Gayle Wilson - My Lady's Dare

That was a lie, of course. Under Mrs. Hendricks’ watchful eyes, the footman hadn’t said a word, but unless Dare stooped to question his servants, he couldn’t verify that. Perhaps it would give him pause to believe that information passed both ways.

His lips tilted in response. “My staff seems much inclined to gossip about simple household…affairs,” he said.

He appeared unannoyed by her comment. Which was not, of course, what she had intended.

“Another warning, my lord?” she asked innocently.

“Simply a realization. Apparently my servants are not so well-trained as you have led me to believe.”

“Or perhaps they are simply bored,” she suggested.

He inclined his head, as if he were thinking about the possibility, but he let the silence build between them as the footmen removed the rest of the dishes.

“More wine?” he asked when that had been done. Again he signaled and the servant approached to refill their glasses. Hers was still untouched, a fact he was almost certainly aware of.

“Thank you, no,” she said, and the footman who had been approaching stepped back to his place against the wall.

“I thought you might feel in need of some Dutch courage.”

“Really?” she said, her voice conveying what she hoped was a note of surprise. “I wonder why?”

He laughed, the sound again as pleasant as she had found it to be this morning. And when his laughter faded away, he was still looking at her, his blue eyes serious for almost the first time since she had met him.

“Because you’re a woman alone with a man about whom you know nothing. A man who won you in a game of cards. I’ve been trying to imagine all day what you must be feeling.”

“And what did you…imagine my feelings to be, my lord?”

“A degree of curiosity, I suppose. Even anxiety perhaps. Or am I wrong?”

She hesitated, but what he had said was only what anyone in her position might confess to feeling.

“No,” she admitted. “You aren’t wrong.”

He lifted his glass again, moving it in a small salute in her direction, before he brought it to his lips.

“Were you planning to satisfy my curiosity?” she asked.

“You may ask me anything,” Dare said graciously.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“My mistress is jealous of her position.”

It was the closest he had come to admitting what she had supposed all along to be his purpose. He was interested in her sexually. Bonnet had offered her “services,” and that had titillated the earl’s interest.

This, then, was why he had forced the Frenchman to stake her instead of his house. Dare had now openly confessed his intent, and the fear and dread she had fought all day tightened her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“I thought,” the earl continued, “she might not be pleased if I took you there. And I own only the two houses in London, you see.”

It took a second or two for the meaning of that to penetrate her anxiety. He had confused her again. Deliberately confused her. He was playing with her, as a cat will play with an exhausted and dying mouse, trying to make it jump and run again.

Cat and mouse was, however, a game she had played successfully for over two years. And it was one at which she thought she was perhaps the better gamester.

“So you brought me to this house instead,” she said.

“There is a great deal of room,” Dare agreed, again lifting his glass.

And then his hand hesitated, the journey never completed, as his eyes examined her. His scrutiny began with the arrangement of her hair. She had dressed it very simply, adorning it with a sprig of jasmine, which she had taken from one of the huge vases of flowers in her room.

His slow and careful appraisal surprised her. And unnerved her. For reasons she had not attempted to analyze, she had taken great pains over her appearance tonight. And yet, until now, Dare had hardly looked at her.

True to his word, he had had her things sent over from Bonnet’s. As she had unpacked the portmanteau this afternoon, she realized there was really very little to choose from, if one were not planning to entertain strange gentlemen in a gambling hell. None of the gowns the bag contained had seemed appropriate for a quiet dinner at home.

She had finally chosen the least revealing, one she had brought to the Frenchman’s house in the very beginning. It was more properly a day gown than half dress, although the fabric was a very fine blue silk. It was clearly several years out of style, something a man of fashion like Dare would be well aware of. At least it was modest, however, covering far more of her bosom than the one she had worn last night.

“My compliments, Mrs. Carstairs,” he said finally, after he had studied her for several long seconds. Not long enough to be insulting, perhaps, but very close. “I find I much prefer the lily ungilded,” he added softly.

He meant without the cosmetics Bonnet insisted she wear. They had been included with her things. She had not used them tonight, of course. Surveying her reflection in the looking glass in her room, however, she had been surprised to find she had grown so accustomed to wearing them that her cheeks and eyes appeared almost colorless without the paint.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said simply.

His prolonged examination was as improper as his question about her bath, but she didn’t want to antagonize him. And indeed, he had offered her no real insult. Not openly. At least, not yet.

“I wonder if you would consent to join me briefly in my study. There are some things we should discuss before I leave,” Dare said.

She had been trying to read the tone of the first sentence, and so it took a second or two for the sense of the second to penetrate. “Before you leave?” she repeated in surprise.

“I’m afraid business calls me away for a few days. My apologies for leaving you alone,” he said, still watching her.

