The Duke and the Lady in Red (16 page)

Now she was the one moving as though time had stopped, as though nothing was to be gained in hurrying. Slowly she opened the box and stared in wonder at the most beautiful set of rubies interspersed with tiny diamonds that she'd ever seen. She imagined the necklace around her throat, draped across her collarbone. Shaking her head, she closed the velvet lid and extended the box toward him. “I can't.”

“What do you mean you can't?” he asked, his brow furrowing so deeply that it had to be painful.

“It's as though you're rewarding me for being in your bed. To accept it would make me feel like a whore.”

“You do recall that I'm giving you five thousand pounds. Not to mention paying off your damned debt.”

She'd angered him, not at all the mood she wanted for tonight. She didn't want drama. She simply wanted . . . peace. She wanted what had passed between them in the dark of the night. “I haven't forgotten, but this feels different. I can't explain.”

He dropped into a nearby chair and stared up at her. “You are the most confounding person I've ever met. I've given jewelry to countless women. It doesn't mean anything.”

His words stung, tiny barbs pricking at her heart. She'd thought she was special, had attributed some meaning to the gorgeous item, placed more value on it because it was coming from him. “I suppose that's it. You rain jewelry down on women who visit your bed. It makes me like all the others.”

“Trust me, Rose, you are nothing at all like any of the others.”

Slowly she sank into a chair. “Why?”

His jaw tightened. “Why what?”

“How am I different?”

Narrowing his eyes, he drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair, one at a time, rolling them along, over and over. “For one thing, you're not falling over yourself striving to please me at every turn. You prick my temper. You're argumentative. You challenge me. You—­”

“You want it easy?” she asked. “Life, Your Grace, is not easy for everyone.”

“You think my life is easy?”

“What else am I to think when you don't share anything of significance with me?”

“What you should think is that you should be damned grateful I don't burden you with the troubles in my life.” Abruptly he stood and tossed the velvet case back into her lap. “You don't have to accept it but you will wear it while you're here.”

She shot up, not reaching out to save the velvet when it plopped to the floor. “The terms of our agreement do not take away my choices. I agreed to be with you for a week, but I will not be controlled. What I wear during our time together is my decision.”

“Fine, do as you please. We're going to the club this evening. I was going to ask you to wear the red you wore the night we met. But wear whatever pleases you as I no longer give a damn.”

As he stormed from the room, tears stung her eyes. What the devil had just happened?

 

Chapter 11

W
ithin his library, Avendale splashed scotch carelessly into a glass and downed it in one long swallow. He welcomed the burn, the heat, anything to counter the anger coursing through him. Anger at himself because sharp disappointment had gouged him when she rejected his gift. It felt like a rejection of him. Especially as he'd spent nearly an hour striving to find the perfect necklace for her. The red had to be the right shade, the diamonds not too many. The piece itself could not be overwhelming and yet it needed to be noticeable. Barely.

He poured more scotch, tossed it back. Generally when he selected jewelry for a lady, he purchased the first piece he saw. He didn't care if it was gaudy or too small. He didn't care how it would fall just below her neck. He didn't give any thought as to whether she would like it or it was suited to her.

He'd agonized over his decision today. Fretted over it, wanting so much to please her. Now it irritated the devil out of him that he'd given so much weight to his decision.

She was with him because of five thousand quid and she drew the line at sparkling stones? He'd never understand her, and damn it all to hell but he'd never wanted anything as desperately as he wanted that. To know her thoughts, to not doubt that when she was with him she was his true Rose and not the swindler.

He wanted something real between them and that made him an utter fool.

He would use her body, as often, as hard, as quickly as he could while she was here. He would get his money's worth. If he hadn't already arranged for a private game at the club tonight, he wouldn't take her out. He'd simply drag her straight to bed. But friends would be waiting and he'd appear more the fool if he canceled.

After tonight, except for her afternoon visits, during the little bit of time left to them, they wouldn't leave the mattress. He would take her as many times as physically possible. She thought the gift of the necklace made her feel like a whore? He would bloody well ensure—­

“I'm sorry.”

He nearly crouched and swung around to defend himself at the soft voice. So lost in his temper, he hadn't heard the door open, hadn't heard her join him. He didn't look at her. Just poured more scotch and tossed it back.

“I've never been given such an exquisite gift before,” she continued. “I may have placed more meaning on it than I should have.”

He took a glass, filled it with scotch, and turning slightly, offered it to her. “I don't view you as a whore.”

She took the glass. “Between us there is naught but the physical.”

