With purpose to his stride, he began walking, his destination Dodger’s Drawing Room. He had money in his pocket, twenty-five pounds in gambling blunt, all that remained from this month’s allowance. When it was gone, his wagering for the month would be over. He never borrowed, never asked for credit. Too easy to fall into the trap of thinking it could be paid back with the turn of a card or the spin of a wheel. He either won with what he had on hand or he lost. The night before, he’d won two hundred quid at the gaming tables, then promptly lost it when he’d gotten greedy and bet it all on one spin of the roulette wheel. He’d furthered his stupidity by then turning heavily to drink in an effort to ease the disappointment. Instead, he’d merely ensured a rather rough start to his day. But that was behind him, and it was time to begin anew. Tonight he needed to win.
Griff didn’t favor four-card brag, but here he sat at the table because it was the blasted Duke of Kingsland’s preferred game. He would rather have gathered some winnings elsewhere first, but as he’d spotted the duke shortly after coming into the club and a chair had been available at the table, he’d decided to get the unpleasant task done with.
At great inconvenience to himself. Perhaps he should insist on a favor from Lady Kathryn. He would have to give some thought to what she could possibly give him that would be comparable in value to this irritation.
The ante was called for, chips were tossed into the pot, and cards were dealt. After studying his, Griff discarded the one he didn’t wish to keep. He cleared his throat. “So, Your Grace,”—as Kingsland was the only duke at the table, he didn’t have to clarify—“I saw your advert in the Times. What precisely are you looking for in a wife?”
“Quiet.”
The word was spoken brusquely, dismissively, and Griff decided he was going to remain in the game until he’d taken every farthing Kingsland had. He was not a child to be told how to behave, to be seen and not heard. When he was done with him, the duke was going to regret his insufferable attitude.
After casting aside a card, Kingsland turned his attention to Griff and practically skewered him with a pointed look designed to intimidate, which he had no doubt practiced since birth. But it had little impact on Griff because he’d weathered the same stare from his father more times than he could count.
“I want quiet in a wife. One who will not disturb me when I am concentrating on important matters. One who rarely speaks but knows when it is important to do so.”
“You are familiar with women, are you not?” Griff’s comment was quickly followed by several chuckles from the other four gents gathered at the table.
“I am intimately familiar with women,” the duke said.
“Then you are aware that asking a woman not to talk is like asking the sun not to shine. Besides, why seek silence when you could have pleasant conversation?”
“It’s not as though you have to actually listen to the words,” one of the gents said, grinning broadly. “The softness of her voice is usually enough for me.”
The duke’s gaze landed on the viscount with an almost audible slap.
“Silence is good,” the poor fellow sputtered. “I like silence.”
“Perhaps you should practice it,” Kingsland suggested in a silky voice.
“Yes, Your Grace.” The lord began concentrating on his cards as though he feared they might fly away if not shackled by his attention.
The duke’s focus returned to bear on Griff. “You’re the Duke of Wolfford’s spare, are you not?”
“I am.”
“You have a sister, as I recall.”
“I do.”
“Is it her intent to send me a letter?”
Griff scoffed in a manner to imply he considered her fortunate to not have to seek the duke’s attention and favorable regard via post. “Hardly. She has captured the attention of the Earl of Chadbourne.”
“Ah, yes, I saw an announcement about their betrothal in the Times. Why, then, do you care what qualities I am seeking in a wife?”
“Mere curiosity, I assure you. You’ve taken a novel approach to courtship, and I wondered why normal methods weren’t to your liking. I thought perhaps you were searching for something rare.”
“I find the accepted avenue of courtship tedious and a waste of precious time. Why spend hours in a ballroom, suffering through one introduction after another, one dance after another, when I can simply read the attributes as I might a business venture I am considering for investment? Quicker, tidier, more efficient.”
“You view a wife as an investment?”
