“What’s interesting? Something to do with the races?” Across from him, Derek Drake, the Earl of Manderville, lifted a dark blond brow and settled lower in his seat in a comfortable sprawl. As usual, Derek was dressed in the latest fashion, the tailored clothes fitting his lean body to perfection, polished Hessians crossed as he lounged in his chair. His fine-boned face reflected only mild curiosity. “Nick, your horses outdid themselves today. Surely that isn’t a damned surprise. Not that I mind. I made a tidy sum on that last race on your word Satan was fit. Thanks for the tip.”
“You’re welcome, but it isn’t that.” The dismissive attitude wasn’t because Nicholas didn’t care about the races—his horses were his passion and he was competitive to the point of it being a personal flaw—but the neat script on the note in front of him had him intrigued. He glanced up and extended the piece of vellum with two fingers. “Look at this, Derek.”
His companion took the folded piece of paper, his interest obviously sharpening as he read the words. Like Nicholas, Derek read the neat script twice and glanced up. “Well now, this sounds promising, doesn’t it?”
“It isn’t our first offer.” Nicholas took a drink, the French brandy like warmed silk in his mouth. He’d paid a small fortune for it, but unless smuggled in, it was impossible to find, and he voted the cost worth it. “But I admit I like this lady’s direct approach.”
“A challenge to a challenge. Yes, inventive. I admire her already. It would be nice, though, to know who she is.” Derek’s mouth quirked and he read out loud, “ ‘If you promise complete discretion and wish an impartial judge for your ridiculous bet, I will assist you. Be forewarned, my experience so far in the matters between men and women has not impressed me. If you are interested in a meeting to discuss this matter, I am amiable to pursuing it.’ ”
It was clever, Nicholas thought, to use a taunt of previous sexual disappointment to pique their interest. The lady was correct, if he allowed himself to admit it; the wager
was
ridiculous, made when they were both more than a little foxed.
“A little jab of an insult in there, I notice,” Nicholas commented with amusement. “A proposition with an edge. Our mystery lady has some spunk. That appeals to me.”
“Does it?” Derek sent him a speculative look.
They tended to view females with the same carnal interest tempered by a decided tendency for emotional detachment. Sexual conquest was a game, and they were both seasoned players.
Nicholas didn’t elaborate. He was feeling increasing pressure to marry, from both society and his family. It was expected—he’d always known it was expected—but admitting his reluctance to find a wife meant acknowledging some truths about himself he wasn’t yet ready to face.
All men made mistakes. His memorable one was catastrophic in nature, but then again, the catastrophe was his alone, caused by youth and inexperience, and he had made up for it since in every way possible. That apparently included wild wagers of the most outré sort. He remarked with studied casualness, “Of course. An adventurous woman is always appealing in the bedroom, don’t you agree?”
“I agree that if we go through with this, our reputations will hardly suffer any more than they have already, so why not?”
The word
embarrassed
didn’t exist in Nicholas’s vocabulary. He had realized long ago that gossip was an inevitable part of London society and staying out of scandal took entirely too much effort for little gain. However, he and Derek both agreed they would have done better to not actually write down the contest and make such a large bet on the outcome. Now all the
haut ton
was atwitter.
He gave Manderville a lazy smile. “There is no way we can possibly not rise to the bait, is there? So far, the offers to jump into the bet—and our beds—have been made mostly by ladies of questionable reputations, who wish to share in our notoriety. This one sounds a little different. She wants anonymity, it seems.”
“I have no objection to an experienced woman, but I agree, the secrecy she requests is a unique angle.” Derek tapped the piece of paper with a finger, his long legs outstretched. “She might be perfect as long as she isn’t unattractive or some unmarried young miss angling for a fortune and title.”
“Amen to that.” The very thought of a young ingenue becoming involved in the bet was out of the question. The wager had been merely an amusing diversion; it had just gotten a little out of hand. In retrospect, the third bottle of claret had been a bad idea that night, but Derek especially had seemed bent on drinking himself into oblivion.
