Within 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.
“You 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.
“No cheating, Grace,” Avendale said.
“Certainly not when we have a guest,” the duchess said, as though terribly offended he’d think otherwise.
“Do you cheat?” Rose couldn’t help but ask her.
The duchess smiled. “Of course.”
“I only recently discovered my sister is quite skilled at it,” Rexton said, and only then did Rose see the similarities in their features.
Her observation skills were slipping. Normally she would have noticed right off. She could blame it on Avendale for distracting her. Only a part of her was paying attention to her surroundings. The majority of her was paying attention to him. How could she explain all of this to Harry if she didn’t give it her unbridled attention?
“I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out,” Darling said as he shuffled. Apparently his role was simply to dole out the cards, as he’d taken no chips.
“I never expected such duplicity from one so sweet,” Rexton muttered.
“My duplicity is what landed me Lovingdon,” she said, placing her hand over her husband’s. Smiling at her, he turned his palm up and threaded his fingers through hers.
Avendale leaned closer to Rose and whispered, “They’re disgustingly in love. I’m in need of scotch. What would you like?”
“I’ll have the same.” After he signaled a footman, she murmured, “I find them charming.”
He scowled, but there was no heat behind it. She was quite flattered that he wanted to spend an evening with his friends with her in tow. Flattered and unnerved, surrounded by nobility, and yet they seemed not so different from her.
“Do you play poker, Mrs. Sharpe?” Darling asked.
“Please call me Rose. All of you. And I don’t. Actually I’m not one for gambling. My coins are too hard-earned.”
Avendale made a strangling noise that very much sounded as though he were choking. He cleared his throat. “Which is why she’ll play with my chips this evening.”
“Aren’t you going to play?” she asked, as footmen began setting glasses of amber liquid before everyone.
“Not until I ensure you understand the game, the best hand for winning.”
The duchess lifted her glass. “A toast, to our newest member. May fortune smile on you tonight, Rose.”
“Cheers!” the gents echoed in chorus, lifting their glasses and downing the contents in one swallow.
She did the same, savoring the fire.
Chips were tossed into the center of the table. Darling began dealing cards. Rose waited until he stopped. Taking her cards, she fanned them out. Avendale leaned in, his arm resting on the back of her chair, his fingers skipping up and down her arm. She wasn’t certain he was aware of his actions, while she was very much cognizant of them. How did he expect her to concentrate when he was so near, his sandalwood and bergamot fragrance teasing her nostrils?
She watched his long fingers plucking cards out, putting them in a different order, and she thought of his fingers, plucking her, squeezing her breast, pinching her nipple. He had such capable hands. So masculine. The allure they held over her was ridiculous.
With his lips near her ear, his low voice a lover’s caress, he explained the various combinations, how they ranked, which held more value—things he had explained in the coach on the ride over. She remembered every word he’d spoken, thought she would be able to recall every word from his lips on her deathbed. She wished he didn’t have this effect on her, even as she relished the fact that he did.
He allowed her to select the cards to discard, didn’t appear at all disappointed when they lost the round to the duchess.
“We’ll win the next one,” he told her.
We. Her heart hammered within her chest with such force, such a loud clamoring that she was certain everyone in the room was aware of it. She took some pride in the fact that her hand didn’t tremble when she picked up the glass and downed a good portion of its contents.
She had never before been part of a we. While she was not alone in life—she had Harry, Merrick, Sally, Joseph—she took all the risks, determined all the plans, worked alone, faced her marks alone. She never involved the others. Harry hadn’t a clue how she managed to secure lodgings or food or clothing. He didn’t know she was a swindler. In that aspect of her life, there was only she.
If caught, she was the one who would be imprisoned, she was the one who would pay. She wouldn’t risk the others. She carried the burden of her sins.
The next hand was dealt. She lifted the cards and stared at three tens. She did little more than furrow her brow in confusion, while Avendale moved them around in her hand as though he could find no way to situate them that made them pleasing. Slowly she let her gaze roam over the other players.