“Absolutely. Are you not familiar with women? They cost a bloody fortune. I’d rather not spend my coins wooing one who in the end is not going to pay dividends. Is it your intent to play or fold?”
Griff tossed his chips onto the pile, signaling he was playing. In the end, he won the hand and a good many of the hands afterward. Earned back the two hundred pounds he’d lost the night before. He didn’t want to consider that he owed Lady Kathryn for keeping him away from the roulette wheel and inadvertently guiding him toward the card table, that he might have to attribute some of tonight’s success to her.
Chapter 3
Kathryn couldn’t sleep. She shouldn’t have asked Griff for the favor. He’d capitulated far too easily which meant he’d tease her unmercifully for making the request of him, whether or not he saw it through. If he did have success at gathering the information she sought, he would make her pay a price for it. But it would be worth it to gain what she wanted.
Why hadn’t her grandmother simply left her the cottage outright? Why had she put a stupid stipulation on it? Was it because Kathryn had enjoyed spending time playing with the children in the village? Had her grandmother been worried that she’d move to the quaint dwelling and marry the blacksmith’s son or the baker’s? Why was her family so obsessed with their place in Society? Had it brought any of them happiness?
If her uncle or cousin didn’t see to her welfare, was she not perfectly capable of seeing to it herself? She could hire out as a nanny, governess, or companion. She wasn’t averse to work, considered that it might give her the freedom she longed for. Why among the aristocracy was marriage so highly valued? Shouldn’t a woman be wanted for more than bedding, breeding, and beauty?
The gentle rap on the door had all her thoughts scattering. It was nearly two. A little late for Althea to join her for some twittering about the Season or Society. Too early for Griff to have returned from his night of certain decadence. Had someone received word from her parents? Had something happened to them?
Tossing back the covers, she scrambled out of bed, raced to the door, and opened it. Her heart nearly skidded to a stop. It was Griff. While his neckcloth was undone, he didn’t look nearly as disheveled as he had the night before. Neither did he smell as ghastly. As a matter of fact, his fragrance was quite pleasant. She detected a bit of scotch on the air, but he wasn’t reeking with it. She couldn’t recall ever seeing him quite so relaxed. The tiniest of smiles reached up to make his eyes sparkle.
“I have what you requested,” he said, his words clear and concise. Not a slur to be found. He actually sounded happy, triumphant. She didn’t want to acknowledge how appealing a happy, triumphant Lord Griffith Stanwick was.
“You spoke with the duke?”
He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “I did.”
“What did he say?”
A corner of his mouth hitched up a little higher. “What are you willing to trade in order to learn of his preferences?”
Why couldn’t he have disappointed her on this matter? Why couldn’t she have been wrong that he would require something of her? “Why can’t you merely tell me?”
“Because I was rather inconvenienced.” He lowered his head slightly and arched a blond brow. “As I believe I mentioned I would be.”
She sighed heavily. “What do you want?”
Reaching behind her, he took hold of her plaited hair and draped it over her shoulder, the one nearest to him.
“Your hair unraveled, like Rapunzel.”
Blinking, she stared at him. “So you can tease me about how hideous it is?”
“Why would you think it hideous?”
“Because the color is an unusual red, not a pretty shade. And I possess an abundance of unruly curls.”
“The color is why I’ve always liked it. Because it is so bright, not drab or boring. Why I’ve always wondered how it might look spread out”—abruptly he stopped speaking and gave his head a small shake—“loose.”
“You like something about me?”
“It’s only a small thing. Don’t let it go to your head.”
His disgruntlement made her feel a little more settled. She lifted the tip of her plait and reached for the ribbon that held the woven strands secure.
“I’ll do that.”
She watched in fascination as his deft fingers pulled on the end of the ribbon until the bow her lady’s maid had created earlier disappeared. Slowly, so very slowly, he loosened the satin until he could slide it free. Into the small pocket of his waistcoat it went.
“Carry on.” His voice was low, soft, sensual almost.
