High Stakes Chattel (2 page)

She fought him for another moment,
and then subsided. “Are you Lord Chattel?” she asked tentatively, sounding as though she hoped he wasn’t.

“The one and only,” he replied, intrigued despite himself. “And who might you be?”

“Samantha Blake,” she answered as she squirmed beneath him. “Can you please get off me?”

“Ah,”
he said, refusing her plea to be let go. He was enjoying being on top of her far too much. “You’re the one who wrote to me.” A bit of a relief, really, that there weren’t two girls set upon such a foolhardy plan. He had to admit that her letters had touched him. He admired her spirit, and there was no doubt that she needed help. But winning a game of Chattel was not the way for her to free herself from her predicament, and he certainly was not the man to take a woman under his wing for purely altruistic reasons.

“I desperately need to win the contest,”
she said pleadingly, blinking up at him with those incredibly beautiful eyes. “I’m sorry I trespassed, but I hoped that if I had the chance to make my plea in person…”

“I don’t play Chattel anymore,” he said implacably. “I don’t have the time or the desire. I invented that game years ago, when I was a foolish young man, and I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Why do you regret it?” she asked softly, staring up at him. “It’s all the fashion. Your name will probably live on forever because of it.”

“Do you think I want that?” he cried in frustration, releasing her hands and s
itting back on his heels. “I have invented dozens of things since then, important things, yet I’ll always be remembered for that stupid game.”

She looked crestfallen.
“So you won’t help me?”

“I’m sorry, but no.” He pushed to his feet, leaning down to offer her a hand up.

She stared at his hand for a moment, biting her lush bottom lip, then reached out and took it, wincing in pain as she stood.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, suddenly feeling like an ass. He’d landed upon her with his full body weight.

“It’s my ankle,” she said, pain streaking across her lovely features as she once again tried to take a step. “I think I twisted it when I fell.”

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t very well send her on her way now. “Come up to the house with me,” he told her woodenly. “I’ll have someone take a look at it.”

“You’re too kind,” she murmured, ducking her head so he couldn’t see her face.

“Did you walk here?”
he asked suddenly, realizing there was no other explanation.

“Yes, from
the village.”

“
That is quite a walk.” He frowned, sensing that his day had just gotten entirely too complicated.

She shrugged. “I needed to see you. I
thought if I rode up announcing myself that you would promptly send me on my way.”

After she’d taken a few hesitant, limping steps, he shook his head
, propped his shotgun against a nearby tree, and swept her up in his arms. “I’ll carry you to the house,” he told her, as she stared up at him, obviously flustered. “It’s too far for you to walk in your condition. Besides, I’m the one who hurt you.”

“I’m too heavy,” she protested, a deep flush staining her pale cheeks as he started walking.

“You’re fine,” he said dismissively. In truth, he loved the feel of her. Though she was tall for a woman, she was very slender. Her weight didn’t bother him at all. He’d been so busy with his work lately and it had been far too long since he’d been this close to a woman. She smelled heavenly, clean and fresh, so unlike the cloying perfume of most of the courtesans he tended to be intimate with, or the widow he had been courting.

After he’d taken a few steps, she tentatively wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring herself more firmly against him. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I know I’m being a complete
nuisance. I’m really sorry for climbing your wall. I just…had to try.”

“
I understand,” he answered, trying to be comforting. The last thing she probably needed was for him to lecture her about her ridiculous plan. She was subdued enough already. He just had to get her to the house, and then he’d turn her over to his butler, Joseph, and let that capable bloke handle the particulars of tending to her ankle and getting her safely home.

“What other things have you invented?”

“What?” He had a hard time concentrating on her words when he was watching that gorgeous mouth of hers. What he wouldn’t give—

“Earlier you said you’d invented a lot of other things. I was just wondering what they were,” she said innocently.

He cleared his throat, hoping she couldn’t tell where his thoughts had just taken him. “I’ve invented some medical and scientific tools, nothing you have probably heard of.” He shifted her weight against him. “I am currently close to making a breakthrough on discovering the cause of certain infections.”

She
looked at him with interest in her eyes. “That is a very noble ambition. It isn’t something typically pursued by an aristocrat.”

“No
, not typically.” He brushed his black hair out of his face and prepared himself for the usual reaction of disgust or disinterest.

“
I see now, why you’ve given up Chattel. It hardly seems significant, when you’ve got such other weighty matters to deal with.”

Her words
surprised him. No other woman of his acquaintance had shown such easy understanding of his reasons for giving up the game that defined him. He stared down at her, drowning in her emerald eyes, one thought running through his mind like a siren
. I have to get rid of her.

***

Samantha stared up at her reluctant host, her heart thundering in her chest. Dear Lord, but he was incredibly handsome. He was tall and powerfully built, with wide, strong shoulders and muscular thighs. His dark eyes were beautifully framed by long, dark lashes and his thick black hair brushed his crisp white collar and tended to fall across his eyes.

She’d hoped he’d be older, smaller, less intimidating, less…fascinating. Instead she’d found herself trapped beneath fourteen
stones of virile, gorgeous man, completely out of her element. Lord Nico Chattel was no harmless rake like Henry. No, he was something far more attractive and dangerous.