They were incredibly stone-faced. Not a smile among them, not any indication at all regarding whether they were pleased or disappointed in their hand. This, she thought, was why he enjoyed playing with them. It wasn’t about the money or winning a hand. It was about outfoxing them. Had he brought her because she’d outfoxed him?
Only she hadn’t, not at the end, not when it had counted. She’d never been discovered before. Afterward people came to understand what she’d been about, but never during the ruse. Why had she slipped with him? She didn’t want to contemplate that perhaps she’d done so on purpose, that she had wanted him to catch her. That made no sense. At the time, she hadn’t known enough about him to know that he wouldn’t turn her over to the authorities.
Her three tens took that hand. She scooped up the coins. She might make a tidy profit tonight. She wondered why she wasn’t filled with the same sense of accomplishment she usually experienced when she took from those who could afford to be taken from. None of the people at this table was going to suffer because she took a few of their coins.
Yet she found herself feeling not particularly triumphant with the thought of taking their money. It was an honest game of chance. They were all on equal footing here, their fortune determined by the whim of a card, but she didn’t want to beat them.
She had always viewed the aristocracy as distant, sitting atop pedestals that reached into the clouds. In between hands, she watched as they lowered their gaming faces and took a moment to laugh, joke, tease. In spite of being Avendale’s friends, they seldom included him in the banter. She realized it wasn’t that they didn’t want to, but he somehow held himself apart, as though he weren’t quite comfortable within their circle.
Still, she found herself fascinated by them. They were kind, funny—and generous, she discovered when she had won three hands in a row.
“Appears the orphanages aren’t going to benefit tonight, Grace,” Rexton announced.
“Grace always donates her winnings to the orphanages our parents established,” Darling explained.
Rose fought not to appear surprised. He was part of their family?
“Not any longer,” the duchess said.
Around the table, several brows arched in surprise. Although Lovingdon did little more than place his hand over his wife’s where it rested on the table. She smiled softly at him, before addressing the others. “I’m going to build a sanctuary upon the land that was my dowry.”
“For what purpose?” Langdon asked.
“To provide a haven for women who have had devastating surgeries. A place for them to recover and to not feel quite so alone.”
“Bravo,” Langdon said, lifting his glass. “From tonight forward, my winnings will go to your endeavors.”
She graced him with a beatific smile, and Rose wondered if all their winnings were donated elsewhere. Would she be expected to donate hers? Was that why Avendale had been so keen to let her have them? She couldn’t take them with her? She would not feel guilty because she had never given any of her ill-gotten gains to anyone other than those within her close circle. She didn’t possess as much as these people did. They could give without suffering. Yet it didn’t diminish her respect for them as they seemed to give as a matter of course. They weren’t selfish as she’d originally thought or consumed with naught but pleasure.
The knowledge made her more curious about Avendale. How did he fit in? How much was he like them? In many ways, he seemed to be very different.
He ceased arranging her cards, although he stayed near. When she lost a hand, he would explain how the odds would have favored her had she played differently, kept what she tossed, tossed what she kept. Sometimes, even when she won, he pointed out how she might have increased her odds.
“Very easy to decipher once you’ve seen everything that has been played,” she said tartly.
With a grin, he trailed his finger along the nape of her neck, across her shoulders. “You’ll thank me one day for the lessons I’m teaching you tonight.”
She wondered if he was referring to more than the cards. “I doubt it. I shall never play with my own coin.”
His grin grew. “We’ll see how you feel when the night is done, especially if you win a particularly large pot. Once you’ve experienced that thrill of victory, you’ll always be searching for it.”
“Then I shall hope that I don’t experience it, as I daresay, I’d have a most difficult time affording it.”
“I’ve often said,” Darling began, “that the worst thing that can happen is for a person to win the first time they gamble.”
“I notice you don’t wager,” Rose said.
He merely shrugged.
