“Goodness, your partner was energetic.” Belle spoke behind her gilded, carved ivory fan, painted with a charming variation of Paris among the goddesses. “Who was he?”
“The saints only know,” Alex said, shuddering. “I’m dizzy from all that unnecessary enthusiasm. What the devil was that?”
Lady Philomena Staunton, their bluestocking friend, sauntered up. “I’ve read about it. It’s called The Waltz. From Vienna. It’s quite scandalous. I daresay, ’tis one dance we aren’t likely to ever see in the peerage ballrooms.”
“I should hope not,” Alex said. “I don’t care much for some profligate’s hands on me.”
Belle gasped.
“What? Don’t tell me, it wouldn’t bother you.” The hair at Alex’s neck raised, she started to turn.
Belle grabbed her hand. “Don’t,” she whispered.
Lady Thomasina, Phil’s twin, closed in as well. Seconds later, their other friend, Elizabeth also surrounded Alex.
Then, Victoria, who never hurried. “I vow I just saw the Duke of Winsome walk in.”
Alarmed, Alex stiffened. “Oh, no. I’ll never be allowed out of the house again if he sees me.”
“Don’t worry, darling. We shall not let him near you.” Belle’s gaze moved around the area. “We need to find the retiring rooms.”
Panic surged through Alex. “You don’t know where they are?”
“No, blast it. How would any of us know? The place just opened. All we need do is make it to the stairs. We’ll all stay together.”
“No. It won’t work,” Thomasina said. “Not subtle enough. Not only is six women leaving the vicinity at once conspicuous, but Alex is the tallest one and will draw every eye in the place.”
“Oh, dear, she’s right,” Belle said.
“Ladies.” A deep and unfamiliar sonance addressed the group.
All six women froze.
“May I be of assistance?”
The man edging into Alex’s view was taller than her own height of six feet. Heavens, her heart tattooed a wild erratic beat that had her fingers trembling. His black domino and black half mask, while not an excellent costume, was just blasé enough to ward off unwanted attention. It failed, however, in concealing a fit physique and firm jaw. He wore no powder in his whiskey-colored hair or on his face. It was most unfashionable, and she loved it. She took a steadying breath to garner her usual calm.
“You wish to dance.” His statement—not question—emanated a slightly mocking cynicism.
Well, that was somewhat arrogant and annoying. Still, one couldn’t be so choosy in a dire situation.
Surprise had muted the others. It appeared up to Alex to save the situation and herself. She dipped a deep curtsey, shamelessly imitating their friend Faustina and displayed her wares. Surely the powder on her face hid her blush, but not above her décolletage—it was inflamed. With monumental effort, Alex lifted her chin in a direct challenge, but spoke in flawless French. “Er, no, not dance, sir. I, er, wish to visit the… the…” she broke off, helplessly unable to recall what the gaming rooms were called.
If her father realized she was there, he would expose all her friends, ruining them all. Alex drew in a deep breath and tried again. “I was hoping for an escort up the stairs.” She tuned out the five gasps around her and prayed the powder on her face didn’t melt off from the rising heat. The stranger’s attention was riveted on her chest. “To the gaming rooms,” she clarified.
The man’s eyes shot to her face, and he appeared somewhat flabbergasted by her boldness. This would not do at all.
“Upstairs,” she said pointedly.
Belle shifted. “I’m not sure that’s wise—” She. Stopped. Thankfully, she maintained Alex’s guise, also conversing in French.
Thomasina’s, Philomena’s, Victoria’s, and Elizabeth’s heads bobbed like pigeons pecking at feed.
Belle was rarely at a loss for words, but Alex had certainly thrown her off this time.
While she would love nothing more than to sink through the floor, it was obvious Alex was on her own in this endeavor. She wasn’t typically an adventurous sort, but was apparently making up for lost time. She flashed the man her brightest smile—it didn’t come easy—while simultaneously responding to Belle. “It is indeed the wisest course of action.”
