MILDRED SCANNED THE gaming hall looking for her cousin. She spotted him at the faro table flanked on either side by two beauties. The flaxen-haired beauty to his right leaned often toward him, her shoulder grazing his every other minute. The woman to his left had wide rouged lips, and the longest lashes Mildred had ever seen. She batted them at Alastair from behind her ivory-handled fan.
The attentions of the two women did not surprise Mildred, for the Marquess of Alastair had a striking, if not imposing, countenance framed by the d’Aubigne curls of ebony and all the qualities desired in form for his sex: a broad chest, square shoulders, and posture that accentuated his height. Though Mildred had not been struck at first by his handsomeness, for his eyes did not glimmer with charm and he did not often smile, since their encounter at Château Follet, she had come to find him compelling in other ways.
"Please let Lord Alastair know that his cousin wishes to speak to him," Mildred informed the footman. She could tell the Marquess was engrossed in his game, for he paid the two women beside him little attention. Mildred would not be surprised if he should choose to ignore her request for an audience. His butler, in informing her of his lordship's whereabouts, had warned her that he would not wish to be disturbed. For that reason, Mildred had kept her bonnet and coat.
She drew in a sharp breath as she watched the footman deliver her message to Alastair. Her cousin glanced up from his cards, he seemed neither pleased nor displeased, and Mildred decided it mattered not if he should see her. If he declined, she could always write him a letter expressing her gratitude. Indeed, she wondered at the necessity in coming to deliver her thanks in person. She wondered at her own eagerness. Had it been simply an excuse to see him?
The footman returned, and Mildred braced herself to receive the news that the Marquess was indisposed, but the servant said, "If it pleases you, miss, you may await his lordship in the parlor down the hall."
She released the breath she had been holding and answered, "Yes, of course."
She followed the footman to the parlor. After he had left her alone, she sauntered about the small but nicely appointed room. She had not the patience to sit upon the sofa in the middle of the room. Why, of a sudden, did she feel nervous? It was silly. She was merely going to thank him.
She had only felt such nerves one other time with her cousin. It was the night she had approached him at his aunt Katherine's birthday to request his assistance in getting out of her engagement with Haversham. She did not often find him as intimidating as others would.
But there was no denying that the nature of their relationship had changed since that fateful night at the Château Debauchery. Not only had she lifted her skirts to him, she had done so in the most wicked and wanton fashion.
To keep her mind from straying into the past, she studied the baroque longcase clock in the corner, wandered to the hearth to warm her gloved hands at the fire, and viewed herself in the looking glass above the mantel. She was glad she was comely enough such that Alastair had capitulated to her desires. She had fancied that perhaps he had even desired her a little, enough to be aroused, though she had heard that his sex required little in the way of arousal and could be titillated by the prospect of congress with any woman, even if she was not the most striking.
“What is amiss?”
She whirled about to face her cousin. Now that he was in closer proximity, he appeared more imposing. She tried not to recall how strong and heavy his body had felt against her.
“Nothing,” she answered, gratified that his voice had carried more concern than was his custom.
“Then why are you here, Millie?”
Now he sounded displeased.
“I came first to thank you,” she said, refusing to be intimidated by his mood. “Father said that Haversham departs for Scotland on the morrow.”
“Good riddance. May I suggest that you pick your next husband more carefully?”
“Of course. I rather think that I shall not be accepting any more proposals for some time.”
He made no reply, and she suspected that he desired to return to the card tables, but she could not leave without addressing her other request.
“I would have written a letter to express my heartfelt thanks, but I was uncertain when it would reach you, and I did not think that it would have adequately communicated the sincerity of my gratitude.”
“No thanks are necessary.”
Knowing the best manner of thanks she could provide at the moment was allowing him to return to his cards, and perhaps the two beauties that awaited him, Mildred could not resist staying him for just a minute. “But you will have it, nonetheless, for it is the proper and polite response to express gratitude where it is due.”
“And when have you known me to care for what is proper and polite?”
She grinned. “I will do what is right and bestow my thanks. You may choose to receive it however you wish.”
“Consider yourself acquitted of any further obligation. What is your second reason for coming, and I daresay I hope there is not a third?”