“We don’t allow him to play,” Avendale said. “He’s the most skilled cheater of the lot.”
Rose laughed. “You’ve mentioned the cheating before. Are you serious? You all cheat when you play?”
“Sometimes,” the duchess said, giving her husband a sideways glance and smile. “But if you’re caught doing it, you must forfeit all your winnings.”
“I never cheat,” Rexton announced.
“You also seldom win,” Darling said. “I’m more than happy to teach you.”
“Mother would be appalled—are you free for a lesson tomorrow evening?”
Rose laughed. She didn’t want to like these nobs, but she did. She didn’t want to recall how she had entered this establishment searching for an easy mark. She’d certainly misjudged there.
They played a few more hands, then Darling cracked his knuckles. “Let’s take a small break, shall we? I need to check on a few things.”
“Your staff will let you know if anything is amiss,” Lovingdon said.
“I’d like to see for myself. I shan’t be but ten minutes.”
Chairs scraped back as everyone stood. Rose knew a few seconds of light-headedness. She looked at her glass. It was nearly full. While she’d been sipping the scotch as they played, she hadn’t had that much.
“Are you all right?” Avendale asked, taking her elbow.
She smiled at him. “Yes, I’m feeling rather lovely, actually. I like your friends.”
“They like you as well.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they’re not cheating.”
“Perhaps they are, but they’re letting me win. I suspect people cheat for all sorts of reasons.”
“If you’re looking for a noble one, you won’t find it here.” She suspected he might be wrong. She was good at reading people. These seemed . . . genuine. They cared for each other, looked out for each other. She was glad Avendale had them, although she wasn’t certain he appreciated exactly what he held.
“Avendale, may I have a moment?” Lovingdon asked.
“Yes, of course.” He looked at her. “Do you mind?”
“No, not at all.”
They walked away several feet. Rose wished she had the ability to read lips, wondered what was so urgent that Lovingdon—
“He did it for me,” the duchess said.
Turning, Rose found herself staring into kind, but inquisitive, blue eyes.
“I wanted a moment alone with you,” the duchess explained. “It became obvious rather quickly that Avendale was going to hover. I’ve never seen him smitten.”
“If you’re implying he’s smitten tonight, I fear you have misjudged things.”
“How did you meet?” she asked.
“At the ball here, opening night.”
“Are you a member then?”
“Yes.” She wanted to deflect any further questions away from herself. “I was surprised that you and Mr. Darling seem to have the same parents.”
The duchess smiled warmly. “My parents took him in when he was a lad. I grew up knowing him as my brother.”
“Your parents are . . . ?” Inwardly she groaned at the habit that had her searching for details that would help her identify how best to take advantage.
“The Duke and Duchess of Greystone.”
“With so many dukes fluttering about, I’m not certain I’ve ever been in such esteemed company before.”
“We’re really rather common, in an uncommon way I suppose. My mother and Langdon’s father began life on the streets and managed to survive them. We’re quite aware that not everyone is as fortunate as we are.”
“Is that the reason you’re building the sanctuary?”
“It’s a bit more personal.” Her eyes widened slightly and she smiled. “Here are the gents returning to us.”
Lovingdon place his arm around his wife’s waist and drew her in against his side. Avendale placed his hand on the small of Rose’s back. She would not wish for more. It was foolish to want more.
“I’ve grown bored with the cards,” Avendale said. “Let’s be off to Cremorne.”
“Pleasure gardens?” Rose asked. She’d heard of them. They were decadent by all accounts. Some were advocating they be closed. “I’ve never been.”
“It’s where wickedness—and I—thrive.” He looked at Lovingdon. “Care to join us?”
Lovingdon shook his head. “No.”
Avendale turned to the duchess. “You have made him dreadfully dull.”
“She has made me dreadfully happy,” Lovingdon said.
“We’re off before I cast up my accounts.”
Something was amiss. Rose wasn’t quite certain exactly what it was. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” she said.
“We must get together for tea sometime,” the duchess said.