“I enjoy your company, Rose. Except when we're at odds.” He released a rough, self-­deprecating laugh. “Hell, even then. You have the ability to anger me. No other woman has ever done that. It's odd. The things I notice when I'm with you. The things I consider. You are more than bared breasts and sweet thighs.”

The lips he had intended to kiss the moment after he gave her necklace curled up. “There you are again, making me blush with such lovely prose.”

He gave her a wry grin. “I've never had to spout drivel to get a woman into my bed. A title, wealth, power, prestige, influence—­when they are the cloak of your character you need nothing else. All you have to do is crook a finger. Although you are here for the money, I don't think you're impressed by the others.”

“I am very much impressed, Your Grace, but as you say, they are your cloak. I'm far more interested in what lies beneath it.”

The grin he bestowed this time was the devilish one that he had practiced to perfection in his youth. “I believe you were introduced to that last night.”

A red hue swept up her cheeks. “There's more to you than that.”

“Not much more, I'm afraid.” Setting aside his glass, he wandered over to a window, gazed out on the perfectly manicured gardens. “How was your visit to your residence?”

She joined him at the window. “Far too short.”

He slid his gaze over to her. “Don't even consider that we'll renegotiate that part of our bargain. Our time together won't be nearly long enough as is.”

“I assumed you would become quickly bored with me.”

“To be honest, so did I. How fortunate for you that we were both wrong.”

She laughed, a sound that shimmered through him clear down to his heels. She sobered. “I'll wear the necklace, but I don't think I can take it with me. After all I've done, I don't deserve a gift.”

“It was a costly piece. You could sell it for a princely sum.”

“I think I would treasure it far too much to ever sell it.”

Her words would have appeased his disappointment if he thought she'd attach sentiment to the piece, but she was too pragmatic. She would treasure it because of its monetary value, perhaps for its beauty. Still, he said, “Then take it as a reminder of our time together.”

“I'll need no reminders.” Rising up on her toes, she brushed her lips over his, before placing her hand behind his head and bending him forward so her mouth settled more possessively over his, her tongue urging his lips to part.

It was the first time that she'd initiated a kiss between them and it caused a tight pain in his chest that he thought might be the death of him. No woman had ever been as aggressive with him, had ever taken as though it were her right to do so. He always led, guided, determined the dance. He liked that she didn't hold back, that she let him know what she wanted, when she wanted it.

Winding his arms around her, he pressed her flat against him, running his hands up and down her slender back. She could stoke the flames of his desire so easily. She drove him to madness with only the slightest of willingness. She was ruining him. He'd never be content with anyone else.

Although if he were honest, he wasn't certain he ever had been. Not as he was with her.

With her everything was different: the sensations, the passion, the hunger. Ten minutes after he devoured her, he wanted to devour her all over again. Without taking his mouth from hers, not that he thought he could with the way she was clutching him, the insistence with which her lips stayed moored to his, he lifted her up and walked toward the desk. When he got to it, with an awkward sweep of an arm, striving not to drop her in the process, he sent everything on top clattering to the floor.

With a laugh, she broke their connection. “Here?”

“Here.”

Her eyes glittered as she began unknotting his neck cloth. He hiked up her skirts. She quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. Then her hands were skimming over his skin, caressing, outlining. He unfastened his trousers, before gliding one hand up her thigh until his fingers were lost in the honeyed heat that was ready for him.

Placing her hands behind his head, she drew him back in, returning that wonderful, luscious mouth of hers to his. He shifted her body, brought her nearer, before plunging deep, growling low as she closed tightly around him.

She rained kisses over his neck and chest while he rocked against her. Harder, faster. Their harsh breaths echoed around them.

Clutching him, she cried out his name, either a benediction or a curse, he couldn't tell which. Her name on his lips was definitely a curse as pleasure ratcheted through him, unforgiving and furious. He held her tightly while the spasms had their way, and she tightened around him, her haven still undulating from her own release.

Why was it always so intense with her? Why did he feel weakened afterward, yet incredibly powerful? With a long, shuddering sigh, he pressed his forehead to hers. “We shall be late for our engagement.”

“Must we go?”

He'd never known a woman who seemed to welcome the coming together with the fierceness that she did. “We're expected.”

She leaned back until she could hold his gaze. “By whom?”

“A few friends. We've set up a private card game. The stakes are high, which makes it more thrilling.”

“So I'll just observe.”

“You'll play.”

“I'm not putting any of the five thousand at risk.”

He tucked stray strands of her hair behind her ear. He liked her flushed skin and unkempt state. “All expenses are on me this week, remember?”

“If I win?”

“Anything over what I give you is yours to keep.”

“I don't see how I can say no.”

