Chapter 81

Easing down into her chair at the mahogany table where she'd sat yesterday, Splendor tried not to glance too obviously over her spectacle rims. She had created a buzz that could be tasted on the air like roasted chestnuts. It wasn't every day a contestant was challenged to a duel. So it was no wonder that the second she sailed through the doors into this den that oozed men, their cigars, brandy, and traces of cologne, heads swiveled in her direction. So long as there were no further scenes, these heads were very welcome, though.
That conversation he'd had with the two women in the carriage, whoever they were, appeared to have completely cowed Stillmore. A saint could not have demonstrated a more agreeable temperament on the short stroll through the park. He had even commented on the clumps of early snowdrops poking their heads through the heaps of blackened leaves, the man roasting chestnuts at the gates, not to mention the arresting scent rising from the brazier. It meant she could afford to relax-finally. The last two days had made her edgier than a newborn foal.
The table creaked as Stillmore leaned on it and whispered close to her ear.
"I see Chiltren is looking green as a sailboat. I heard he didn't leave Almack's till four. Foxed."
Said the man who had been what the other day? Still, she widened her gaze as if the concept of any man being foxed was news to her.
"Really?"
"Yes. So you should beat him easily. Then you'll play the next round."
Of course she would, but the chair was too far from the table with these spectacles blurring everything, including the whites of his knuckles. Grasping the arms of the chair, she pulled it over the polished floor tiles. "And who will that be?"
"No one you need worry about. Before you play though, I have a small favor to ask you."
"Me? Well, so long as you don't want me to lose?"
"No, nothing like that. No, it's small enough to be minuscule." He leaned even closer, so she could breathe the cold of his coat, something-desperation, ownership, ruthless intention?-glinting in what she could discern of his smoky eyes, "It's about Lady Kertouche's ball."
"Lady who's what?"
"Lady Kertouche. Her ball."
"And what's that to me?"
"I want your cousin to come."
"My-? What?But I don't ... I mean she doesn't know her in terms of miniscule so to ask her is not what I'd call a minuscule favor. Are you mad?"
"Not that I know of."
Grasping the chair arms tighter, she tugged it hard. "So, why on earth would she go to-"
"Christ on a suffering, two-wheeled chariot. First you blast one toe, then you damn well sit on another."
London's most notorious and merciless rake bent forward over the table, cursing beneath his breath. Splendor's hands froze to the chair arms. If he leaped up now lambasting her in front of all these people when she had these wanted posters she'd torn from the wall outside Mrs. Hanney's and stuck in her back pocket, she was finished.
"Well, if you will stand there, Your Grace ... "
He hobbled a step as if she'd broken his ankle, cursing even more foully. "What do you mean?" he snarled.
"What I say. You were standing right-"
"Not about my foot. What do you mean, Lady Splendor doesn't know her?"
"I mean she does not go to balls."
"And why's that? Because that wimp she's betrothed to doesn't let her? Is that it?"
"Gabriel is not a wimp. And I would appreciate it if you want me to play and win this-"
"That depends on what you class as a wimp."
"Right now? The song and dance you're making, do you really want me to say?"
"Hang it all," he stuck his stark face up close. "I'm asking to borrow her for an evening. I'm not asking her to damn well marry me."
"Well, isn't that singularly miserable mercy something to be grateful for?"
"If you're not going to ask her, I will."
"Well, you go ahead." She stared up at him. "Her answer will be the same. As for what her fianc?thinks of you, do you want to know, or do you want me to win this match, yes, or no?"
He drew back. "So you won't ask her?"
"No."
Put aside the fact she couldn't dance a step, put aside what Gabe would say, the fact she didn't want to go, what if Jade, or Amber, or one of the other women were there? They couldn't all have left London. What if they saw her with Stillmore? They'd want her to set it up so they could rob him blind. When she'd all this on her plate? Some situations were so bad they were worthy of steering clear of.
Why did he want her to go? Something that was nothing to do with the fact he could make her go. It wasn't because he liked her. Unless he was deranged when it came to women, and that was why that Langley woman had gone off with Baxby?
It made it all the more vital she refuse.
What could he possibly do about it? The match was about to start. He needed her to win.
He exhaled loudly, then he leaned back on the table, so all she could breathe was his cold fury. "Then you had better make damn sure you lose this round. Do you hear?"
"That is out of the question. In fact, I have never heard of anything more ridiculous. What is wrong with you?"
"Do you think I am joking? That I don't mean this wager? Stop looking round, will you?"
"Wager? This is not a wagering matter. This, in case you haven't noticed, is a chess competition."
"Precisely. And it's also one ... "
She had no right to be in? Was that what he was about to say? Her throat tightened. If he did, it meant he knew she was Splendor. Would he now admit that though when she was this far and so vital to him? Well? What could he possibly say that would make her change her mind?
"One ...One where she is the prize."