Page 33 of The Counterfeit Scoundrel
“You could have gambled at the Fair and Spare.”
“It’s not quite the same, though, is it. Everyone’s on their best behavior there, striving to make an impression of respectability and civility. I’ve always pictured a gaming hell as being a bit more accepting of scowls and profanity and tempers.”
His temper had certainly been on display. He didn’t want her recalling it, pondering it, or being frightened by it. Although he was beginning to suspect very little scared her, that, unlike Mrs. Mallard, she was never cowed. She was bold and daring. He was sitting here now with one of her soft hands holding his while she tended to it because she’d fairly ordered him about. She was a determined little minx, prepared to stand her ground to ensure he didn’t brush off an injury that did indeed need looking after.
He wanted her to reveal the truth of herself, here, now, in this quiet corner of his residence that smelled of baked bread and the early mornings of his childhood. What had hers been like? Who was she really? Therefore, he decided to direct the conversation away from himself and onto her.
“How is your aunt?” Her head came up so swiftly he was surprised it didn’t go flying off her shoulders andacross the room like Mallard’s false teeth. Her eyes were big and round in alarm, as though she’d been caught doing something she ought not. He felt a need to reassure her. “Perkins mentioned she was ill.”
“Oh, yes. I was quite relieved to confirm that she’s improving.”
“What is her ailment?”
“Her physician isn’t quite sure. Some sort of malaise. To be honest, it might be all the sherry. She does enjoy her sherry.”
“Ah. And what do you enjoy?” He’d dipped his head a fraction, enough to inhale fully her fragrance. He also caught the wispy scent of her skin, unique to her. He wanted to bury his nose into all the heated hollows: the curve of her neck, between her breasts, between her thighs. Breathe in deeply and simply relish.
She licked her lips, and he wished he’d been the one to dampen them. But then he wanted to dampen all of her, to coax little sighs of pleasure from her. Now that the fire of anger had been doused, the conflagration of desire had risen. It didn’t help matters that she held his hand so tenderly, that she took such care not to cause him discomfort as she gently kept the ice in place.
“Sherry. Brandy. Port,” she finally said.
“And red wine,” he uttered, his voice husky. Somehow their faces had come even closer together. He could sense her rapid, shallow breathing as her breaths wafted over his jaw. It wouldn’t take as much as a quarter of an inch turn to graze his mouth over her cheek. If he lowered his head a minuscule amount, he could learn the softness and taste of her neck.
“Yes. Although to be honest, I enjoy any wine that is open.”
“You should not be so easy to please.” He could count her eyelashes, but he couldn’t tear his attention away from the shade of her eyes or how they had darkened to the blue depths of a midnight sky. An hour when it was so incredibly easy to sin, when making excuses to do so required no effort at all.
“Should a lady be difficult?” she asked.
“She should require effort.”To woo.Only he wasn’t going to woo her. She wasn’t for him, would never be for him, and he needed to remember that, remember her possible purpose in being here. It wasn’t for him. It was for another man.
He placed his free hand over hers. “Why don’t you go on up to bed now? I can tend to my knuckles. Your tender ministrations have made everything feel much better.” Even his battered soul.
“I should, yes. The morning comes early.” She slipped her palm out from beneath his and stood. “Good night, sir.”
Suddenly they were back to employer and employee, when for most of the night they’d been something more: friends. “Good night, Marguerite.”
After she left, he got up and tossed the melting ice into the sink. He’d come very close to asking her to join him in his bed, to extend her comfort. And that would never do. He prayed he was wrong about her, that she wasn’t here to betray him.
Chapter 12
Sitting behind his desk, Bishop read the letter that had arrived from his man of affairs that morning.
Through a series of mishaps, including storms and damaged cargo, your father is struggling to remain afloat. Pun intended. Hoping to recoup his losses quickly, he has decided to branch out into horse racing and has made an offer on a gelding named Storm Chaser. Appropriate, yes? Please advise.
Bishop scoffed. Just like his sire to seek a quick, and what he assumed would be an easy, solution to a complicated matter. Wealth seldom arrived on the whim of a wager. Neither did vengeance.
Years ago, at the age of nineteen, when he’d first begun accumulating the funds that freed him of his father’s hold over him, he’d started plotting the scapegrace’s demise. He’d set out to thwart the old man’s dreams and happiness whenever possible by hiring a private investigator to keep him apprised of the elder Blackwood’s financial, social, and business arrangements. Eventually Bishop had the money to hire a man of affairs to whom the investigator reported, a man who took care of matters at Bishop’s request.
Now he dipped his pen into the inkwell and beganscrawling out the words that usually followed the arrival of a missive such as he’d just received.Offer double.
He, himself, had no desire to race a horse, but he suspected it was a beautiful beast that would enjoy jaunts through the park.
A few hours later, he’d just taken a bite of the beef stuffed sandwich that he was enjoying for his midday meal when Perkins strode in and presented him with a pristine ecru card resting on a silver salver like an island in the midst of an ocean. “Mr. Martin Parker has come to call.”
Two nights ago, Marguerite had seen him kissing Mrs. Parker, and the woman’s husband suddenly appeared, from out of nowhere, like a magician emerging through a cloud of smoke. It couldn’t be coincidence. Surely, Bishop was correct about Marguerite being an investigator. He wondered when she’d managed to get word to Parker. Perhaps the ailing aunt had been a ruse. He remembered her somewhat guilty reaction to his question. Yes, that was no doubt it. The chit was indeed duplicitous.
Setting down his sandwich, Bishop took the card, studied it, and tapped it against his desk. He suspected Parker was here to inform him about his plans to bring suit against Bishop for his role in his wife’s infidelity. He wondered what it was going to cost him, not that it mattered. He tossed his napkin onto the tray. “Have this taken away and then send him in.”
