To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield (9 page)

“I’ve taught you well,” he said affably. He stared at the pile of coppers in front of her and then at his pile of the same relative size. “But are you willing to risk it all at the end? Women are not known for their bravado.”

 
“I believe I’ve aptly demonstrated bravado by accepting this wager.” With that statement she looked at his current bet. Harlow had wagered his entire pile of coppers on the King of Diamonds.
 

Caitlin closed her eyes to block out the glittering dare in Harlow’s sinful eyes. He was goading her into making a mistake. If she simply matched his bet, then he would win as he had slightly more coppers than her. If she simply bet everything on the chance a higher card was dealt—a two in three chance—she’d win if the losing card turned up happened to be the Three of Spades.

There was only one way to beat Harlow if the King of Diamonds was the player’s card. She couldn’t simply match his bet. That would only prolong the game. She opened her eyes and steeled herself for what was to come. Ignoring his raised eyebrow Caitlin said, “I call the last turn.”

To call the last turn was to name the order in which the last three cards would play. Very risky, but this would see her trounce Harlow. It was the only way to win. All or nothing.

Harlow’s mouth curved up. “Risky. Don’t want to bet with me, sweeting?”

“It hasn’t worked at any of our practices. This way, if the King is turned, I will still have a chance to beat you.” She gave a mocking smile, “How’s that for bravado?”

Henry sighed. “Caitlin, don’t let him force you into taking risks.”

Caitlin hesitated for a moment before impatiently saying, “This wager is a risk and no one forced me into it.” She simply wanted it over. Her nerves were frayed and for once she felt the cards were on her side.

“So, what order do you call the last three cards?” Marcus asked, as the banker.

“Ten of Hearts, King of Diamonds, and Three of Spades.”

Harlow shifted his feet slightly. She gave an inward whoop of triumph. He was nervous. If the King was the player’s card, and she got her order right, then she’d win four times the amount he’d win and, more importantly, she’d win the game.

Win the first wager.
 

Marcus asked if they were ready, and when they both nodded he drew the loser’s card. It was the Ten of Hearts, and Caitlin couldn’t stop a squeal of delight. Henry clapped—before getting a cold look from Harlow.
 

The tension in the room was nearly audible as Marcus drew out the player’s card. He hesitated before turning it over and Caitlin’s heart rose to lodge in her throat. When she looked down the Three of Spades greeted her.
 

She’d lost.
 

But so had Harlow. Her shoulders slumped and she resigned herself to having to play another game.
 

“I win the first wager.” Harlow’s voice was filled with satisfaction.

Her head jerked up. “How so? You lost too, if I recall. You bet everything on the King.”

He raised his hand and twirled a copper across his knuckles. “I bet everything but this one copper. I believe that makes me the winner.”

Her mouth dried. She looked to Henry and saw her defeat in his eyes.
 

“I knew you’d be all in, it was the only move that would see you win. So I held one copper back. If I didn’t win with the King, neither would you.” Dangerfield leaned forward until his face was inches from hers. “But it wasn’t who won the last turn. It was who won the most money overall. You kept nothing back. I did.” He withdrew to his side of the table and held up the copper. “I win by one copper to none.”

Caitlin looked as though a mule had kicked her in the stomach and, when she rose to her feet, she swayed, her face pale.
 

Henry rushed to her side to offer support.
 

She straightened and turned to him, her head held high. “Well played, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, it’s been a long night and I wish to go home.”

“I’ll escort you.” There was no way Harlow was letting her drive home alone at night, especially in this state. She was hiding her disappointment well, but he saw through her stoic countenance to the devastation underneath.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said with steel in her tone.

He moved around to stand before her. “I insist. It’s late at night and I’m responsible for you being here.”

He watched her fight for composure. Her breaths were short and sharp and her fists clenched at her side.
 

Henry urged her to agree. “Don’t let your pride drive your decisions. It would be safer to let Harlow see you home.”

She eyed him as if he were a fire-breathing dragon. “Safer than what, I ask myself,” she said, dryly.

“I assure you I will conduct myself as an utter gentleman.”

“Do you know how?”
 

Her witty reply made Marcus laugh, and something akin to annoyance heat Harlow’s blood. He
was
a gentleman. Only the hoyden standing in front of him ever made him forget that. Why was it so easy for her to bait him? He never usually cared what women—or for that matter, anyone—thought of him.

By the time she’d donned her cloak, Henry’s butler announced her gig was ready.

“I’m sure you’ll have better luck with the cake baking, Lady Southall,” Henry said as he helped her into the driver’s seat.

Caitlin patted Henry’s hand and nodded goodbye to Marcus. Harlow secured
Champers
to the back of the gig before joining her.
 

The night was dry and warm, with a full moon above—the perfect setting for seduction and a romantic carriage ride with a beautiful woman. Except, of course, the woman was feeling anything but romantic.

The first mile flew past in stony silence with Caitlin sitting as far away from him as possible. He moved his leg sideways until it brushed hers, and felt her shiver at the contact. Whether in pleasure or dislike he wasn’t sure.

“Do you have to take up so much room?” she snapped at last.

Dislike. “Tsk. I’d never have thought you a sore loser.”

“Just because I do not wish to rub against your person does not make me a sore loser. Besides, I’m not stupid. You touched me on purpose.”

“Why do you have to make everything a battle, Caitlin? I did not challenge you to this wager. You approached me. I also did not have to accept your challenge. I won Mansfield Manor fairly.”

“Why?” The word seemed to sigh from her. “I do not understand why you hate my father. You don’t need Mansfield Manor. You deliberately went after it. Why? That’s all I wish to know.”