Alex had always been considered the voice of reason, the one who maintained her coolness in any situation. There weren’t many who could detect the inner turmoil she’d harbored since the day her father had forcibly removed her from her mother’s arms, nineteen years ago. Her friends, though—these friends—would be able to tell at a glance.
“Al—” again Belle started.
Alex quickly cut her off. “—tout est bein.”
Belle’s lips tightened, but she refrained from saying more. Her eyes flitted over Alex’s shoulder and widened slightly.
Begging Belle with her eyes not to give her away, Alex took her unwitting hero’s arm in a coquettish hold. His smile turned her stomach into a refuge for nervous hummingbirds. He moved, separating her from her friends.
Belle opened her mouth, but Alex stopped her, throwing over her shoulder, “Je te verrai dans une minute.”
“She’ll see us in a minute,” Belle echoed quietly to the group as Alex and her nameless savior headed for the left side of the staircase.
Alex smiled over at this too attractive man. “Shall we?” she said, shocking herself further with her husky, unrecognizable tone, not to mention her uncharacteristic spontaneity. She dare not chance a look at back at her friends, knowing the concern she would find on the other women’s faces. She just prayed their mouths were not agape.
“Of course, madam.” He whisked her away from her friends before anyone had time to protest the idiocy, or worse, the danger of the situation.
“Mademoiselle,” she murmured.
“Pardon?”
She swallowed the swirl of apprehension and tightened her fingers on his arm. “We haven’t even been introduced,” she said, using the ruse of a French harlot he so readily handed her as he led her up and away from the safety of her friends. And, the wrath of one of the most powerful men in England, her father, the Duke of Winsome, she reminded herself.
They reached the landing and he stopped, turning and forcing her to look at him. He speared her with eyes that reminded her of the churning depths of the Channel in the midst of a vast storm. “My name?” A long pause ensued. “Theodore Millburn, at your service. My friends call me Theo.” His gaze seemed to penetrate her mask, stripping her bare.
Alex shivered, then frowned. “Millburn. The name, it’s familiar. Millburn. Yet, I can’t seem to place it.”
Though minute, his demeanor stiffened. “Enough about me, madam. Who have I the pleasure”—his voice lowered to something seductive and luring, hypnotic—“of having… on my… arm?”
Shocked, entranced, offended—yes. That was it. Offended. Alex snatched her hand away. Or tried as he caught and held it in his large palm.
“Your name, my dear. I feel we are going to be… well acquainted before this night is through.”
She couldn’t seem to break her gaze from his.
“Madam?”
Startled, she blinked. Heavens. She couldn’t very well give him her name. He might know of her— “Giselle.” She gave him her middle name in a breathless huff. Thank you, Mother.
“Giselle.” He spoke as if he were tasting her name, tasting her. It sent ripples over her skin. “Why this just gets better and better.” His voice was in direct contrast to the storms that brewed within the depths of his eyes. “We should go someplace where we may become better acquainted. I understand there are rooms above for… private… conversations.”
Private conversation? Oh, dear.
His touch was uncomfortably warm. Clearly, she couldn’t yank her arm away. Everyone below would witness her complete and utter downfall. Her father at the head of the crowd. She smiled at her captor. It didn’t come easy. She was not the happiest of persons. She was a… stifled… person. “Perhaps we should try our luck at the tables,” she purred instead. She’d never purred in her life.
“Ah, a gambler at heart I see.”
One could wish. She inclined her head and let him lead the way. The touch of his hand through her glove remained overly warm.
“And what shall we gamble for?” he asked colloquially, as if the most ridiculous thing hadn’t come out of her mouth. She was definitely not a risk taker.
“Alex,” someone called from behind. Alex didn’t dare turn, pretending not to hear, and sashayed alongside Millburn, relief filling her with every step that put more distance between her, the duke, and anyone else who might recognize her.
What had he said? She was quickly losing the thread of conversation, and the hold on her composure.
“Your virtue, perhaps?”
