Page 8 of The Marquess' Wicked Wager
“I’m certain I do not.” She ran her fingers quickly through her coppery curls before flipping them back behind her shoulder. “He is the scoundrel with blue eyes, and you are the rake with green.”
“I never expected any thanks from you. I had hoped you would never be privy to that sordid business. But I never expected you would be so foolish as to accuse me of the very thing I was trying to save you from.”
She let out a cold laugh. “So, you wished to win me in marriage and pretend you did not? You just assumed I would accept your advances and never be the wiser?” She crossed her arms and turned her chin up and away from him. “You flatter yourself, My Lord. I would never accept you in a thousand years.”
“You flatteryourself, Miss Worthington.” He let out a caustic chuckle of his own. “I’ve never made any advances on you, nor do I intend to. I was merely trying to stand up for the honor of an anonymous lady. An honor which your own father holds in very low regard, I might add.” He stepped in a tight circle to face her again. “And should I ever decide to make an advance on you, I’ve no doubt you’d gladly accept. Then perhaps pine for a thousand years.”
“You speak out of turn.” She snapped her eyes to his, her cheeks rosy red. “You first gamble for my honor and then degrade it. And all while pretending you’re some noble hero who has come to save me. You are worse than your father. For at least he does not pretend to be any better than he is.”
Fire flared in his veins, tightening the muscles in the back of his neck. “I am not degrading your honor. I was merely being clear about my intentions for you which I fear are purely propitiatory. I’ve no interest in dull society girls with all the passion God gave a fish.”
“A fish?” Miss Worthington lowered her chin, her face suddenly smooth as she slowly pulled the glove from her hand finger by finger. “A fish. Of course. What would a rake need of a dull society girl? I’m sure the harlots you attend know how to manage a home, take care of children, and can air out all your dirty laundry. And if they can’t, you always have your stable wife, hm?”
“You’ve something of an obsession with dirty laundry. Your head is positively brimming with idle gossip.”
“Mmm.” She nodded slowly, pulling her hand fully free from her glove. “Well, you cannot blame a fish for swimming in circles, can you? Though I have a mind to think you spend little time watching fish and instead snatch them up and eat them. Would you not agree, My Lord?” She looked up at him then, her blue eyes were wide beneath thick lashes.
He was struck by those eyes, the unanticipated defiance hiding inside them. A corner of his lips tipped up without intention. “Be wary, Miss Worthington. A less discerning gentleman may take such words as an invitation.”
“You are wrong. No gentleman would take my words as anything but what they are. Rakes on the other hand…” Her eyes stayed locked on his, the softthwapof her kid skinned glove the only sound between them as she slapped it gently into the palm of her hand. “… take everything as an invitation. But I am no expert on that matter. What do you think?”
He looked down at her glove and the silken texture of the snow-white skin it had once concealed. “Not only inexpert, I think you’re entirely unschooled in the ways of men. I also think you fail to appreciate how lucky you are that my uncle dragged me here this evening.”
“Lucky?” Her cool demeanor broke, and her fingers twitched. “At least if I were forced to marry your father he’d die sooner or later, and I could be a dowager, free to do as I please. You, I’m certain, will live far longer than I shall wish to, and that will drive me mad, instead. Do you wish to drive me mad, My Lord?”
“My dear lady, should you marry my father, I assure you that you would be mad before you ever left his castle.”
“Is that how you came to be? Driven wild by your father? Do you intend to place all your sins on the head of your father?”
“Perhaps I was wrong about you. When I saw you dancing with him earlier, I thought you looked positively disgusted. But maybe you have a preference for evil old libertines. Is that it? If that’s the case, say the word, and I will gracefully step aside.”
“The delineation between an evil old libertine and an evil young one is hardly something to split hairs over, My Dear Lord. I am certain you’re aware of it.” She raised the delicate arches of her eyebrows and smiled.
“And here I thought I’d made myself clear that I have no designs on you,” Albert smirked. “There must be some other reason you seem so fixated on the idea of marrying me.”
Miss Worthington took a step closer and slapped her glove against his chest. “Perhaps it is because as a woman I get very little say in my future at all—God forbid I make a thing of myself. Good thing I have such smart, capable men in my life to make the choice for me. I would not want to, say, gamble myself away in a game of cards. But you never know with us social fish. We are so very stupid.”
The tap of her glove sent lightning through his bones. He took a slow breath and tasted her perfume in the air. Not the usual rose water or jasmine. But what was it? He closed his eyes and breathed again. Sweet and bright and mysterious, like wildflowers on a moonless night. He opened his eyes slowly and smiled. “I did say before how lucky you were.”
“I believe you did, yes,” she smiled and leaned in, her other hand pressing ever so slightly against his chest. “Somewhere between gambling for my wifely duties like some worthless trinket and telling me I am obsessed.”
Albert stuck his tongue in his cheek. He could no longer resist his insatiable curiosity to know if her skin was as soft as it looked. Meeting her eyes again, he ran the edge of one finger over the back of her hand. “Hardly a worthless trinket,” Albert scoffed. “I bet my house in London for you.”
“Did you?” she asked softly, fluttering her lashes just enough to offset the sparkles in her eyes. “Your London house?”
Albert nodded. “Six rooms may not seem like much, but like so many things, real estate is all a matter of location. How close a man is to the object of his desires...” He ran his tongue lightly over the edge of his teeth. “I would’ve been most bereaved to have had to part with it.”
“You value property very highly, don’t you? A fine house. Acres of fertile land, perhaps?”
“Remington Estate has more than enough fertile land to support my lifestyle.” He shook his head, glancing from her hand on his chest to her eyes. “London produces no income, but the bed is comfortable.”
“Ah. So that’s what you’re after,” she whispered, lifting on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his ears. “Another bit of property to fill the empty slot in your bed.” She shoved him back and pulled herself to her full height. “You are nothing short of deplorable.”
Albert laughed, brushing a wrinkle from his jacket. His hands and face were tingling, and he had to rub his ear against his shoulder to try to banish the tickle her lips had left to linger.
“I admit I like to keep warm.” Albert smiled when he met those sparkling blue eyes again, sunlight dancing in freshwater. “And you, Miss Worthington? Does the cold ever creep into your lonely bed?”
ChapterFour