Now that Nicholas considered it, that was a bit out of character. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he had a feeling something was wrong. Derek’s usual good humor had seemed forced lately. His easygoing, effortless charm was one of the reasons women found him so attractive, but he’d been both subdued and distracted for the past several months at least.
“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Nicholas reminded his companion, watching his face to gauge his reaction, the glow of the brandy making him feel mellow and introspective. “It was an impulsive jest between two friends and we tend to be a bit competitive with each other, which is no secret.”
“Backing out, are we, Nick?” Derek asked in sardonic reproof. Blond, tall, with eyes the color of an azure sky and almost angelic good looks, he bore the antithesis of Nicholas’s own dark coloring. “Who could blame you, since you are going to lose?”
There it was again, the uncharacteristic restive dig.
It worked. Nicholas snorted at the smug look on his friend’s face. “What makes you think so? The bevy of insipid ladies constantly in your bed? Let me remind you that quantity does not substitute for quality, Manderville.”
“If you are trying to pretend to be less promiscuous, Rothay, sell it to someone else.”
He wasn’t, actually, and he had to stifle an irritated response. Promiscuous, that is, no matter what the rumors were about his private life. Nicholas did enjoy women—but despite his reputation, he was selective and tried to be discreet. For that matter, he knew Derek wasn’t as bad as the backhanded whispers painted him either, and his inclinations were much the same. Lately, he hadn’t even heard about Derek pursuing anyone. If he wasn’t celibate, he was certainly keeping a low profile over the matter.
Maybe that’s where the impulsive wager had come from. Derek’s challenge and his own response, both due to mutual restlessness caused by . . . well, he wasn’t sure. Too much inner searching wasn’t good for the soul.
Not a tarnished one like his.
In their defense, at least most casual affairs were a pleasant understanding between two parties that did not involve deeper feeling. Though Nicholas doubted society would believe it, he thought marriage should be based on more than a female’s bloodlines and her ability to bear a child of the appropriate lineage. The fact he was a romantic at heart was something he kept to himself. Not because it was an unfashionable attitude—though it was—but because it was private. God knew he’d had little enough of privacy in his life due to his aristocratic upbringing and the prominence of his family and title.
Then he’d just made matters worse by accepting this outlandish wager and making himself the focus of more public attention.
Nicholas rubbed his jaw. “I must be more bored than I thought,” he admitted, “to even consider bedding a woman with a scorecard in her hand.”
“We both suffer the malaise, then.” Manderville shot him a cynical look. “But we did embark on this. Let’s look at it this way: if the note is correct, we can do this woman a favor by changing her mind about sexual pleasure.”
“Like some charitable act? That’s an interesting way to justify the situation.”
“Keep in mind, we didn’t contact her. She came to us.”
Well,
that
was true.
“So I take it you think we should reply in the affirmative and arrange the meeting she wants?” He waved his empty glass.
Derek nodded. “I cannot wait to meet the young lady.”
“What makes you think she’s young? For that matter, maybe we need to decide just what we’re going to say if neither of us finds her attractive. That could be a sticky point. Desire is a necessary component of being a competent lover, after all.”
“True enough. I doubt I would acquit myself well with a homely old hag. There is one thing a male cannot fake and that’s sexual arousal.”
Nicholas had to agree on that point. Though he didn’t believe a woman had to be a dazzling beauty to catch his interest, part of sexual chemistry was mutual attraction.
The evening had settled into a pattern of brilliant stars and a few high-flying clouds, the dim moonlight visible outside the window. In a lazy movement, he replenished his drink and set the decanter down close enough for his guest to do the same. Slowly, he said, “I think our worries on that score are unfounded. I speculate she’s beautiful, for the tone of her note shows a certain confidence that we’ll approve.”
Derek picked up the missive once more and glanced over it again. “I think you’re right.” Blue eyes showed a tinge of his usual teasing humor, but his mouth looked a little tight. “Now I truly cannot wait to meet her. Will you write the response, or shall I? We also need to figure out an appropriate place to meet, since she demands utter secrecy.”