She couldn't without reneging on their bargain. She was his tonight, however he wanted. He intended to make the most of it.

“Y
ou swindled me,” Avendale said, sitting opposite her in the coach. “You can swindle them. Never let them know when you've drawn good cards—­or poor ones, for that matter. Keep your expression neutral, uncaring. You'll make out like a highwayman.”

She'd chosen the red because it was what he wanted her to wear. The necklace weighed heavy against her throat because it, too, was what he wanted. While she wished it otherwise, the truth was that she wished to please him. “I'd not expected dishonesty from you, Your Grace.”

“The game we play tonight involves more than cards. It should be to your liking.”

“It's important that ­people not know the truth about me. I can't afford inquiries being made, so how will you explain my presence?”

“No explanation will be required. Besides I have no desire for them to know I fell for your ruse.”

“Not completely. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here.”

He looked out the window. “It stings my pride to know you could have left so easily with so much unresolved between us.”

“Not so easily, and certainly there would have been regret.”

His gaze came to bear on her as though he could see through the shadows, through her clothing and straight into her soul. “Were the others easy to leave?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I shall take some consolation in that. How many others were there?”

“I told you last night that I will not discuss my past.”

“Yet I am fascinated by what it might entail.”

With a sigh, she looked out the window, refusing to be baited. He knew far too much, enough to see her imprisoned if he chose. She had to trust that when their time was done, he would not seek retribution through the courts, he would hold to his vow and let her go.

The coach came to a stop. He stepped out before handing her down, and she discovered they were in the mews behind the Twin Dragons.

“Ashamed to be seen with me?” she asked, bothered by the knowledge that her past would prevent her from ever having anything more than a tryst with a man of his position.

“On the contrary, but it is the way we do it on nights such as this—­when we want the game to be very exclusive.”

Inside, they climbed stairs and traversed darkened hallways until Avendale stopped outside a door and rapped several times in a manner that reminded her of a children's lullaby.

A tiny portal appeared in the door. “What's the word?” a rough voice asked.

“Feagan,” Avendale replied.

The door opened and he led her inside. The room was shadowed, but she made out various sitting areas and tables that housed decanters.

“Who's Feagan?” she asked.

“Some old blighter who taught the parents of those you are about to meet how to survive the streets.”

“Sounds like a story,” she said.

“Several of them, in fact.”

With his hand on the small of her back, he guided her toward draperies, then pulled one aside and she walked into a brightly lit room where others had gathered.

“Ah, there you are,” a dark-­haired man said. At his side was a woman with the most astonishing red hair. “We thought perhaps you'd changed your mind.”

“Not when I have the chance to take your money,” Avendale said. “Allow me to introduce Mrs. Rosalind Sharpe. Rose, the Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon.”

Rose curtsied. “It's a pleasure.”

“We'll see how you feel by the end of the night, once I've taken all your money,” the duchess said with a teasing smile.

“Go easy on her, Grace.” Bringing her in more closely against his side as though he thought her in need of protection, he said. “You know Drake, of course.”

She should have known Drake Darling would be here. “I've been enjoying your establishment.”

He gave her a shrewd once-­over, leaving her with the impression that he could see far more than she wanted. “I'm glad to hear it,” he said.

Avendale turned Rose's attention to a tall gentleman. “The Marquess of Rexton.”

Before she could curtsy, the marquess was carrying her hand to his lips, but the devil was dancing in his blue eyes, and she suspected he was having his fun at Avendale's expense, because she felt the duke's fingers jerk against her back. “It's always a pleasure to have a beautiful woman join us.”

“You are most kind to say so, my lord, but I own a mirror and know I am no beauty.”

“I think your mirror is broken. Perhaps I'll purchase you a new one.”

She realized that with his flirtation, he no doubt understood her role in Avendale's life. They probably all did.

“She's not in need of a mirror,” Avendale told him.

“All ladies are in need of mirrors.” Rexton released his hold. He seemed pleasant enough but he didn't draw her as Avendale did.

“Finally, Viscount Langdon,” Avendale said.

With eyes of pewter, Langdon smiled at her. “I never thought to meet a woman who could bring Avendale to heel.”

“I've hardly brought him to heel.”

“I suppose that remains to be seen.”

“I wanted a game of cards,” Avendale barked, nearly making her jump. “We can go elsewhere if you gents are going to keep tittering on like gossipy spinsters.”

“By all means, let's play,” Rexton said.

With Avendale at her side, Rose found herself sitting opposite the duchess, with the other gentlemen on either side of her. She was astounded by the obscene amount of money being brought out and exchanged for chips.