Chapter 89

He clasped the sides of her face. Obviously she had not registered at Boodle's without first acquainting herself with the opposition. All she'd learned of Stillmore said he was a merciless rake who had disinherited his own daughter when his wife divorced him. So why did her heart drum in her breast? Why not slap his face? Because that business with Phoebe the other night had suggested he wasn't quite that merciless, and it had sorely undermined her? Because the darkness and the torment she glimpsed in his eyes, as his mouth found hers, rendered her incapable? Because she'd had that row with Gabe? What flared in her veins was so primal it stopped her breath and her hand.
The champagne bottle scudded across the floor spraying what remained of its contents over her shoes and his boots. His lips were deadly. Crushing. Insistent. And the tang of champagne and mint, the soft essence of sandalwood, swarmed into her senses before she could mount one single, solitary defense. To her horror, her lips didn't just part, they welcomed his tongue, hot, wet, and thrusting.
Below her on the stage, the actors talked. She knew that because their voices drifted, like bees in a summer meadow through what swarmed into her senses. She did not have the least idea what these voices were saying.
Gabe ... oh dear Lord, how could she do this to Gabe? She couldn't. She mustn't. Yet hang it all, Gabe's kisses lacked fire, while this man's ... this man's were taking her straight to hell. She boiled in a sea of red lava that was hot, dark, and deeply inviting. Her toes curled. Her heart leaped into her throat. Her breath left her chest. Her fingers clasped his arms, feeling knotted sinews beneath enveloping cotton. Where was her poise? Her smile? Her dignity? Her intention to slap his face? This was to impress that Babs creature he was so fond of. God almighty, if she did not stop this now, her next port of call would be the box floor. With him. She must stop it. Somehow. How dare he. How dare this damnable toad do this to her? As if she had asked for it.
She shoved her palms against his chest. It could not possibly be this hard to drag her lips free. What was he doing? Trying to make some kind of point? There was one way to settle it.
He grasped her wrist before she could take her hand across his jaw.
"Before you say another word, do another thing, let's just drop the pretense, shall we? I never said anything to you about what I could do to silence you here, and I very much doubt you talked it over with Nathan unless you're in the habit of talking to yourself."
Her gaze widened, her breath tearing. She nearly fell on the floor. Drop the pretense? As if it mattered what she did, that this was only the confirmation of her suspicions. How could she possibly stay in the tournament now when she'd behaved like a common harlot, because of him?
"I am afraid I don't know what you mean." Somehow she rallied and spoke. After all, it was one thing to behave like a common harlot, another to let him see she was rattled by it, although her voice sounded limp as a dishrag in her ears while he was calm as a millpond. A staring straight ahead at the stage, not the least bit interested in her, millpond.
"You know perfectly what I mean," he said. "Do you think it's anything to me that you want to win that money at all costs, by any means? My only regret is that you almost caused me to shoot you."
Somehow she fixed her attention on the stage, although the bright glitter of the words being recited seemed far away. "What are you going to do?"
"I am not going to tell, if that's your little fear. I said I was at your disposal, and I am going to do everything in my power to ensure you win that money."
Of course. No doubt at a horrible price. A price she could not, would not, had no desire to meet.
"But if you can't put yourself at mine in turn, then you give me very little choice."
"How kind and thoughtful. Thank you for spelling my position out for me."
"Your position? There was a discrepancy of play. And that discrepancy continues every day you remain in that tournament. But there are penalties for fraud. If I reveal who you are, the competition will either be void, or the matches you won replayed between true competitors."
She narrowed her gaze, focusing harder on the stage and whatever was happening down there. Anything to calm the horrible jarring of her heart against her rib cage. "Do you think I don't know-"
"There are also rewards for good behavior."
"And what are they? Getting dragged round half of London with you?"
If the remark wounded him, he didn't show it. Not by a flicker. "Lady Kertouche has just arrived. She's in the box down there."
My God, so she was, just taking her seat in a blur of gray and blue. Perhaps she was minus that woman, what did it matter? It didn't lessen the pangs of guilt eating its fill of her heart. How could she possibly marry Gabe now? "I should never have guessed."
"I think I can not only put in a word for you, but I can also guarantee that she will listen. If it's your desire to benefit the poor, wouldn't that, plus ten thousand pounds, be reward enough?"
A few weeks ago she would have said so with absolute one hundred percent confidence. Now it might be about two percent. Maybe not even one. A dangling carrot was only worth leaping after if you were hungry. She would sooner her back was broken on this bleak and dismal road all the way to hell.
"Oh, and you really think she'd do that? For me? When I barely know the woman from Adam? Eve either?"
He squeezed back on the bench. "Of course she would."
"Oh, please do tell me why. As you can see, my excitement is something I can barely contain."
"Because you're with me."
Her shoulders tightened to match her throat. "But of course."
"What you do about it is solely up to you."
She only wished it were, that she had never come here, had gone to Gretna Green instead. But she hadn't. Life was hard. And she did owe that money, which would only make it harder still if Madame Renare set the bailiffs on her. She sipped a tiny breath, trying to ease the steel bands clenching her stomach.
It was only a kiss.
Hadn't she been foolish enough for today? As Papa had often said, shouldn't she save some of it for tomorrow? Gabe wasn't going to know. They could still be married. And it would put an end to these ridiculous longings. Gabe's wife. Yes. She would discuss it when she went back to Mrs. Hanney's. Although the inconvenience of it all was something she didn't need right now, it was a lot less inconvenient than having to explain to Gabe that she'd left the tournament, when no explanation would cover that and he might do something really stupid. Like calling Stillmore out.
She'd have to bear this and make sure there were no further fights with the earl.
No further anything.
Provided there wasn't, how hard could it be?