Gayle Wilson - My Lady's Dare

And so he appeared to be now. No one was aware of the surge of rage that had engulfed him as he had watched Bonnet humiliate and then physically mistreat Elizabeth Carstairs. It had brought back too vividly to his mind a torture far more brutal, but almost certainly as casually done. And to a victim who had been as helpless to prevent it as Bonnet’s victim had been.

When the Frenchman reentered the room, he was pulling down his cuffs as he came through the door. Their costly lace fell over his hands as he walked back to the table. He nodded to his guests and waited as one of the servants hurried to restore his chair, which was still lying overturned on the thick carpet.

When he was seated, Bonnet raised his eyes to the earl. “I believe we were discussing the terms of your wager, my lord?”

Gradually, the smile began to fade as Dare said nothing, his eyes on the gambler’s face. It disappeared completely when the earl spoke.

“What if your house, like your emerald, monsieur, has some hidden flaw? One may examine a stone, but it would be difficult to verify your claim of a free and clear title tonight.”

“Do you doubt my word, my lord?”

“You didn’t know the stone was flawed,” Dare reminded him, his voice free of inflection. “Perhaps there is some…impediment to your title that you are also unaware of? How should I know if that were the case?”

“I possess nothing else of value, Lord Dare. My assets are, at the moment, all tied up in this establishment. It is a recent purchase and needed a great deal of refurbishing. I’m afraid I have nothing else. If you are unwilling to accept my stake…”

He shrugged, the gesture eloquent and dismissive at the same time, neatly lobbing the ball back into Dare’s court. It seemed that the earl’s reluctance might offer Bonnet an escape.

“The woman,” the earl said softly.

“I beg your pardon?” the Frenchman said.

“You may wager the woman,” Dare said.

Again the silence in the room was complete. No one protested, although what Dare was proposing was unheard-of. Perhaps at one time women had been chattel, which might be won or lost on a hand of cards, but that was not the case today.

“Mrs. Carstairs?” Bonnet asked, his voice astounded.

“Mrs. Carstairs,” the earl agreed, his voice expressing amusement at that astonishment.

“Mrs. Carstairs is…”

“Yes?” Dare questioned after there had been a pause of several long heartbeats.

“This is England, my lord. Not…” Again the Frenchman’s voice faltered, as if he could not think of a location where one might wager a human being.

“Indeed it is,” Dare agreed. With one finger he touched the enormous pile of notes on the table between them. “And these are the coins of the realm. Quite a lot of them, as a matter of fact. I’ll wager them all, Monsieur Bonnet, on one game. All of this for the woman.”

Bonnet’s eyes had followed the movement of the earl’s hand as it reached out and touched the money. And then they lifted again, considering his opponent’s face. “One game?”

“Winner take all,” Dare said softly. The corners of his mouth tilted. “And the only stake you must put up is Mrs. Carstairs.”

“My lord, I’m afraid that I really must—”

“We are all gentlemen here,” Dare continued, almost as if the gambler hadn’t protested. “This will go no further. I can assure you that what happens here tonight will never be spoken of again by any of these gentlemen.”

His eyes traveled slowly over the faces of each of the men at the table. They were all inveterate gamblers, well-known for their habits. What Dare saw in their eyes satisfied him that what he had said was indeed the truth. A wager legitimately made and agreed to by both parties was sacrosanct. Finally his gaze came back to the Frenchman.

“You needn’t be afraid,” Dare said. “No one will ever hear of this from any of us. Certainly not the authorities. After all, we would have as much, if not more, to lose than you if this were brought to their attention.”

That was true, of course. There was no reason for the Frenchman not to accede to the earl’s wishes. Dare might easily have demanded Bonnet put up the house, and if he had lost, the Frenchman would have been ruined. If he lost now, however…

“All right,” Bonnet said.

Apparently, once the decision had been reached, his reluctance disappeared. He picked up the cards and began to shuffle them with a practiced proficiency. They flew through his fingers in a blur. When he had finished, he placed the deck face down on the table for Dare to cut.

“Your stake?” the earl asked.

Surprised, the French gambler looked up from the cards.

“The lady should be present,” Dare said.

There was a long hesitation. “Superstition, my lord. I believe I explained my reluctance to you.”

“If her proximity to you bothers you, she may stand behind my chair.”

After another long delay, the gambler said, “I believe Mrs. Carstairs has already retired.”

“Send for her.”

“I’m afraid…that is, I believe she is…indisposed.”

“Send for her, please,” Dare said again, his voice very low. A command rather than a request.

Bonnet held the earl’s eyes a moment, his mouth tightening with unexpressed anger, and then he raised his hand and gestured to the servant who had refilled the wineglasses. When the man approached his chair, the Frenchman drew him close and whispered in his ear. The man nodded and walked across the room, disappearing through the same doorway out of which Bonnet had dragged Elizabeth Carstairs only moments before.

