you wanted.” He shrugged negligently. “I thought you’d want the gun back. My mistake.” He reached to take it from her, but Sophie snatched it away.

  He managed an ingenuous grin. “Oh, then you do want it.”

  “Of course I want it—it’s mine,” Sophie snapped. “You tricked me.” The smug look on his face was confirmation that he’d known all along what she’d inferred about their wager.

  “My apologies if you see it that way.” Julian managed a proper bow with elegance in spite of his missing shirt.

  “You’re intolerable. Get out!” Sophie grabbed the boot nearest to her and threw it at him. She didn’t know what he was playing at but it was no game to her. She had to get those diamonds. Di Brazzo would be furious if he thought she’d lied about acquiring them, and she couldn’t risk passing off the fakes. He would see her dead for such a betrayal.

  Chapter 6

  She’d thrown his boot at him! Hours later, Julian was still musing over Sophie DuPlessy’s eviction. He couldn’t remember a woman ever throwing him out of her house before. His morning interlude with Sophie certainly hadn’t gone in the direction he had been expecting. Usually an episode of strip piquet ended with some excellent lovemaking. Instead, this one had ended with him fleeing the house in haphazard fashion, stocking-footed and his boots in his hands like a sneaky lover in a Drury Lane farce.

  Absently, Julian moved a pawn into position on the chessboard. Across from him, his partner—St. Just—tsked lightly. “Your mind is not on the game,” he noted, taking Julian’s pawn easily with a rook.

  Julian leaned back in his chair, massaging his forehead. “I know. You’ll have me checkmated in three moves and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Valerian nodded his agreement. “Would you care to talk about it?”

  “The game?”

  “No, whatever is ailing you,” he said seriously.

  Julian looked around the koffeehaus. The place was quieter than usual. A few groups of people were scattered throughout the establishment, busy reading newspapers or with conversations of their own. He’d been glad to find the place nearly empty. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts. It had been surprising to find St. Just there without the usual entourage of mutual acquaintances. Julian rather liked the serious young man sitting across from him. The viscount was the nephew of one of the British diplomats posted to Vienna, and very good at his work. Julian knew that even as young as he was, St. Just had been a trusted member of the British team that had gone into Turkey last year to negotiate water rights to the Dardanelle Straits.

  “Does it have to do with your mission?” St. Just said politely, prompting him to speak. There were only a handful of people who understood Julian’s true reason for being in Vienna. To Julian’s mind, the fewer who knew, the better. There was little glory or respect in being a spy. There was absolutely none for a man who stole jewels, even at the behest of his monarch. Technically, he was lower than a spy. Socially, he was passing himself off as a diplomatic assistant to Valerian’s uncle—a completely respectable occupation for a second son.

  “Somewhat,” Julian offered vaguely, reaching for his cup of rich Viennese coffee. He’d been pondering his situation with Sophie DuPlessy all afternoon, but now that there was a chance to talk it through he was reluctant to do so. He tried a new direction. “By the way, what are you doing here? It’s not your usual time of day. I didn’t expect to see you.”

  Valerian shot him an arch look over the rim of his own coffee cup. “If you must know, I’m soaking in the last of Vienna for a while.”

  “Are you going home to England at last?” Julian queried. He’d thought it more than passing strange that Valerian, with his title and estates, would elect to stay in Vienna as long as he had. But Valerian had always been rather closed on the subject of his life in England.

  A dark look clouded the younger man’s face at the mention of England. “I leave for Italy in the morning. I’m to check up on the situation in Naples. But you’ll have to do better than that, old man, if you want to dist
ract me. I’m not like all those effortlessly diverted women you charm in the drawing rooms.”

  Julian sighed and said in a low voice, “It’s complicated. There’s a woman involved.”

  “Isn’t there always?” Valerian said in a tone that caused Julian to wonder just how many secrets Valerian kept hidden beneath his cool exterior. If he had to guess, Julian suspected there were far more than the usual number young men kept.

  “She’s stolen my paste version of the jewels. She lifted them right out of my jacket pocket last night.”

  “And you didn’t notice?” St. Just queried.

  “No, not until after she was gone. We were engaged in some, ah, distracting activities, shall we say,” Julian confessed. Normally he had no trouble discussing such things with his circle of friends. Today, talking about what had transpired with Sophie seemed demeaning. What they’d done had only been a game but he still didn’t feel right making it public knowledge. If their regular companions, Truesdale and Mathison, were here, they’d be laughing their heads off—and he hadn’t even gotten to the part about finding her gun under the sofa. Julian didn’t want anyone to laugh.

  St. Just seemed to understand even if he didn’t. The viscount stroked the length of a bishop piece with his long fingers, thinking. “You have to get them back. The king can’t have an excellent forgery loose in Europe. There’s all kinds of mischief that could come of it. Have you approached her about the incident?”

  “Yes, I went to her place this morning.”

  “Obviously with an unsatisfactory outcome,” his friend surmised. “What did she say when you asked for your paste diamonds back?”

  “I didn’t precisely ask for them back. I told her I’d play her for them.”

  “So?”

  “We played strip piquet.”

  Coffee spewed inelegantly out of St. Just’s mouth. He dabbed at his mouth and trousers with a white napkin. “Good lord, what were you thinking?”