The situation grew more perilous by the moment. “Or yours?” she returned sharply, internally shocked at her brazenness.
His laughter erupted. A full-bellied, rusty sound, implying he didn’t laugh any more often than she.
Curiosity trickled over her. What did he look like beneath the mask he wore? What went with the etched jaw that looked as if he clenched his teeth more often than not, and the storm-filled eyes? All she could see were lips that looked soft but not fleshy.
Her own tingled with an anticipation to touch. Her fingers tightened on his arm.
“How delightful you are,” he said in a low husky growl that sent shivers over her body.
She shrugged. “Why should I be the only one to put up high stakes?” she countered, sounding almost flirty to her own ears. What a heady sensation. Her friends would never believe it of her.
“Why, indeed. So, what is it you wish for, my dove?”
Alex jerked upright, the meaning of his endearment hitting her full force. She’d just met the man so his words shouldn’t have hurt. “First of all, I am not your dove. Second…” She snatched her hand from his arm, unsure why she didn’t turn and just walk away. But something about him drew her in—perhaps it was in the stirring depths of those eyes.
The name Millburn still gnawed at her memory. “Millburn,” she said, wrinkling her brow. She snapped her fingers, which made no noise due to her satin, elbow-length gloves. “The Millburn who killed the first duchess of Winsome?” she breathed.
“He didn’t kill her,” he bit out through the clenched jaw she’d envisioned a minute before. She may have had the plague for how quickly he stepped back.
A piece of a complicated puzzle clicked into place. “He was your father, wasn’t he?” Her French forgotten in the moment.
The harsh storm in his eyes roiled with unspoken emotion—hate, rage, hurt. “Good night, madam.” He turned on a heel.
Panic rippled through her for some unknown reason, and rather than taking the opportunity God above had just handed her, she reached out and clasped his arm. “Oh, please wait. It was terribly horrid of me to blurt out something so insensitive.”
He pierced her with that penetrating gaze of his, not saying anything for the longest moment. The crowd noises around her faded beneath his scrutiny. “You aren’t French,” he finally said. “Yet you speak the language flawlessly.”
“My mother is,” she admitted, feeling more heat rise up her neck.
The roiling emotion in his eyes shifted to calculating.
Something akin to nerves or… or anticipation… snaked up her spine.
His lips curved and she couldn’t pull her gaze away. “As you said, you should not be the only one to put up high stakes. So, I propose a wager,” he said softly.
Alex blinked, breaking his mesmerizing hold on her. She garnered all her pragmatic senses and narrowed her eyes on him. “What sort of wager?”
“If I win you spend the night in my bed.”
“And if I win?”
He shrugged. “Again, I ask, what is it you most desire?”
“Marriage,” she said in a rush.
Theo stared at her. “Marriage! To a lightskirt—”
The dangerously calm smile she turned on him did not reach her eyes; chilled him like an ice cap atop the Swiss Alps. The differences between them grew immediately stark. This woman was his complete opposite in every way. But he sensed her passions ran deep, and she kept them close—if she even realized she possessed them. His own temperament ran hot as fire, and he had every intention of learning how well the two of them, so different, meshed. He would not risk letting her escape him at this stage of the game—and game it was.
Not yet.
In one week, the Duke of Winsome was to introduce Lady Sophia to society at the Winsomes’ annual Christmas fête. And the stunning Giselle offered the perfect antidote in passing the time.
She turned away as coolly as you please, as if she hadn’t just offered herself upon an irresistible platter of gold.
She strolled away from him. It took two long steps to reach her. “Not so fast, madam.” She could find another protector next week. There were mysteries behind those startling blue eyes of sapphire he intended to solve.
“Mademoiselle,” she said on a harsh breath.
Deep passions. He did a mental shake. If he lost this yet to be set wager, all his uncle’s plans for revenge would be for naught. Theo took her hand and placed it on his arm, noting its delicacy. Everything about her struck him as unusual: her height, her slender strength, her fiery spirit. He found himself again imagining the supple tautness of her firm legs writhing beneath him as he drove deep within her. “I accept your challenge.”