“Worry not. I do not plan to keep you long, and you may return to your vices soon. I have but a simple request.”
He raised his brows. “Another request?”
She flushed, realizing she had imposed upon him rather often of late. “It shall be my last.”
“I pray it so or it might become a habit.”
Ignoring his rudeness, she forged on. “I should dearly appreciate it if you were to return my dowry to the original amount of two thousand pounds—or even less.”
He stared at her.
“I know not what my father might have said,” she continued, “but two thousand pounds was more than kind.”
He crossed his arms. “Never before have I encountered anyone whom it is so difficult to bestow money to. You spoke of what is proper and polite. It would be proper and polite of you to accept my donation and be grateful for it.”
“I am grateful for your generosity but would not encroach upon it further.”
“Alas, it is not for you to do so. Your father has accepted the new dowry on behalf of your family.”
“Well, of course he did!”
“Because anyone of middling intelligence would.”
She drew in a sharp breath, then saw a glimmer in his eyes that allowed her to release her breath. “Alastair, you have been more than kind, but four thousand pounds is beyond the pale. I do not merit such a sum.”
“There are plenty of unworthy women with far larger dowries than you.”
She suppressed a scowl. “But why the need to increase the amount?”
“Because you merit better than Haversham.”
“But four thousand pounds will attract every Tom, Dick and Harry.”
“That is not my problem, Millie.”
“But you—” She forced herself to take a breath. How the man tried her civility!
“You are a clever girl. I expect you will learn the art of rejecting your suitors without badly wounding their hearts—or pride.”
“I’ve no wish to. Dealing with Haversham was enough for me.”
“Millie, you have made several requests of me, and I have no desire to encourage further requests from you. Thus, my answer is no.”
Her mouth hung agape before she landed upon another strategy. “If that is your position, then you shall have to suffer my gratitude and many, many expressions of it—and often—profusely—for such a level of generosity deserves praise and—”
To her surprise, he drew up before her, and the air surrounding them suddenly constricted.
“Are you threatening me?” he growled.
Her heart palpitated rapidly. His proximity left her without words.
“If we were at Château Follet right now…” he began.
She quivered at the unnamed possibilities. Though she had told herself that one too many glasses of wine had contributed to the amorous affect her cousin had upon her, the truth was rather different, as evidenced by the melting sensation she currently felt.
Seeing that he had silenced her, he retreated a pace. “Are we done, Millie?”
Never had gathering words proved so difficult, but she managed a “yes.”
Pulling her shawl tighter about her, she made for the doors.
“Wait.”
The command sent her hurling back to that night at Château Follett, when she had followed his directives in delicious delight. Her heart still beating rapidly, she dared not look at him, not wanting him to see the effect he had upon her.
“How did you arrive?” he inquired.
She turned around only after she had enough composure in hand. “I walked here by foot.”
He looked toward the window. The skies outside had begun to darken. “The hour is late. You should take my carriage.”
“Thank you for the offer, but I am not daunted by the distance home.”
“Did you come alone?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then you will take my carriage.”
“I enjoy walking.”
The cool air would help dampen the warmth swirling inside her.
He gave her a penetrating stare, and for a moment, she thought he might finish the thought he’d had earlier and specify a punishment for her refusal. She shivered at such a prospect. Would he take the crop to her? The flogger?
“I will not require my carriage for some time,” he said, removing any last obstacle to her acceptance. “Time enough for my driver to take you home and return.”
“Very well,” she declared. Then, wanting to reclaim a little of her pride, she dared to irk him. “I accept your hospitality. Let it not be said that the Marquess of Alastair lacks kindness.”
His countenance darkened, and he grumbled, “Consider yourself fortunate, Millie, that we are not at Château Follett.”
His words took her breath once more. She wanted a ready retort but could not conjure one. She watched him open the doors and call to a footman to have his carriage ready.
“Good night, Millie,” Alastair said before heading back to the card room.
She was glad he did not tarry to keep her company while she waited for his carriage. His presence rattled her more than she liked. Now that he had mentioned Château Follett, there was no holding back from venturing there in her mind.