For the next ten minutes there was almost no sound in the salon. Occasionally, one of the gentlemen pulled deeply on his cigar and audibly expelled the smoke. Finally, the door through which the servant had departed opened again. He entered and then stepped aside, holding it for the woman.

Elizabeth Carstairs hesitated in the doorway, her eyes first seeking Bonnet’s and then touching briefly on the Earl of Dare’s face before they came back to her master’s. She was dressed in the same dress, but the rubies that had been entwined in her hair were gone. Apparently the curls they had held had been hastily repinned when she was summoned. A few unsecured tendrils floated around her temples and along her throat.

“Monsieur Bonnet feels, perhaps with some justification, that you have brought him ill fortune,” the Earl of Dare said, speaking directly to her. “However, considering my own run of good luck, I have asked that you be allowed to rejoin us. If you would be so kind,” he added politely.

She didn’t move, her eyes again tracking from his face to the gambler’s. Dare rose, walking across the room toward her. When he was near enough, he could see that he had been right in his suspicions. The imprint on her cheek, made by the Frenchman’s palm, was quite clear.

The blow had reddened the delicate skin, leaving the distinct impression of each separate finger. There was a small spot of blood at the corner of her mouth, where it had cut against her teeth.

When Dare met her eyes again, he could see within them doubt and perhaps even a trace of fear. She was uncertain of his motives. He couldn’t blame her for being wary. After all, he had not protested when Bonnet dragged her from this room. None of the English gentlemen had. And so, Elizabeth Carstairs had no reason to believe that he intended to befriend her.

Dare himself could not explain why he had embarked on this crusade. It was out of keeping with the persona he had adopted years ago, and that made it dangerous, of course. As well as ridiculously quixotic, he acknowledged.

Without further comment, Dare held out his arm, wrist upward. He did not offer to take her hand. His gesture was far more formal, the same one he might have used to offer his escort to any lady of his acquaintance onto the dance floor perhaps or to be introduced to his friend, the Prince Regent.

As he watched Elizabeth Carstairs’ slightly widened eyes come up to his, he knew that he had not been mistaken in his assessment of her. After a second or two, she placed her hand in the proper position on top of his wrist.

Despite her outward composure, he could feel her fingers tremble. They were cool against the heat of his own skin, and his body reacted to the feel of them there, the sudden rush of blood to his groin strong and hot.

And potentially embarrassing. Like a bloody schoolboy, Dare thought in amazement, exerting a control he had not been called upon to use in years. He allowed the images of his friend’s face to reform in his mind, images he had fought all evening. Even Elizabeth Carstairs’ undeniable attractions were not proof against that horror.

When they reached the table, the illogical aversion he had taken to Bonnet was stronger than it had been before. He almost regretted not having required the house be a part of this wager. But of course, this whole thing was now about something more than his dislike for the gambler. It was now about this woman, and that, Dare admitted, was even more illogical than the other.

When they reached the table, Elizabeth removed her hand from the Earl of Dare’s arm and took her place behind his chair. The apprehension that had begun when Bonnet sent for her again was unabated. She wasn’t sure why she was here. Although she had questioned the servant, he could tell her little beyond the fact that Monsieur Bonnet required that she come back downstairs.

Since she had been made very much aware of the gambler’s displeasure when she left the salon, she had been surprised by his summons to return. She had already removed her dress, but it had been a matter of a few seconds to pull it back on again. She had then gathered her hair atop her head, hurriedly securing the curls with a few hairpins from the top of her dressing table.

Despite the fact that she knew she had done nothing to deserve his anger, she was mortified to be seen with the mark of Bonnet’s hand still livid on her cheek. It wasn’t the first time the gambler had struck her. Once he had even used his fists, but the resulting bruises had been too difficult to hide. She had missed several nights in attendance at the tables, and so, thankfully, he had never done that again.

The blow tonight had been painful, but not disfiguring. Based on experience, she knew the mark would hardly be noticeable tomorrow. At least it wouldn’t have been, she amended, had she been allowed to remain in her bedroom with a cold compress pressed to her cheek. Now, however…

The man seated in the chair beside her reached across the table and cut the deck of cards that lay face down upon it. Unlike her own, his fingers were perfectly steady—long and dark and somehow elegant. Her eyes had followed their movements all evening.

The Earl of Dare. Elizabeth tried to think what she had heard about the man who bore that title, but she could remember almost nothing beyond the family name, which was Sinclair. She wasn’t sure why that had stuck in her memory.

She looked down at the man seated beside her, desperately trying to determine his age. Only the midnight-black hair and a narrow portion of his profile were visible from where she stood. She wished she had studied his face more closely when she had had the chance. Instead, she had determinedly fought the impulse to look at him all evening.

That was something that never happened to her before. Usually she avoided eye contact with the men who came to play at Bonnet’s tables. It was safer that way. Her greatest fear had been that she might encounter a familiar face.