“Let’s let the lady decide. She is the one who wants to keep her identity from being known.”
“Fair enough,” Derek agreed with a lazy smile.
“We ought to have rules, if she proves to be the right person.”
“I suppose we should, though we are adding a whole new dimension to the term
notorious
, you realize, Nick.”
Yes, he did. What
were
they doing? Both of them posturing, pretending the bet was serious in any way. In his heart, immune to sentiment or not as it might be rumored, he didn’t believe either of them really was vain or shallow enough to enter such a ludicrous contest. But for whatever reason, Derek was most determinedly lighthearted about it, and on his own part, he approached seduction as he approached estate matters, political issues, and social situations: with cool, calculating assessment.
Emotion had no place in business, politics, or a man’s sexual affairs. A certain part of him wished it did, but that part had been scalded once already by harsh reality.
Charm, well, of course. He was Rothay. He liked women. Liked the soft yielding of their entrancing bodies, the music of female laughter, the whispered heated words exchanged in bed during a passionate interlude, the lazy aftermath of carnal culmination. In his estimation, there was nothing like that particular breathy sigh a woman gave when you were deep inside her, and the bite of her nails, just so, on your bare shoulders.
But love, no. Satisfying his body was one thing, his heart another.
He just wasn’t a man to make that mistake twice. Sexual prowess, now, that was not a problem. Especially since the death of his father when he was seventeen, he’d courted notoriety and found it. Without thinking, he murmured, “ ‘All is ephemeral—fame and the famous as well.’ ”
Derek gave him a measured look. “Quoting Marcus Aurelius, are we? May I inquire as to the introspective mood?”
“No.” The answer was too clipped and his old friend knew him too well. The last thing he wanted was to dredge up ghosts from the past. He took a long leisurely sip from his glass, reclining in his chair, and amended, “I’m looking forward to this, whatever our motives.”
Chapter Two
“
I
repeat the question : why were you there, madam?” The query, said so coldly, made Caroline’s mouth tighten in annoyance. To her dismay, her dead husband’s cousin the current Lord Wynn had called, and though she had avoided seeing him for weeks, there hadn’t seemed much choice but to finally receive him. Since the family resemblance was strong, it was always a small shock to come face-to-face with Franklin, as if a ghost were materializing in front of her.
A most unwelcome specter at that.
They sat in her formal drawing room, the tall windows open to the warm late-morning air, the elegant combination of cream and gold furnishings reflecting her own taste, the redecoration something she had done after Edward’s death. Brocade settees, two graceful chairs by the fireplace imported from Italy, several picturesque watercolor paintings on the silk-covered walls. A precious and very expensive urn she’d commissioned held a bouquet of various flowers from the back garden, the scent a wash of floral delight, especially on such a lovely day. Eradicating anything that reminded her of Edward’s presence was a pleasure. He would have loathed the femininity of the small, delicate personal touches, but as far as she could tell, he had loathed quite a lot of things that were not his specific idea.
Franklin had taken in the new decor with a twist of his mouth and a cold glitter in his pale eyes.
The town house should have been mine
, that look said, and the cost of the refurbishment came from the fortune he thought to inherit. Not that Caroline cared, for it was her money and if she wished to wipe her husband’s taste from the house room by room, she would do so.
“I went to see the horses run, naturally, my lord. Luckily it was a lovely day, so I very much enjoyed it.” Caroline kept her tone cool and detached, trying to deflect his interest in her social activities. “I’m sorry I was out when you called last week. I fear I have been rather busy lately.”
“Last week, the week before that . . . yes, I’ve noticed. I do hope you realize that going unescorted to a place such as the races is not advisable. It is, as always, a very male-dominated crowd. Proper ladies do not roam around without a chaperone. The next time you wish to attend such a public function, contact me and I will make the arrangements to attend at your side.”
Dear God, he looks so like Edward with those same cold blue eyes. . . .