Page 9 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
Edna forced herself to look away from the Marquess’ penetrating gaze and blush as a proper lady should. Not that she was behaving like a proper lady at all at the moment. There was something about this man’s cavalier laughter when discussing such serious matters that caught her completely off-kilter. Could rakishness be contagious? She clenched her bare fingers at the thought. She would not become his prey—an utterly helpless fish he could snatch up from the water and call himself a hero for rescuing even as it suffocated by his hands.
His question was preposterous. All his questions seemed to be. No gentleman had ever spoken so brashly to her before, not even her father. It in equal parts infuriated and fascinated her. Was this bold openness how other couples spoke? Or was it ridiculous to even think a scoundrel could be part of a proper couple?
She snuck a look back at the Marquess through hooded lashes and hated him all the more for looking so devilishly handsome. Janine had not been wrong calling him the most attractive catch of the evening. And she, herself, had not been wrong calling him for what he was. A deplorable rake.
Edna pulled her shoulders back and returned a defiant gaze. “Would you ask your mother such a question?”
“I’d be happy to if anybody could tell me where she is.” He stepped closer to her. “What is your Christian name?”
“Failed to win my name in the bet, did you?” she chuckled coolly. “Or were you planning to just rename me after your favorite mare?”
“Rosehip? Oh, you should be so lucky.” He paused. “I did win the bet. Not that my father has any intention of honoring it.” He glanced away and the edge of his lip curled in a snarl that disappeared as soon as he met her eyes again. “Do you refuse to tell me? I’m going to find out one way or another.”
“Find away, My Lord, for I absolutely do refuse to tell you. Your bet was not with me. My only part in the whole affair was to be the unwitting prize.”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “In that case, I will be forced to give you a name. Though not that of my favorite mare.” He rubbed two fingers over his lips, his eyes sweeping over her. “I shall call youBluefor your eyes.”
She could not help but scowl. “That is utterly dreadful.”
“Well, what name do you like? Other than Miss Worthington, that is. I can’t abide calling you by it. In my mind, Worthington is that fat, flatulent fool you call a father.”
“I would like very much for you not to call me a name at all and to be on your way.” She smiled up at him prettily and tilted her head to the right, waiting with raised brows for him to oblige.
“All right then. Blue it is.” He bit the edge of his thumb and glanced down the corridor. She winced once more at the awful name though she enjoyed the way his lips formed to say it. “You realize we’re still standing just down the hall from the gentlemen’s games room,” he pointed out, bobbing his head. “My presence here is far more appropriate than yours.”
“You have circled back to tell me where I do and do not belong again, have you? And why should I care? It does not matter how much I shine if I’ve already been unwillingly snatched up by dirty hands. But I am fortunate, am I not? That they belong to a man who values property so highly.”
“It was a matter of principle. Nothing more. I’ll be sure everyone knows that. I would never win my wife in a game of cards. Unless, of course, that was merely the first step of many.”
Against expectation, his words did not soothe her; instead, they lit an uncomfortable fire in her very center. “How dare you!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How dare you make a fool of me by playing for my hand in a round of cards, and then tell me I am not worth your time.” She began to raise her trembling hand and forced it down. “By claiming the right to my hand and then tossing me aside, you have all but declared my value to be less than the bottom of your shoe.”
The Marquess was still a moment, his forest green eyes fixed to hers. “Such flush in your skin. I should apologize for making you so upset, but I think this vision was worth it.”
She did not hold back this time, raising her hand and swinging it toward the Marquess. He caught her wrist and pulled her closer. Then, before she could do little more than flutter a hand weakly against his chest, hekissedher!
Edna lit aflame, everything from the tip of her nose to her pinched feet radiated with an unfamiliar heat. A fuzziness filled her mind similar to when she imbibed too much at Christmastide, only she had no such excuse for poor behavior this time. No excuse for not pulling away when he pressed her against the wall and ran his hand through her curls and down her neck. Nor when he pressed himself against her so the full of her back lay flat against the wood. And certainly, no excuse for the little moan that escaped her parted lips, unbidden.
His lips were soft and warm; his kiss, firm. She had ought else to compare it to…but she realized at once why women were so easy to tempt. It took all her better judgement, of which there was little left, to pry herself from him, to deny herself his taste.
She ripped herself free from his hold and ducked under the hand he had pressed against the wall above her. Her chest heaved in a way that made her entirely too aware of the low cut in the neckline of her blue silk and chiffon gown. He had been right about her flush skin, and her lips stung.
The Marquess stepped up to her and ran two fingers over her burning clavicle before she couldthinkto utter a word. “Good night, Blue.”
“You dishonor a woman without even knowing her name,” she said through tiny, unladylike gasps though she did not pull away from his touch. It sent far too many new sensations through her body for her to be rid of it, yet.
“I’ll know your name. Before I leave here tonight, I’ll know your name. And who knows what else?” He smiled and bit the corner of his lip. Then he turned and started down the corridor.
She pressed her tingling lips together and spun around, storming into the ballroom around the corner with far more haste than she had intended. When several pairs of gentlemen looked up from their conversations to stare at her, she slowed her pace and forced a smile onto her face. Her bare hand lifted unbidden to where he had stroked her clavicle. The rake. If anyone had caught them, she would have been ruined. He’d done everything but lift her skirts in the gardens out back.
Edna blushed at the thought. Then blushed harder that the thought had occurred thinking ofhim. For now that she thought of it, she did not know his Christian name, either. How could she when she was too busy accusing him of being an uncivilized brute? Which he most certainly was.
A hand brushed her arm. She spun around, hands clutched to her chest and eyes wide then relaxed. “Godmother! You gave me a fright.”
Her godmother lifted a carefully sculpted brow. “Whatever are you going on about, child? We are in the middle of a ball. There is more light in here than London Square at midnight awaiting the queen’s arrival.”