She wondered why he didn’t complete the task, wondered why she wished he had. He studied her with such intensity as she began unraveling the strands that it became difficult to draw in breath.
“Not so quickly,” he murmured.
“I’d never realized you were a man of patience.”
His gaze lifted to hers, stayed for a heartbeat before drifting back to her hands. “Only when it comes to certain things.”
“Women?”
The grin he gave her was devilish. “Most assuredly.”
She slowed her fingers even more, for her enjoyment as much as his. She liked the way his eyes darkened, his nostrils flared, his lips parted ever so slightly. It was doubtful she’d have noticed if she hadn’t been scrutinizing him so closely. At balls, she’d held conversations with gentlemen, had danced with them, but not a single one had ever looked at her as though at any moment he might leap on her and devour her.
It was an odd thing that Lord Griffith Stanwick was looking at her thus. He was probably further in his cups than she realized, so far in fact that he’d forgotten who stood before him. And that they’d always been at odds.
When she unraveled the last bit of weave, she shook her head to scatter the tresses and give them absolute freedom. She heard his breath hitch, and her own responded in kind. She was not at all comfortable with the warmth and strange tingles traveling through her in a chaotic manner. She needed to be done with this. “So what does the duke want in a wife?”
“Quiet.”
Balling up her fist, she smacked him hard enough on the shoulder that he reeled back two steps.
“What the devil?” He wasn’t studying her hair now but was glaring at her as she was him in equal measure.
“I did what you asked, and you tell me to shush? You go back on your word?”
Rubbing his shoulder, he scowled. “Kingsland wants quiet in a wife. I daresay you’re going to have a time of it fulfilling that requirement.”
Oh. Well. She felt rather foolish. Brushing his hand aside, she began stroking his shoulder to ease the hurt she’d inflicted. She hadn’t expected him to be so firm, so toned. Obviously, she’d misjudged how he spent his days. It seemed they encompassed very little idleness. “My apologies for misunderstanding, although a complete sentence issued on your part might have prevented the confusion. What else does he require?”
As the silence stretched out, she darted a quick glance up to see him staring at her hand as though he’d never seen one. She couldn’t recall ever touching him with such purpose before that moment. A grazing of their fingers when he took the key hardly counted, even as it had caused her lungs to seize up momentarily. Self-conscious regarding the intimacy she was displaying, she gave him a little pat as she might a hound she wanted to send on its way. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”
Nodding, he scanned the hallway as though searching for an escape from what was becoming an increasingly awkward encounter.
“You didn’t answer. What else does he require?”
His attention was once more focused on her, but he seemed troubled now, his brow deeply furrowed. “Only silence.”
She gave a brusque nod of reassurance. “I can manage that quite easily.”
He barked out a laugh that seemed to circle the hallway before striking the center of her chest like a well-aimed arrow. “The devil you say.”
Her irritation with this man knew no bounds, even when he was helping her. She planted her hands on her hips. “I am fully capable of holding my tongue when necessary.”
“Why would you want to marry a man who has no interest in even hearing your captivating discourse?”
She couldn’t discern if he was teasing or being sarcastic. Surely, he’d never found anything she had to say spellbinding. “Because it might be the only way to gain what I truly desire.”
“Which is what? A husband? A duke? The title of duchess?”
If he didn’t sound so disgusted, she might have closed the door in his face. Instead, she felt an awful need not to have him judge her poorly in this one regard.
“A cottage.”
He didn’t like it when she surprised him, and it seemed of late she was doing it with increasing regularity. A few minutes earlier, her unexpectedly rubbing his shoulder had nearly robbed him of all good judgment, and he’d begun contemplating the merits of caressing her in return. What a mistake that would have been. “A cottage?”
She nodded. “By the sea. Windswept Cottage belonged to my grandmother. My fondest memories were made there, but she stipulated that it be placed in a trust for me only if I married a titled gentleman by my twenty-fifth birthday. Next year, in August, I shall see a quarter of a century. Kingsland might be my last chance to meet that deadline in a timely fashion.”
