Page 48 of Beyond Scandal and Desire
“You’re a stubborn wench.”
She’d never considered herself as such. It was odd, the various previously hidden aspects he brought out in her. “I suppose I can be when the situation warrants.”
Another deep sigh, this one fraught with defeat. She’d have thought him a man to never surrender. “I’ll send my man to find a hansom. It may take a while. At least come inside while you wait, where it’s dry and warm. There’s a parlor off the lobby. Imagine a fire blazing.”
Although the rain wasn’t hitting her directly, she’d grown chilled standing there with the mist circling about. “Yes, all right. Thank you.”
He raised a hand and with two fingers, signaled someone over. The porter, carrying an umbrella. She supposed he kept one handy to assist those who arrived at the hotel in the rain. “He’ll escort you inside. I’ll join you in a minute.”
Holding the umbrella over her head, not bothering to shield himself, the porter offered his arm. Gripping it to ensure she remained steady as they traversed the slick brick path that led to the steps, she glanced over to see Mick talking to his coachman. She hadn’t meant to be such an inconvenience, should probably have accepted his offer of the carriage, but it seemed wrong in light of what had happened in his office.
The porter guided her along the path, up the steps, the rain pattering the umbrella, a bit harder than she’d expected. Its strength was increasing. She’d have been drenched if she’d tried to make it back inside on her own. So many things she didn’t consider because they were automatically done for her. She didn’t like realizing she was so incredibly pampered, protected, shielded.
They’d barely gotten inside when Mick joined them. “Go on into the parlor, make yourself comfortable.”
She left them there, with him giving instructions to the porter—Jones, he’d called him earlier. For some reason it seemed important to remember that. She hadn’t viewed the parlor the other night; it hadn’t been part of her private tour. Dark wood paneling and dark red velvet chairs with fringe dangling from the seats made the room seem at once both masculine and feminine. She chose a chair near the fireplace where no fire burned. A chill swept through her. She’d been silly to insist on a hansom when a perfectly good carriage waited outside. But she wasn’t going to delay his seeing to his business, wasn’t going to be any more beholden to him than she already was.
The tread of heavy footsteps had her glancing over to watch Mick stride into the room, so gracefully, with such strength, such command. This was his domain, his lair. He was lord here, and she had the sudden thought she might have been better off walking home, even as she found herself mesmerized by his movements.
Without a word, he crouched before the hearth and began the task of lighting the fire. He wore no gloves. Those strong, capable hands adjusted the placement of the logs, did other things, the purpose of which she hadn’t a clue.
“Don’t you have servants to do that?” she asked. The duke, bless him, called in a footman if the fire was in need of stirring.
“I’m not going to wake them for this. I’ve been building fires since I was seven, Lady Aslyn.”
She didn’t like that he’d added the title back to her name, wanted the earlier intimacy when she shouldn’t. The fire caught, the wood crackled, the warmth began to spread beyond him.
He unfolded that tall, marvelously sculpted body of his, turned, stepped forward and took a blanket draped over the desk clerk’s arm. She hadn’t heard the man arrive. Not unusual. Staff learned to walk on silent feet. Still, she was surprised by his presence. Holding two snifters, he set one on the small table beside her chair, the other on a table beside a chair opposite hers, then quickly made his exit.
“I thought you had appointments,” she said to Mick.
He shook out the blanket, bent at the waist, draped the covering over her lap, tucking it in against her sides. He leaned in nearer, his eyes holding hers. “They can wait. They’re not nearly as important as you.”
It wasn’t fair when he spoke words she’d longed for Kip to say. “I was being considerate, trying to save you some bother.” Her voice came out low, raspy. Nothing about her seemed to stay as it was whenever this man was near.
“No bother. I enjoy seeing after you.” Words a suitor might utter, but Kipwick never had. But then he hadn’t had to court her; their eventual arrangement had always been understood. She should have made him work for it. Maybe then he’d appreciate what he had—or had once had. From her viewpoint, their understanding was no longer what it had been.
Mick moved away, dropped into the vacant chair and lifted the snifter. “This will warm you better than a blanket or a fire.”
“Brandy?”
“Cognac to be precise.” He waited until she’d retrieved her glass, raised his slightly higher, bent his head just a tad in a very inviting manner. “Cheers.”
She sipped. The liquid was velvet on the tongue, smooth as it seared its way along her throat. She couldn’t recall tasting anything as rich or flavorful. She imagined it had cost him a pretty penny. “It’s delicious.”
“I’m glad you enjoy it.”
Taking another sip, allowing the warmth to seep through her, to give her a sense of lethargy, she was half tempted to curl up and go to sleep. “So tell me the details of the wager.”
“Hmm.” He shifted his gaze to the fire, which was blazing now, creating a comforting atmosphere, one that required a book or a dog in the lap. “We were at the Cerberus Club, Aiden’s gaming establishment. The game was poker. I’d only just sat down to play. Kipwick had been at it a while. Our first hand, I knew I could outbid him so I offered him an exchange.” His eyes returned to her, level, honest, bold. She always felt he studied her with every fiber of his being, that he marked her breaths, the beat of her heart. That not even a blink escaped his scrutiny. “If I won, he’d bring you to the ball. If he won, he’d not only gain the pot but all the chips that remained to me. With what I’d wagered and what remained, he’d have taken in more than a thousand pounds.”
She was immediately struck with two realizations: that Mick would risk so much to have her here and Kipwick would riskherfor monetary gain. Flattery and disgust battled within her. “And you won.”
He gave a long, slow nod.
“You both used me as an object.” Her voice was tart, reflected her anger.
“I wanted your company, your presence here that night. I didn’t care what anyone else I invited thought of the place, but I valued your opinion. I was willing to engage in a questionable tactic. I’d already asked him to bring you and he’d refused, fearing for your reputation.”