“That sounds lovely.”
Then Avendale was nudging her away from them.
“You’re forgetting your money,” she told him as he walked her away from the table.
“Darling will cash in my chips, have the money delivered to me.”
“You trust him?”
“He gains nothing by cheating me. I know precisely how much money is there. You’re up five hundred quid. I’ll give it to you later.”
“Give it to the duchess.”
He stared at her. “Which duchess? You mean Grace?”
She nodded, her stomach tightening. She could purchase Harry books with that money. What was she thinking to give it away? Perhaps she wanted to make amends, perhaps she was seeking to save her soul. As though her misdeeds were not worth a good deal more. “For her sanctuary.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he said, “when you’re able to think more clearly.”
“I’m thinking clearly now.”
He grinned. “You only believe you are. I’m surprised you’re still able to walk.”
“I didn’t drink much. My glass is nearly full.”
“The footmen are paid to be discreet—and they are paid to keep the glasses nearly full. Trust me, you’ve had far more than you realize. And we shall have a good deal more before the night is done.”
As the coach traveled through the midnight-enshrouded streets, Avendale had to admit that he had enjoyed watching Rose play cards much more than he had ever enjoyed playing them. He took pleasure from the way her face lit up whenever she won a hand, was impressed by the way she hid her disappointment when she lost. He thought she could make a living upon the stage.
“Are you certain we should go?” she asked. She sat opposite him. If he were beside her, he would have her before they reached their destination. He should take her straightaway to his residence. He didn’t know why he wanted to spend time with her at Cremorne, when it would be more rewarding to have her in his bed. “I have it on good authority that it’s going to rain before the night is done.”
Scoffing, he looked quickly out the window. The fog had yet to roll in. “It’s not going to rain.”
“I’ll wager the five hundred quid I won tonight. If it doesn’t rain before the sun peers over the horizon, it’s yours. If it does rain, I keep the five hundred and you give the same amount out of your pocket to the duchess and tell her it’s from me.”
“She would appreciate the cunning behind that wager,” he told her. “But I’ve no need of the money. If it doesn’t rain, I get an additional night of you in my bed.”
“Done.”
He was surprised she capitulated so easily. Was it because she welcomed another night in his bed or was she arrogant enough to believe she couldn’t lose now that she’d had a taste of winning? It didn’t matter. He owned the wager. The scent of rain wasn’t even on the air.
“I like your friends, but I have the impression your friendship doesn’t run deeply.”
She was far too astute. He should have known she’d pay attention to more than the cards. “I am closest to Lovingdon. He was the one with whom I sought out trouble before Grace got her clutches into him.”
“You don’t approve of the duchess?”
“I don’t approve of any woman leading a man on a merry chase to the altar.”
“Eventually you’ll marry.”
“I doubt it.”
“But you’re a duke. You require an heir. Your bastards can’t inherit.”
“I don’t have any—” He stopped, grinned. “Clever girl. If you wanted to know if I had any children, why didn’t you just ask?”
“You’re not very forthcoming with answers when I pose questions.”
“I’ve always taken precautions to ensure no offspring come from my loins.” Only he hadn’t with her, he realized now. And she wouldn’t have the knowledge to prevent conception. Damnation. He’d been so obsessed with her, wanted her so badly that he hadn’t given any thought to protecting her. “If you find yourself with child, you’re to let me know.”
“Do I really strike you as the sort to come begging?”
The light from a streetlamp they passed caught the necklace at her throat, a gift she would leave behind. No, she wouldn’t come begging. After their time together, he’d never see her again. A fissure of anger sliced through him at the thought and he tamped it down. He didn’t need her, didn’t need anyone. It grated to acknowledge that he might actually miss her when she was gone. “Still, I should like to know.”
“As you wish. So do you visit Cremorne often?” she asked, and he was grateful she was taking the discussion away from the possibility of children. He didn’t want to analyze why it was that the thought of having children with her wasn’t abhorrent.