He knew something about wanting a property with a desperation that defied all logic. “Kingsland mentioned something about not wanting to be disturbed when he was concentrating. Bloody hell, he didn’t provide a lot of insight, did he?”
“Hardly worth the unraveling of my hair. I should make you brush it and replait it.”
To comb his fingers through the glorious strands, to know if they felt as silky as they looked, to divide them into thirds—
It was hair, for God’s sake. Every woman he’d ever been with had hair. He had hair. Why was it that he ached to know the texture of hers? “I’d probably just knot it all up.”
She smiled, a soft, sweet smile as though they’d never had a harsh word, as though he wasn’t a spare. “Yes, you probably would. You also make an awful spy. But you did inquire and have given me a bit more information than I had possessed, so thank you for that. Especially as it was so deuced inconvenient for you.”
But he’d walked away with two hundred pounds. He owed her for that. “I’ll keep an ear out and let you know if I discover anything else.”
“I’d appreciate that, my lord.”
“Lady Kathryn, you have been friends with my sister for a dozen years now. You are her dearest confidante. Perhaps we could dispense with the formalities.”
“You know precisely how long Althea and I have been friends?”
He remembered the first moment he’d spied her. Her dress had been blue, her bonnet white. It had rested against her back, its ribbons tied around her neck keeping it tethered to her as she’d skipped over fields of clover, laughing—before her governess chastised her for behaving like a hoyden. Perhaps that was another reason that he worked to keep her at a distance. Because he’d been so drawn in by the siren of her laugh. Or maybe he knew that if he was to catch another glimpse of the hoyden, he’d be lost.
“Not precisely.” He stepped back. “’Tis late. I should abed. My apologies for disturbing your slumber when I had so little to contribute.”
“I wasn’t asleep.”
“Neither were you last night w
hen I returned.” Ah, there was the blush he enjoyed bringing forth, creeping up her neck and into her cheeks! He wondered if the pinkish tinge ran the length of her.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said sharply.
“What a liar you are, Kathryn. I told you I’d remember. So perhaps you owed me the unfurling of your hair, after all.”
Her indignant expression had him chuckling all the way into his bedchamber, into his bed. He sobered only after he began stroking the ribbon that had held her hair in place. Damned stupid of him to be jealous of a bit of cloth for being so intimately involved with her.
Although he’d caught himself in time, he’d nearly mistakenly confessed that he wanted her tresses freed so he could imagine the bright copper mane spread out over his pristine white pillow. Or over his bared chest. Her hair was long enough that it would reach down to his groin. He groaned as that rebellious part of his anatomy reacted as though the soft strands were in fact brushing over it, teasing it, at that very minute.
He didn’t know why he’d tormented himself by asking that particular favor of her. He should have asked for something simpler, something that would have brought him joy for more than three minutes—even if the memory of those three minutes might never fade. Smile whenever you first glimpse sight of me. Laugh when I tell a joke, even if you don’t think it’s funny. Look at me as though I’m not an irritation. Welcome my company. Never again confine your hair with pins or ribbons.
So many things he could have asked for, but following his usual habit, he’d chosen the most immediate and strongest of gratifications to which she wouldn’t object. So now he was left aching without hope of acquiring more.
Chapter 4
Disembarking from the hansom cab, Griff ambled up the drive toward the residence, feeling quite satisfied after spending an hour with his solicitor. A solicitor no one in his family was even aware he had retained.
It wasn’t only the wagering and the thrill of winning at the tables that lured him to the clubs. It was the information about various investment opportunities the members shared that was also a draw. He knew he couldn’t count on always coming out ahead each night if he wanted to save enough money to start his business. But if he wisely invested some of those winnings, then he might find himself in a better position financially. He was determined to supplement the inadequate allowance his father gave him. Then with considerable relish, he’d return to his father every farthing he’d ever given him.
Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 3
