Page 5 of My Kind of Scoundel
“So the vixen breaks cover and bares her teeth.”
“Had you been civil, we might have joked about this over a bottle of claret and a game of piquet. As it is, you force me down a road I had hoped to avoid. I mean to reclaim my box, Mr Chance, by wicked means if necessary. ”
He wasn’t the least bit fazed. “Challenge accepted. You sound like my kind of scoundrel, Miss Darrow, and I am more than willing to play your game.”
Indeed, he could not recall when he’d last felt the potent thrum of excitement coursing through his veins. Any hopes of outwitting her evaporated when he noticed three people appear at the end of the long corridor.
The popinjay leading two ladies towards them was not the Earl of Berridge but his only son and heir, Viscount Wrotham—Theo’s inept cousin. The beauty gripping his arm was none other than Lady Lucille Bowman. The deceitful wretch who’d refused Theo’s suit so she might marry the heir to an earldom.
Panic ensued.
He could handle Wrotham, but the sight of the womanwho had tricked him brought bile to his throat. His arrogance, once a sturdy coat of armour, had taken too many hits to be effective.
“Are you well, Mr Chance?” Miss Darrow’s worried tone jolted Theo back to the present. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She was still gripping his waistcoat in her dainty hand, still standing so close they looked like lovers. That’s when he realised there was a way to bolster his defences. A way to slake his curiosity, too.
“Shall we make a trade, Miss Darrow?”
“A trade?”
“I shall tell you where you can find your box.” Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, he held Miss Darrow’s gaze. Her eyes had a tranquil allure, like a verdant meadow beneath the moon’s soft glow. “In exchange, I have a demand of my own.”
Miss Darrow was near breathless when she said, “What could you possibly want from a lowly modiste, Mr Chance?”
He smiled to himself.
“A kiss, Miss Darrow. That’s what I want from you.”
Chapter Two
“A kiss?” Eleanor was convinced she had misheard. A minute ago, they had been waging war. Now, the man who haunted her dreams stared into her eyes and offered the one thing she craved. “Have you lost your wits?”
Perhaps hehadtaken a dose of laudanum tonight.
Maybe he’d downed a bottle of claret before the performance.
“There’s no time to explain.” Theodore Chance bent his head until his mouth was mere inches from hers. “Kiss me now, Miss Darrow. The more authentic the caress, the more information you’ll earn.”
Authentic? She had never kissed a man in her life.
But as she locked eyes with him, she found herself lost in the beauty of his cerulean gaze. A lady could dive into the fathomless depths and never resurface. One might be hypnotised into forgetting danger lurked below.
“Miss Darrow?” he pressed, his warm breath breezing over her lips.
Three figures emerged from the left, catching her eye. Ina world where social connections were currency, it paid to know every fashionable lady in town. Thus, she knew the golden-haired beauty on Viscount Wrotham’s arm was a woman Mr Chance admired.
“You plan to use me to annoy Lady Lucille Bowman?”
She would tell him to go to the devil if she wasn’t desperate to reclaim her sewing box. Without it, she might not survive the night.
“Does it matter? We’ve contemplated kissing each other before.”
“Have we? Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
A sly smile played on his lips. “Your feminine qualities have not gone unnoticed. I’ve seen the way you look at me, Miss Darrow. I’m experienced enough to know you’ve thought about more than kissing.”
The conceited devil.