She tried to keep her relief from showing. He had not said when he was leaving, but that had sounded as if…

“Of course,” she said faintly.

“Harper, my valet, will see to your needs in my absence. He will assign one of the maids to serve you tomorrow. I’m sorry I failed to think of that this morning.”

It had been over two years since Elizabeth had had an abigail. She wasn’t sure she remembered what it was like to be waited upon. The thought that he had been remiss in not providing her with a maid hadn’t even crossed her mind. After all, in spite of what the earl had told his housekeeper, she was well aware that she wasn’t here as his guest.

“If all goes well, I should be back within the week,” the earl continued. “I’ve asked Harper to meet us in my study. He’s probably waiting there now.”

She examined the information, looking for hidden pitfalls; however, this seemed to be a reprieve, if anything. Dare was to be away on business, and she would be left alone. He had implied it would be for a few days. Perhaps long enough for her to find a way to get a message to Bonnet?

She didn’t know what game the Frenchman was playing, but she knew he would never have allowed her out of his clutches if it had not been to his advantage. So she was certain there had been more to the game of cards in which he had staked her than appeared on the surface.

“If you would be so kind as to come with me….” Dare said, bringing her attention back to the present.

He was already standing, and there was a footman behind her chair, ready to pull it back so that she, too, might rise and join the earl in his study. Where she would be introduced to his valet. It all seemed harmless enough. Already her mind was working on the possible implications of the earl’s absence. And on its possible advantages.

“Of course,” she said.

She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting in the Earl of Dare’s valet, but it was certainly not the man who was waiting in the room to which Dare led her. Small and undistinguished, it seemed Harper might be more at home in the stables of a country estate than in this vast and elegant town house.

“Mrs. Carstairs, this is Harper, my valet,” the earl said.

There was something in Dare’s voice. A note of amusement, perhaps? And Elizabeth thought she knew why when she confronted the open dislike in Harper’s eyes.

This was the same assessment, the same judgment, she amended, Mrs. Hendricks had made this morning. And one which had been absent from the earl’s eyes, she realized. Whatever his servants thought her to be, apparently Dare had not yet made up his mind. Or perhaps he had decided it didn’t matter what she was.

“Mrs. Carstairs,” Ned Harper said. There was a subtle, but obvious emphasis on the title.

“Mr. Harper,” she said, echoing it.

The small barb struck home. His brown eyes widened, and he glanced at Dare before they came back to her face. At least the contempt that had been in them before was gone, replaced by wariness. Elizabeth found she infinitely preferred the latter to the former.

“Ned will see to your needs while I’m gone,” the earl explained again, this time for his valet’s benefit. “You have only to ask him for anything you need.”

Except Harper can’t arrange what I need, she thought bitterly. And neither could the Earl of Dare, no matter how rich he might be.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said.

“That will be all, Ned,” Dare said softly. It was clearly a dismissal, but the valet didn’t move, his eyes tracing over her boldly now. Far too boldly for a servant.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said finally, his tone flat and hard.

Since he hadn’t used the earl’s title, Elizabeth wasn’t perfectly sure which of them he was addressing, but Dare seemed to be in no doubt.

“And that is my privilege, of course,” he said.

There was no anger in his voice. Again, she thought she sensed amusement there instead, and she wondered about the relationship between master and man. It was beyond her realm of experience. Her father’s valet had been a toadying, simpering idiot, whom no one held in respect, not even the other servants, despite his superior position in the household.

It was obvious that Ned Harper, however, was accustomed to speaking his mind, no matter the subject—even one so personal as the earl’s relationship to a woman. And he seemed to expect that Dare would attend to his opinion.

Harper’s mouth had tightened, and his eyes, if possible, had grown colder as they rested on her face. Elizabeth controlled her features, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing she had noticed his dislike.

“That will be all, Ned,” Dare said again, even more softly.

The valet’s eyes held another second on her face, and then he turned and almost stalked from the room.

“I apologize for Ned’s rudeness,” Dare said after a moment, his voice untroubled. “It wasn’t directed at you, I assure you. He’s angry that I’m not taking him with me.”

He moved to stand beside the fire. He put both hands on the mantel, looking down into the flames. The fine, wine-colored cloth of his jacket stretched across a broad back and well-defined shoulders.

Elizabeth was well aware that gentlemen often created the appearance of muscle by the artful use of buckram padding. It was obvious, however, just as it had been this morning when she had watched him climb the stairs, that the Earl of Dare had never been called upon to resort to such stratagems.

She pulled her eyes away, turning her head a little, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to look at him any more. Ned Harper was standing in the doorway to the study, watching them. He held her eyes a long time, and then he shut the door, taking pains that its closing didn’t make any sound. She looked quickly back at the earl, but he hadn’t moved, unaware that his valet had been spying on them.