She faced him, raking an impassive look over him that sent another chill up his spine.
“Are you a murderess, madam, er, mademoiselle?”
His words startled her. She blinked and he caught a flash of unbridled fury. The sight reassured him. “Not yet. Nor am I a lightskirt. If you refer to me as such again, perhaps you will have cause to worry.” She spoke lightly, but it was forced. He wondered how many were fooled by her nonchalant demeanor that would win her accolades should she chose a life to tread the boards.
“Point taken,” he murmured. “Now, let us vacate to somewhere more… private and determine the method of this outrageous, yet”—he shot her a grin—“irresistible wager.”
He didn’t push her, letting her set the pace. She was confident in a way he found strangely alluring despite the decided lack of trust in her hesitancy. So, she was intelligent as well as prideful.
She glanced around. “We can’t very well stay here,” she said grimly. “And, regretfully, I cannot risk going below.” She looked over her shoulder and stiffened.
He did his own quick surveillance and drew in a sharp breath. Neither could he. Winsome was coming up the stairs. Theo tucked Giselle into his side and weaved his way in the opposite direction. He found a hall and a back staircase. They seemed to share an odd sense of urgent camaraderie in their escape. Of shared accord, they shifted to another door off the kitchens and raced down the stairs into the frigid late November night.
Theo grabbed Giselle’s gloved hand and hailed a hack. He opened the door then pulled back at the rank smell. He couldn’t very well whisk her away in something that smelled so vile. Her eyes glittered in the cold air. “Regretfully, I fear my carriage may be hung up in the line in front of la Sous Rose.”
“I’m sure this shall suffice.”
With a quick nod, he handed her up and scrambled in behind her after giving his direction to the cabbie.
Her nose wrinkled, a rare show of expression, he’d guess. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her nose. “Where are we going?”
“My house—unless you wish me to direct him to yours?”
“Er, no. No, yours shall do.” Her gaze turned to the glistening streets out the window. The snow wasn’t yet sticking to the ground.
“Where do you live, if I may be so bold?”
“Nowhere important,” she said. Her voice was once again devoid of expression, and just as mysterious as the rest of her.
“Who were you avoiding in there?” It was an impudent question. One he was certain he knew the answer to, he just didn’t know why.
“Who were you avoiding?” she quickly returned.
He shook his head, smiling. It pleased him that she did not capitulate so easily.
The cabbie pulled up before his home in Soho Square. He alighted, tossed up a coin, and assisted his guest down and to the door of his humble abode. He glanced up at the thick, cold air.
Theo opened the door and ushered his guest inside, stripping his mask off and tossing on the foyer table.
She frowned. “No butler?” Snowflakes melted on her nose as he watched her assess his home with an odd remoteness. He didn’t care for this house much but at least it was warm compared to the weather outside.
“Darby is likely below stairs, spending a pleasant evening with Mrs. Darby. He wasn’t expecting me home after having been gone only two hours,” he said with a quick grin. “Let us retire to my study. The fire is usually kept going in there.” He led her down the darkened hallway, realizing with a start how rare it was for him to bring a woman into the sanctity of his home.
She carried herself well, that of a peer. Not that he was a peer, though he was in line behind his uncle should the worst happen. He shuddered at the thought of something happening to the man who’d raised him, blackguard that he was. But Theo had no desire to being a slave to society’s dictates.
Her walk was a glide, her back erect. He longed to see how deep the fires burned beneath that cool exterior she wore. She hadn’t even blinked when he told her he was bringing her to his home. So not a peer, but perhaps a well-trained courtesan. That was a pleasing thought. First order of business was relieving her of the mask she still wore.
Theo strolled in after her but headed for the liquor cabinet. “Would you care for a brandy?”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” Not the slightest pause in her answer. He smiled, and it went deep. And south. Deep and south where he soon hoped to be himself.
