Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager(20)

His smile sent a shiver running down her back.

‘Oh I want to seduce you, madam, but I have never yet forced any woman to accept my advances. So what do you say to the wager, Miss Susannah Prentess? A diamond worth thousands against a night with me?’

Susannah stared down at the glittering gem. She had beaten him once, and only lost the third game by ill luck. She had his measure now. Surely it was worth the risk. She realised that she was more of a gambler than she had ever known.

Slowly and deliberately she unwrapped a new pack.

* * *

‘My trick, I believe, Miss Prentess. And my game.’

Susannah put down her cards. It had not even been close. The viscount had started with the strongest hand, and although she had recovered a couple of tricks the outcome had never been in doubt. She swallowed, suddenly feeling very numb. When she managed to speak, her voice seemed to belong to some other creature, someone calm and not at all shaken by the thought of what she had agreed.

‘What time do you want me to join you on Thursday?’

‘Shall we say seven o’clock? My man will meet you at the entrance, you will not need to announce yourself at the desk.’

She raised her chin.

‘What if I do not come? What if I refuse to honour the wager?’

His eyes rested upon her. There was no hint of blue in them now. They were slate grey, dark and implacable.

‘You will come. It is not in your nature to go back on your word.’

The little flicker of defiance died.

‘You are right.’ She put her hands on the table to steady herself as she rose to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, I have neglected my other guests long enough.’

‘Of course.’ He stood, his bow the perfect mix of deference and respect. ‘Until Thursday, Miss Prentess.’

* * *

When she had gone Jasper resumed his seat. He took up the diamond pin and carefully secured it amongst the folds of his neckcloth. He had never before pursued a woman who was so reluctant to succumb to his advances. For an instant his conscience pricked him. He could be ruining an innocent woman.

No. He was saving his innocent cousin. Susannah

Prentess must never marry Gerald. How that came about was up to her—if she refused to give him up, then Jasper would make sure Gerald knew about her visit to York House. His cousin might be naïve, but he would not countenance marriage to a woman who had been unfaithful to him.

* * *

‘Your visitor, my lord.’

Peters ushered the veiled figure into the small parlour that doubled as a dining room and went out again, shutting the door behind him.

‘Welcome, ma’am.’

Jasper went towards her. She stood unmoving, and at last he reached out and lifted the veil from her face. She allowed him to remove her cloak and bonnet. He noted the pleated muslin around her shoulders, ending in a fashionable neck ruff. Chosen deliberately, he suspected, to hide her charms. Her gown was a deep sea-green silk, with a matching silk cord tied in a bow beneath her breasts. The ends of the cord hung down almost to the hem and were decorated with silk tassels that bobbed and shimmered whenever she moved, drawing the eye towards the matching shoes and the occasional glimpse of a dainty ankle. Her hair was caught up in a knot on her head, from which a few golden curls dangled enticingly over her ears and glinted in the candlelight. She had never looked more beautiful, or more frightened.

He took her hand.

‘You are ice-cold,’ he remarked, drawing her down on to a sofa before the fire.

‘I took a chair. I did not want any of my people to know my destination.’

‘What of Mrs Wilby?’

‘My aunt has gone to the Fancy Ball at the Upper Rooms with Mrs Logan. I told them I was...unwell.’

Again he was obliged to crush a prickle of conscience. He was doing this for Gerald. There need be no adverse consequences of this evening, as long as the lady agreed to his terms.

‘There is no need for anyone to know you are here, except my man, Peters, and I can vouch for his discretion.’ He smiled, hoping to dispel some of the anxiety in her face. ‘I have sent him off for the night. There will be no one to disturb us.’ He pointed to the table on the far side of the room. ‘You see your dinner; everything is there so we may serve ourselves, when you are ready.’

‘I am ready now. Let us get on.’ She tugged off her gloves. ‘I have urgent business that takes me out of Bath early tomorrow morning.’

She stalked to the table. Her whole demeanour indicated that she wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. She was not intent upon flattering him, Jasper thought ruefully, as he poured wine into two glasses.

‘Miss Prentess, we have a long evening ahead of us. It would pass much easier if we observe the basic civilities.’ He handed her a glass. ‘Will you cry quits with me, at least until we have finished our meal?’

There was a stormy look in her eyes, but after a brief hesitation she gave a little nod.

‘By all means, my lord.’

‘Good.’ He held out her chair, his eyes drawn to the smooth curve of her neck between the frilled edge of the ruff and her upswept hair. He resisted the temptation to bend and plant a gentle kiss there—she was not to be won by such a liberty.

Susannah remained upright on her chair, her nerves at full stretch. She did not understand the man. The air was thick with tension, every word, every gesture, seemed loaded with meaning. When she had taken her seat all she could think of was his hands on the chair behind her, just inches from her shoulders. It made her skin tingle. He had not touched her, and when he took his own seat he looked cool and at his ease. From the soup to the syllabub he served her with skill and courtesy, carving for her the most delicate slices from the roast duck, helping her to a portion of the sole in red wine, a sliver of the potato pudding. There was never a hint that she was anything more than an honoured guest, but all the time she was aware of him sitting across the table from her. She kept her feet tucked beneath her chair lest they should accidentally brush his.

She watched his hands as he served her, remembering how he had held out the syllabub when he had taken her down to supper at Royal Crescent, his long fingers holding the spoon to her lips, the wonderfully decadent sweetness of the soft mixture on her tongue. Of course she would not allow him such outrageous freedom again, but there was no denying that the syllabub set before her this evening was dull and lifeless in comparison.

Her lips were dry, but she would not run her tongue across them. That would show weakness and might rouse in him the desire she suspected was just below the surface. Yet he insisted he did not wish to seduce her, that he would do nothing without her permission. She sipped thoughtfully at her wine. Was this tension, the awareness, only within her? A surreptitious glance across the table showed that he was watching her, a faint smile on his handsome face.

And he was handsome. Sinfully so. She thought back to when they had danced together, remembering the covetous looks of the other ladies. How they would envy her, here alone with him. It must be the dream, the fantasy, of so many females. Yet Susannah knew it should remain as nothing more than a fantasy—the reality of what could lead from such an encounter as this was too horrendous, too devastating to consider. She must be on her guard against the feelings he aroused in her. How many times had she heard a poor, misguided girl say, ‘I could not help myself’?

* * *

‘If you have eaten your fill, ma’am, shall we retire from the table? It would be more comfortable to sit before the fire.’

The viscount’s words dragged her back from her reverie. He came around the table and held out his hand to her. Not by the flicker of an eyelid would she admit to the flash of awareness that shot through her when she placed her hand in his. She refused to lean upon him, even though her knees threatened to give way beneath her and her whole body was tingling and alive in a way that she had never known before. Her breasts were hard, pushing against the thin silk of her bodice and there was an ache of desire low down in her belly. She felt as if she was caught in some giant web. It wrapped around her, easing her closer towards her escort. When they reached the sofa it took all her effort to push against that invisible web and place herself at the very end, as far from that disturbing presence as it was possible to be.

The viscount did not appear to notice. Susannah held her breath, ready to leap up should he seat himself too close, or press himself up against her, but instead he stood a little to one side, looking down at her.

It was unbearable. If he had pounced, leered or directed lewd innuendo towards her she would have known how to react, but there was nothing lover-like or menacing in his behaviour. They might have been the best of friends, enjoying a meal together. Save that they were not friends. They were strangers, and they were totally alone in his suite of rooms in the most expensive hotel in Bath. Taking her courage in her hands, Susannah forced herself to look up and ask him a direct question.

‘Why are you doing this?’

He hesitated a heart’s beat before replying.