Harlow’s jaw clenched. What did he tell her? He’d promised Jeremy that he would never reveal the truth of Jeremy’s parentage to her. The boy was adamant. “You need to ask your father that question.”
 

“My father?” Caitlin gave an unladylike snort. “He won’t tell me either. Besides, my father rarely speaks to me unless it is to berate me. I’m a disappointment. He wanted a son.”

Harlow tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “If he wanted a son why did he not remarry? Your mother died when he was still in his prime.”

She finally faced him. “I don’t know. I’ve often asked myself that question. He was always looking for a wealthy heiress, or someone with a large dowry. Perhaps they saw that all my father was really after was money. A woman with means is unlikely to waste herself on a man who sees her as nothing but a way to procure a fortune.”

“You don’t like your father much.”

“How can I like him when I don’t respect him? He’s done nothing with his life. And now he’s taken from me the one thing that was supposed to be mine.”

The pain in her voice was a living thing. “Why is the house so important to you? You are young and beautiful. You could marry and leave your past behind you.”

She laughed, and the desperation in the sound sent shivers down his back.
 

“How, Your Grace? How would I meet these men who may wish to marry me? Me, with nothing. My father forbade me a Season, because it was a waste of money. I’m sure he is already planning to auction me off to the highest bidder. His decrepit friend, Viscount Bassinger, has been sniffing around my petticoats almost since I left the schoolroom. Father is simply trying to wear me down into accepting him. He thinks that now Mansfield is gone, and I have nothing, I’ll surrender. If I had my home, if I had a way...”

He stiffened. Horror cloaked his skin in a slick sweat.
This
was why she wanted the house so desperately. Knowing Viscount Bassinger he could well understand it. The man was a pervert of the highest order and riddled with the pox.
 

His mouth firmed into a grim line. Bassinger would offer indecent amounts for an untouched beauty like Caitlin in his bed, and neither Bridgenorth nor Bassinger were beneath kidnap and coercion.

Now, more than ever, he needed to persuade her to marry him. “You’ve met me. Why not forget this silly wager? You can marry me.”

She gasped beside him, her head almost spinning in her haste to look at him. “But… But… Why? You have won the first wager, and are well on the way to winning the whole bet. Then I’d be forced into your bed. Why offer marriage for something that looks more like a sure thing? You can’t want me that much.” She shook her head, her eyes open wide. “I’ll never understand men.”

He’d expected a refusal. Even so, it hurt. “Why are you opposed to marrying me? I believe you’re the first female ever to decline a duke’s proposal. In fact, you’re the first woman I’ve ever proposed to.”

“You wouldn’t understand. You’re a man. Men view marriage differently.”

“Tell me,” he urged.

She was silent so long he began to believe she wouldn’t answer. Then—

“I want to marry.” It was a bitter whisper. “I want children and a family. But I want love too. My parents, believe it or not, had a love match. My mother loved my father, faults and all. He was a penniless Earl and she the daughter of a wealthy Baron. He didn’t marry her for Mansfield Manor. In his youth he could have had any wealthy heiress, but he picked my mother. He was very handsome, my mother told me. Cook says he really only started gambling when mother got sick. It took her two years to die—such a painful death—and watching her fade away broke his heart, Cook said. He could not cope with his grief, and used drinking and gambling as an escape.”

She stopped speaking and he let the sounds of the night soothe her until she spoke again.
 

“Her death changed him. He became bitter. Mean.” She turned to look at him in the moonlight and shadows. “The thought of spending the rest of my life with a man who does not love me, saddens me. It would be very lonely.”

“But you’d have children and a house to run. Your life would have purpose.”

In a quiet voice she said, “What happens when the children are grown, and my son marries, and I no longer have a house to run, or a family to take care of?”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

She continued. “I guess a man like you would still have other women to spend time with. You might no longer be the handsome catch you are now, and you may find it more difficult to attract the most sought-after courtesans when you’re middle aged, but there will still be those who, needing money, would be happy to spend time with you. If I cannot compete with courtesans while in my youth, if my husband valued his relationship with them more highly than he regarded me, how could I compete with them when I’m old? Only a man who loved me—and only me—would see that growing old at my side would give him far more joy than meaningless romps with women who see him as simply a purse to pluck.”

Dangerfield swallowed back a lump in his throat. He had to admit he’d not thought about growing old. Didn’t like to think about it. He assumed he’d have a family. Estates to run. He’d arrogantly assumed that would be enough. But her words jarred something deep in his soul.
 

He remembered his father, and the way he’d looked at his mother. It was as though, for him, the light left the room whenever she did. Harlow couldn’t remember a time when his father stayed away from home unless his wife and son were with him.

His father loved his mother and she’d loved him.
 

That sort of love—the all-consuming love—scared him. He saw what it did to his mother when his father died. But what was the alternative? A life of duty and empty pleasure? He was already growing tired of the empty, meaningless beddings with women whose names he could scarcely recall.
 

For the first time in his life he wanted more. Caitlin made him want more.

She spoke, and it was as if she’d read his thoughts. “Sometimes you can be surrounded by people and still be alone. I wish for something more from my life. I want companionship, shared joys and love. Is that wrong?”

He took her tiny hand in his and squeezed. “No.” He shook his head. “No, it’s not wrong. Mayhap hard to find, but not wrong.” He let her hand go and immediately missed its warmth. “I’m sorry. For what it’s worth I’m sorry your father lost your home.”

“Don’t be. If it hadn’t been to you it would have been to someone else. At least you have allowed me a chance to win it back.”