From his peripheral vision, he watched her tour the parameters of his study, taking in the hordes of architecture books in the shelves, the paintings of buildings on the wall—none of which would be much interest to a true connoisseur. They were his interests. She moved to the chessboard and righted the white queen where she had fallen over from his game with Kearse earlier that evening. Before he’d met her.
Theo walked over and held out a glass. “You play?”
Her lips curved slightly. “I do.” Her cryptic smile stunned his senses a little. To all appearances, she was very well trained.
“Perhaps that should be our wager.” He reached for her mask, but she took a quick step back. “Do you fear I’ll recognize you?” he teased.
She seemed to think about that, then reached behind her head and did the honor herself. She clutched the soft gold fabric it in her left hand, the only sign of her unease.
He didn’t recognize her, and despite the white powder—which he abhorred—she was stunning. At the beginning, he’d been drawn to her height, but her lashes darkened by kohl, were lush. “I won’t hurt you, you know.”
Her chin lifted and her head tilted slightly. “If I feared peril to my person, Mr. Millburn, I wouldn’t have accompanied you.” She had him there. He was a gentleman, but for the vengeance he and his uncle had planned to near perfection.
With a mental shake of his head, Theo sipped at his brandy, wishing he could suggest she wash away the white powder so he could see the creaminess of her skin. But then he’d likely get his hands slapped when he failed to keep them to himself. This was a delicate match between them—and not chess.
He tipped his lips to mirror hers, determined to exhibit her same reserve. “I could site a million examples of rogues who said one thing and did another. But why waste my breath?” Especially when a wager would save him explanations of any sort, he thought. Every extremity he possessed tingled with anticipation, his fingers, his toes, his lips. His cock.
He picked up one of the fallen pawns, and said, “What say we get started? The best two out of three?”
“That should suffice.”
He was captivated by her ability to hide any inflection in her voice. It overran his excitement for her beauty. A shocking revelation. He’d never met anyone who had such control of their own facilities.
She dragged a finger across the leather spines. “You have a considerable number of books on architecture and history. Is that your calling?”
“You might say that. I assisted on Somerset House.”
“In what capacity?”
“The building’s neo classical design. The facade. And, er, some of the interior.” He raised his glass in a salute. “I was fortunate enough to work directly with Sir William. Do you know of him?”
She nodded. “We’ve met. I believe Sir William had a hand in la Sous Rose’s original design as well. I’m not certain of course.”
“I believe he did. I was not part of that project.”
She continued her perusal of the books, then stopped at the paintings on the wall. “You must be quite talented to have been selected to work with him. Somerset House is impressive. It always reminds me of Versailles.”
Interesting. Perhaps she had been a paramour of Sir William’s. He frowned at the thought. “Sadly, he expired last March.”
She didn’t respond to that. “Your library is pleasant,” she said. “Do you mind if I remove my gloves? It’s quite warm.”
“Of course,” he murmured. Fascinating. Not even the slightest raised brow, nor the minutest twitch of her lip. “Feel free to remove your pannier as well.” he added, doing his utmost to appear as unaffected as her but knowing with every button she released to reveal the skin beneath would be the death of him. He deserved to have his face slapped for making such a rude comment. Well-trained, he reminded himself. He cleared his throat. “Should we get started?”
She lowered in a chair on one side of the table and began setting up the pieces and stopped, looking up at him with guileless eyes that were so dark in the candlelight, looked navy instead of the sapphire they’d appeared at la Sous Rose. “White for me?” she inquired.
He tamped back the gossamer tendrils of desire that threatened to drive all coherence from the task at hand. This was a wager he must win. “White? Of course.” Dragging his eyes from her face, he lowered in the chair across and found himself mesmerized by the delicacy of her long fingers, tipped with tapered nails.
“Best two of three,” she said more to herself than to him, he thought.