Her fingertips tingled against his
shirt, and she reluctantly drew her hand away as he approached the Great House. It was a solid, respectable ancestral home, built in magnificent Ancaster stone in the shape of a U, nestled into a rolling hill, overlooking a small, manmade lake. Square towers formed the corners, with long casement windows that looked down upon the entrance.

Samantha had never seen
Bentley Park up close, although she had heard from many who had. Their descriptions had not even come close to the breathtaking beauty of the place. Nico heard her breath catch in her throat as they rounded the corner, and after a questioning glance, he began to tell her a little about its history.

“The land has been in my family since the late
sixteenth century and the house was built in 1685 by an ancestor who was an attorney.”

“Not a Baron like you?”

“No. The family started out as a dynasty of solicitors and eventually were given various titles of nobility.”

Samantha noticed the beautiful, but unfamiliar-looking trees that lined the edge of the driveway, framing the house. There were five on each side, huddled together with twisting branches and long, thin, silvery-green leaves. She asked about them and Nico chuckled
. “Those were part of my mother’s condition for coming to live in England.” She looked at him curiously and he continued, “My mother was Greek, and those are olive trees.”

He laughed at her surprised expression. “Those things have caused our groundskeeper more headaches, with him not knowing how to care for them and claiming that they are ‘unnatural’. But there they are. They have survived splendidly so far, and the olives are quite good, actually.”

As he strode up the marble steps to the portico, his muscles shifted beneath her, and she felt a bit guilty for pretending to be hurt.

She shouldn’t have told him she’d sprained her ankle, but she’d been desperate to spend a bit more time with him, and somehow convince him to take on her cause. Unfortunately, the brief conversation she’d had with him on their walk to the house had made her realize there was no persuading him. He truly had outgrown the Chattel game, and she couldn’t imagine him putting off the research that was obviously so important to him to help her with her admittedly wild plan.

“We’re here,” he told her unnecessarily as he gently set her down so he could open the front door. While his back was turned, she scrambled to remember which ankle she’d been limping on out in the park. Left, she decided, just as he turned back around and put his arm around her shoulders, helping her into the house.

“Joseph,” he called, as he led her into the foyer. “I need your help.” He guided her to an oak bench and helped her sit, then turned around, seeming surprised that his words hadn’t instantly summoned whoever Joseph was.

“Joseph!” he bellowed once more. He turned back to her with an embarrassed shrug. “I don’t actually keep many servants. Joseph is my butler, but now that I think about it, he may have gone into the village to do the weekly shopping. Maybe I can find a maid to help you with your ankle.”

As he moved
toward the stairs, she reached out and caught his hand. “It’s all right,” she told him guiltily. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” It certainly wouldn’t help her cause any to have to sit still while a maid wrapped her completely unharmed foot.

He sighed. “Stay right there. I’ll do it myself.”

As he strode off toward the stairs once more, she remembered that he’d had some medical training and her relief that he wasn’t dumping her off on the help was tempered with unease. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be able to tell she was faking it.

When he returned, he had a length of cotton cloth with him. Sitting on the bench beside her, he lifted her right ankle into his lap. She feigned a wince and hoped he hadn’t been paying attention when she’d limped into the house.

“I’ll try and be gentle,” he told her, as he carefully slid off her boot and then her stocking. She shivered as he drew one strong, elegant finger across her ankle. He had beautiful hands, and his touch was warm on her skin. “Did I hurt you?”

She bit her lip and shook her head. He made her feel a lot of things, but pain definitely wasn’t one of them.

“Your ankle doesn’t appear to be swollen,” he said with a frown. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

Heat suffused her face as she leaned forward and brushed her fingertips over the top of her foot. “It might not be my ankle exactly. More here.”

As he ran his own hands over the place she’d indicated, she had the insane wish to feel his hands on the rest of her body. What had she gotten herself into?

“Well,
I’ll wrap it up, and hopefully that will allow you to put some weight on it until you can get safely home. As soon as my coachman and Joseph return, I’ll have him drive you home.”

“That isn’t necessary,” she hastened to say, feeling guiltier with each passing moment. “I can walk.”

“You most certainly will not,” he said sternly as he began to deftly wrap the bandage around her foot. She was certain if her ankle had actually been strained, his careful ministrations would have made it feel better.

“Well, if you insist that I wait for a ride home, it seems as though you’ll be stuck with me for a while,” she said cautiously.

“Yes, it does,” he said, his voice sounding grim and resigned.

She hid a smile by ducking her head. “Well, do you think you could play a quick game of Chattel with me while we wait?
I understand why you don’t want to mentor me, but perhaps if we play before I go, I can pick up a few pointers.”

Nico stared at his beautiful, unwelcome houseguest in dismay. He hardly felt as though he could deny her request, yet the last thing he wanted was to
get out his Chattel board after so many years.

“I doubt if one quick game will teach you anything,” he said with a sigh. “It’s been so long since I played, I probably don’t even remember the subtleties myself.” That was a lie, of course. He was cursed with a
strong memory, and the intricacies of the game haunted him.