“Nearly every night,” he said. He didn’t understand this insane need he had for her to see how he lived.
“What shall we do there?”
“Drink, dance. Kiss in the shadows.”
“We could have done all that at the Twin Dragons.”
He chuckled low. “We could have, yes, but it all seems so proper there. Nothing at all is proper about Cremorne Gardens.”
He had the right of it there, Grace thought, as she walked along beside him, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow. She wasn’t certain why it made her melancholy to imagine him here night after night, searching for something that she suspected would not be found within these gardens.
Music played. People danced—on the pavilion and off of it. Wine and drink flowed. Women—no doubt the charities to which he made donations—strutted about, flitting from man to man, some boldly taking their pleasures out in the open. She didn’t want to contemplate that he might have found surcease with some of these women, that he had taken them against walls or trees.
No one acknowledged him, although surely there were people here who knew him. She supposed it was an unwritten rule: whatever happened within these confines was not discussed beyond them and identities were held secret.
Now and then Avendale would stop, cup her face, and lean in to kiss her. Here to kiss in public was acceptable. Although, so it seemed, was fornicating. She would not go that far. What she shared with him was for them only. It was personal, private.
But a man could bring his mistress here without experiencing censure. It fluttered through her mind to wonder how many nights a woman needed to be with a man to qualify as being his mistress. Avendale could share with her all the tawdry places because she wasn’t decent or respectable. He could have the sort of fun with her that he couldn’t have with a wife. That thought saddened her, made her want to leave.
Yet she wanted to stay, touched that he was sharing part of his life with her, even if it didn’t shed a particularly good light on him. She wondered why he strove so hard to convince her that he was naught but wickedness and vice. Unfortunately her mind was not clear enough to discern his reasoning. On the morrow perhaps.
They’d been drinking since they arrived, and the spirits were having their way with her. She staggered against him. His arm came around her, held her near. She laughed. “This isn’t you.”
He looked down on her, and she wondered when he had become blurred. Squinting, she was able to make out his puckered brow. “I believe I am me,” he said. “I haven’t morphed into someone else.”
She shook her head. The world spun. She flung out her hand. “No, this place. It’s not you.”
“You’re wrong there. It’s where I flourish.”
“No, it’s where you come when you want to be lost.” She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his luscious lips. “Why do you want to be lost? What are you striving to escape?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But she did know.
“Here, finish this off,” he said.
Feeling a cool breeze, she welcomed the warmth that his scotch would bring. She downed it in one swallow. The glass slipped from her fingers, shattered. Avendale merely laughed and dragged her away.
Suddenly there was another glass in her hand. She didn’t remember how it came to be there.
“Drink up,” he ordered.
“I’m nearly foxed, I think.”
“I want you completely foxed.”
“Why?”
“Because this place calls for it.”
She drank deeply, thinking nothing had ever tasted so marvelous. Tossing the glass aside, she moved in front of Avendale and wound her arms around his neck. “I’m going to win the bet.”
“I don’t think—”
A crack of thunder prevented her from hearing the rest of his words. The skies opened, releasing a deluge. Stepping away from him, raising her arms in the air, she spun in a circle. “I win! I win! I told you it would rain!”
Snaking an arm around her waist, he drew her back to him. “I’ve never kissed a woman in the rain.”
“Then kiss me, so you’ll have the memory, so you’ll never forget me.” Quite suddenly, it seemed imperative that he never forget her, that something about her be different from the countless other women who warmed his bed.
“I shall never forget you.”
He took her mouth with a savagery that surprised her. Was it this place? The decadence of it, the madness of people seeking whatever pleasure they could find?
It didn’t matter. She was vaguely aware of shrieks, the patter of feet as people ran past them, seeking shelter, yet she and Avendale stayed as they were, not caring one fig that they were getting drenched. She thought how lovely it would be when they returned to his residence and he warmed her.
But for now, she wanted nothing more than this: his lips ravaging hers as though he could never have enough of her, as though nothing in the world were more important than holding her at this moment.