The game crawled but Giselle remained unmoved by the lateness of the hour. At one point Theo sent for repast from the kitchens. When delivered, she didn’t take so much as a nibble, despite the clock chiming midnight.
Her moves were thoughtful and economical—especially in her chess playing. She didn’t fidget. She didn’t speak unnecessarily. Her foot didn’t tap, her eyes didn’t flash with nerves or flirtation. In fact, Theo couldn’t detect the slightest sign of pretentiousness in this gorgeous, mysterious, captivating woman. She studied the board with single-minded candor.
Perhaps after his win, he would secure her a home and keep her as his mistress after his marriage to Lady Sophia. His plans, after all, did include dumping his new bride at his uncle’s estate in the country. He toyed with the idea.
She effected a clever move, startling him at his lack of concentration. He had to win. His uncle’s plans for Lady Sophia were too entrenched for Theo to give them up on the whim of one night. Besides, the duke deserved to pay for sending Theo’s father to his death for a crime he’d never committed.
Theo leaned forward and took the white king. “Checkmate,” he said softly.
“Excellent game, Mr. Millburn.” Alex stood to stretch her legs, strolling to a large table near the window, attempting to put the interesting man from her head. Not all that easy to do. He was taller than she, an extremely rare occurrence. He hadn’t struck her as a very patient man, but his moves on the chessboard showed differently. He had a broad steady hand. When his fingers brushed hers, she’d had to steel herself from reacting. The very idea of even having to stifle a reaction was terrifying. No one ever elicited strong emotion from her. It just couldn’t be done. Yet here she was, down one game with at least one other to go should she lose a second time.
She looked down at the large drawings covering the table. There were so many squiggles and lines dotted with small arrows and numbers it made her head ache. She shifted her gaze to the square outside the window to steady her nerves—not nerves—her equilibrium. Yes, her equilibrium was out of kilter from seeing her father at la Sous Rose. She drew in a deep breath and noted, with surprise, how quiet this area of town was. In Mayfair, the nights bustled until the wee hours and beyond. Even this close to Christmastide, when a good portion of the nobility were snugly stowed away in their country homes, the streets were clogged with those who’d remained in town to socialize.
Alex’s mind moved to the game she’d just lost. She could kick herself for being distracted by the scruff lining Mr. Millburn’s firm jaw. He worn no powder in his hair or on his face as most of the highbrow had at la Sous Rose. Her head itched thinking about it.
Perhaps she was hungrier than she’d first believed. For food, she inwardly clarified. She needed every ounce of wit she possessed if she was to pull off this insanity to garner a place of her own with her virtue intact.
“Your brandy, Giselle.” His breath feathered her neck, startling her. She had the most foolish desire to feel his lips there. An inkling to feel his large hands on her upper arms and pulled back into his chest seeped through her. The image startled her so badly, she spun quickly, knocking the proffered glass from his hands. His gaze fell to the spilled liquid then back to her, the firelight reflecting the amusement in his eyes.
She stared at the overturned glass, stunned. “I’m sorry.” She went to retrieve the glass but couldn’t due to the constraints of her corset and the wide banding of her pannier. Heat flooded her body.
“’Tis nothing to worry over… Giselle.” The low way he growled her name did something uncomfortable to her insides, turned them to mush. She could not afford to be distracted. “I’ll get you another.”
“Thank you, sir. That would be appreciated.” As there was nothing she could do about the glass on the carpet—not in this ridiculous costume—she garnered her control about her like a greatcoat and sauntered back to her chair. She selected a lemon tart and took a single bite for sustenance that crumbled like dust in her mouth.
She reset the chess pieces while he refilled their glasses. She had no intention of drinking more brandy. Her best games were those when her father and she had played deep into the night after he’d downed two and three spots of spirits. There was no reason to believe this man should be any different.
Men were men were men. No matter how attractive or tall they were or how insistently her heart pounded, the best thing for her purposes was to stave off the threatened apoplexy and remain focused and calm. No one could touch her inside or out if she didn’t let them.
No one.