Page 110 of The Lord Meets His Lady
She patted his arm. “It wasn’t all bad.”
But life in the Wolf’s grand house didn’t compare to a certain cottage. Reinhard Wolf had never shared his secrets, never made her laugh, never sought to know her deepest wishes. If she let him, he’d meet her needs…except her heart and soul would not be filled.
“But it wasn’t good. Not enough to make you want to stay.” He steered her along the fireplace before turning to the gold brocade settee where Mrs. Grey waited.
Lord Bowles frowned at them in his hawkish way, a man ready to fly to her aid. Lord Barnard set a glass of whiskey before him. Her heart sank. She was supposed to be here for his support. He’d done so much for her already. She tried to pull free, but Herr Wolf’s large paw manacled her.
“We’re not finished.”
His hand was warm, calloused on the side of his forefinger where he practiced fighting with a blade. The same hand had touched her intimately, brought her to heights of pleasure, and was content when she slipped off at midnight to seek her own bed. Not once had Reinhard begged her to sleep with him.
“Tell me, Reinhard. Do you love me?”
His beastly glower was priceless. “I want you. It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not.” She eyed his hand on hers, saying firmly, “Now let me go.”
A silk-clad arm linked with hers. “Lady Bowles, I’ve been waiting most impatiently for you to join me.” Mrs. Grey. She smiled sweetly at Genevieve and Herr Wolf.
The Prussian’s nostrils flared at the intrusion, but impeccable manners forced his hand. Born to Prussia’s Junker class, he knew the lay of the land. A curt bow, and his long legs took him to a seat beside Lord Barnard.
Mrs. Grey guided Genevieve to the settee. “We have prime seating for what looks to be a fine battle,” she murmured. “Something tells me you’re at the center of it.”
They sank down on brocade the color of sunset.
Genevieve’s chin dipped to avoid Mrs. Grey’s perceptive eyes, and she stroked the bright fabric. “This is a pretty room.”
“It’s supposed to mimic an aviary.” The widow’s head tipped for a view of the ceiling. “I call it a cage.” She shrugged, her gaze meandering over the mural of red and blue birds in flight as if such beauty were commonplace in everyone’s home. “But I’m more interested in your story. Do tell.”
At the table, Lord Barnard shuffled cards. Lord Halliburton cut the deck. Lord Bowles and Herr Wolf tossed a few pound notes into a pile of money, and the cards were dealt. Mr. Beckworth braced a hand on a timbered beam and watched.
Genevieve scooted to the edge of the cushion. “There’s nothing to say.”
“You’re not getting off that easily.” Mrs. Grey’s voice was low. “I know that Prussian’s involved. You can see it by the way he stares at you.”
Genevieve folded her hands in her lap andfelther mouth pull in its safe, serious line. The lady’s smile danced with life. Upon closer inspection, Mrs. Grey was well into her third decade. Faint lines sketched the corners of her eyes, yet she glowed.
“Oh, very well, Lady Bowles. I’ll not corner you. After all, we’re neighbors. There’s plenty of time for us to get to know each other.”
“You’re staying in Cornhill-on-Tweed?”
“For the time being. I’m a social outcast in most places.” A light frown marred her brows. “Be careful. I might taint you,” she added while plucking another glass from a passing footman.
Mrs. Grey cradled the drink on her knee, and they spoke of safe subjects like Twelfth Night celebrations and Mrs. Grey’s love for archery and water coloring. Genevieve glanced at the gambling table where several rounds had been played. Then she looked to Mr. Beckworth, who scowled mutely at the card game.
In all the worry about Herr Wolf, she’d forgotten about the horses.
Lord Bowles sat, legs sprawled under the table. He stretched free of his coat, letting the green velvet hang limp over his chair. Lord Halliburton held cards in one hand, and his other hand tugged loose his cravat. Herr Wolf smiled and showed his cards.
“Court cards, gentlemen. I win.”
Lord Barnard groaned, dropping his cards. “And you call this a frivolous pursuit.”
Herr Wolf scooped the pound notes and arranged them in a neat stack. “What is it youEnglischsay? Child’s play.”
“That’s easily a hundred pounds,” Lord Halliburton huffed before yanking his cravat off. “We should lower the stakes, or I’ll have to yield my seat to Beckworth and send myself off to bed with warm milk.”
Mr. Beckworth didn’t move. “You can keep your seat. Bowles will gamble on my behalf.”
