Page 30 of The Duke's Stolen Heart
Chapter 10
Havencrest’s blood thudded in his ears so loudly he could hardly hear the sound of the bell tower marking the half hour. He willed his unruly body to quiet. Defiant, his cock twitched with interest at Antonia Lowry’s proximity.
This had been a terrible idea.
It had all seemed so simple last night. When Lady Jersey had pulled him aside to admonish him for leading Miss Lowry into trouble, Malcolm had spotted an opportunity and decided to capitalize upon it. He had prevailed upon connections to locate a dancing master, who had begun offering lessons to all comers, to let him this space in the mornings. It had cost him a small fortune. Now that he had her, though, Malcolm was no closer to figuring out what to do with Miss Lowry than he had been before.
“You have discovered my grandmother’s favorite pastime,” he croaked, wishing there was a servant to bring tea.
“Playing cards,” Antonia replied as if nothing had passed between them. A moment ago, he would have sworn she had been about to kiss him, but now he’d never guess it.
“Yes.” He fiddled with the metronome until his unsteady hands lost their shake. “Each Friday she hosts an afternoon card session in her parlor after tea. Friends and their invitees only. High stakes, by old women’s standards.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Antonia demanded.
“Old ladies aren’t known for their cutthroat betting. Dowagers tend to be a cautious lot.”
Antonia rolled her big brown eyes as though she thought him the simplest of children. “They may not have much to wager, yet I suspect the pot is richer than you might think.”
“What makes you think that?” he demanded. “Don’t you ever get tired of challenging every single sentence I utter?”
She laughed. “Which question do you want me to answer first?”
“Both.” Damn this confounding woman.
“Rich old ladies have no further responsibilities. They can spend their money however they wish. You? Men like you, with properties to maintain and servants to pay and wives to court and children to beget?”
Malcolm’s entire body tightened at the thought of begetting children on Antonia.
“That costs money,” she declared. “A lot of it. And from what I have observed over the past several months, heirs with coin to spend don’t often use it well. You buy fast horses and sleek carriages and the services of beautiful women. Older ladies have steady incomes, a lifetime of wisdom and a keen sense of risk. They bet high when they wish to and delight in fleecing those who challenge them.”
It occurred to Malcolm that she was not innocent. Even if Miss Lowry was a virgin—not that it mattered to him whether or not she was—she possessed insight into how the world worked that debutantes usually did not. However she had gained it, he enjoyed the way it kept their back-and-forth on an even keel. He might gain the upper hand for a while, but he could count upon Antonia to knock him off balance in short order. This stood in stark contrast to Lady Margaret, who agreed too quickly in her eagerness to please. That gave him great discomfort. Malcolm would much rather spar.
“Are you saying this about all older women or my grandmother in particular?” he demanded. Now that blood had begun circulating about as normal, instead of rushing to make a nuisance in his trousers, Malcolm set about his second order of business. He removed their outerwear from the table and set the damp wool in a heap on the floor. Her mantle and his great coat twined together in a lump. Even that sad pile brought to mind uncomfortable flickering images of their bodies entwined. He exhaled and moved the two chairs into place on opposite sides of the table.
“I am saying this about your grandmother.” Antonia smoothly seated herself across from him. If her bruised bottom bothered her, she didn’t show it.
“Why?” he asked pointedly. Malcolm patted his pockets and withdrew a rectangle of card stock.
“Because last night, I had an opportunity to observe her at play while you and Margaret were flitting about the dance floor like a pair of ill-matched marionettes,” Antonia responded tartly. She picked up the deck of cards he had placed face-down on the table and began to shuffle them.Thhhftp.
“We are rather ill-matched, aren’t we?” He cut the deck with a snap. “Dancing with Lady Margaret is like dancing with a…”Child.“Doll.”
“No. It doesn’t look right, the two of you together. Maggie hardly comes up to your shoulder. It is impossible to imagine you kissing her.”
“Or her kissing me.” Cards skimmed across the scuffed pinewood. The game would come easily to her, unlike the dancing. It required no trust. The thought deflated him. Malcolm had given Antonia little reason to place her faith in him, but he needed more from her than the vaguely hostile back-and-forth. He wanted the vulnerability he had seen in her autumn-leaf eyes when they’d been dancing. He could sketch her features from memory, blindfolded. The precise slant of her nose and the curves of her full lips were that crisply burned into his imagination.
Worse, they were replacing the cobwebby memories of his mother.
“Margaret wouldn’t,” Antonia insisted in a bored tone. She flipped over the first card. Malcolm caught the stubbornness in her chin and read uncertainty in her posture. She wouldn’t meet his gaze until he failed to play promptly. Then she pinned him with a cool glare and arched one eyebrow. “Are you going to play?”
“What makes you so certain?” he asked casually as he flipped up an eight of diamonds. “Perhaps Margaret is more serious about me than you believe.”
“Just like a man to believe every woman has a weakness for him.” Antonia snapped a card down onto the table. “Must you be so predictable?”
Malcolm chuckled. He’d gotten under her skin, and the sight of mildly envious Antonia set a spark to the powder keg of his attraction to her. Her toe tapped the air beneath her skirt hem as it often did when she was anxious. “Would it bother you?”
“Would what bother me?” Antonia parried, scooping up a trick with a triumphant gloat.