Rose snuggled beneath the blankets until she was flush against Avendale, absorbing his warmth. He began slowly stroking her back, which she should have found soothing, but her head felt as though it had exploded sometime during the night and was only now starting to come back together, each piece locking into place with a snap that caused a pain behind her eyes. She couldn’t recall ever indulging to such an extent. Why would Avendale do this to himself night after night? While she had to admit that the majority of the evening had seemed like jolly good fun, she wasn’t certain it was worth this agony. She could have had as much fun with fewer spirits. She might have even remembered the night. At that precise moment it was little more than snippets, flashes. Arriving here. Avendale disrobing her. A deliciously warm bath. Snuggling against him. The world spinning when she closed her eyes, pulling her down into a vortex where her past circled around her, a thousand ravens pricking her conscience until she was bleeding. Avendale cooing to her, promising all would be well.
She’d wanted to tell him everything, but an instinct for survival stronger than the allure of a clean conscience overrode the taunting of the spirits. Now she was suffering from the indulgence.
She couldn’t even enjoy the rain as she usually did because it was as though each droplet was pinging off her brain instead of the windowpane. A constant barrage of irritating noises. But at least she’d won her bet with Avendale. It had rained, was raining still.
Avendale cupped her backside, pressed her against him. He was hot and hard. Suddenly all the discomforts lessened.
“I thought you’d never awaken,” he said in a voice roughened from sleep.
“You don’t sound as though you’ve been up all that long,” she answered, nipping his collarbone.
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that chased away the lingering cobwebs in her mind. “Oh, I’ve been up long enough and aching for you.”
Rolling them over, he tucked her beneath him and began trailing his mouth along her throat, her bare shoulders. They hadn’t bothered with clothes when they came to bed.
She heard the distant bonging of a clock. Four times. The one in the foyer, she thought dreamily. She briefly wondered why the servants hadn’t stopped the chimes for the night.
“I thought it was later,” she murmured as Avendale slid down and began to give attention to her breasts.
“Mmm?”
“It seemed we’d slept longer.”
“I’m not sure how much longer we could have slept. It’s afternoon.”
She furrowed her brow. The curtains were drawn, the room dark, but surely it was morning beyond the windows. Not afternoon. Not four in the afternoon. “It can’t be.”
He eased down farther and circled his tongue around her navel. “I’m fairly certain it is, sweetheart. We’ve slept the day away.”
Bolting upright, ignoring the jarring pain to her head, she shoved on his shoulders and scrambled out from beneath him. “Why didn’t you let me know?”
Lying on his side, he grabbed her arm, preventing her from leaving the bed. “What the devil, Rose? We’re having a pleasant lie in.”
“I was supposed to be at the residence at two.”
“What difference does a couple of hours make?”
“It matters. I promised.” Jerking free of his hold, she clambered off the bed and hurried to the wardrobe. She selected a simple dress that would require no assistance to don. No corset, a single petticoat. “Can you please shout down for them to have a carriage readied?”
Leisurely he left the bed as though she had all the time in the world. “Why this obsession with seeing your servants every afternoon?”
“I’ve told you before: They’re not my servants. They’re my friends.” After securing the last of the buttons, she reached for a brush and began working the tangles out of her hair. She caught his disgruntled gaze in the mirror. “Please, Avendale.”
He snatched his dressing gown from the floor at the foot of the bed. “I don’t like this part of our arrangement.”
Grabbing a ribbon, she pulled back her hair, secured it, and faced him. “Regardless, it is part of the arrangement. If you want me to return willingly this evening, you will hold to it.”
She saw the familiar fury, wondered that it failed to frighten her.
“God help me,” he snarled, “I should have had enough of you by now but I haven’t.”
With that he left to see about a carriage. After she fetched a pelisse to protect her from the rain, and her reticule, she followed him out.
She arrived at her residence to discover her worst fears realized: Harry was gone.