Dare to Love (27 page)

Affecting a nonchalant tone, Barley stated, “We don’t want to end our fun quite yet. Perhaps you have a bit of jewelry you’d like to toss in, like your stick pin or a watch.” He paused a beat before continuing smoothly, “Or maybe that snuffbox would fill in the gap, to let you finish the hand.”

Resisting the desperate urge to recoil, Dare slowly placed a hand on the box and slid it off the table into his pocket. Having seen the speculative light in his companion’s face, he knew that was what he was after. But Dare would go to great lengths to protect that box. The thought of losing it sparked a slow burn of anger that made him want to quickly win this hand and depart.

“The box is nothing but a trinket,” he answered, keeping his voice level. “But you are correct. I am not ready for the fun to end. Perhaps I will wager my…ring.” Sliding the heavy gold piece from his finger, he held it up so the large sapphire sparkled in the candle light.

“It has been in my family for a century or so, and I
hate
to part with it. You must promise that if I do lose, you will give me a chance to win it back at a later time. I am certain my father would be…perturbed to find it missing.” With that he cringed, giving all indications that he’d filched a valuable family heirloom.

Eager to take advantage of the situation, Barley agreed, “Of course. We are all gentlemen here. We can make an arrangement for you to regain your bauble, should the need arise.” With his answering smirk, Dare knew he was thinking
at a hefty price.

The smile disappeared the instant Dare laid down his cards. In silence, the others followed suit, knowing that they’d been bested.

“Thank you for an enjoyable evening,” Dare said, scooping up his winnings. “I fear my luck has reached an unexpected peak. I should take advantage of that and look for another sort of entertainment to finish my evening.” With a jaunty wink, he strolled from the room.

As he climbed in his carriage, he withdrew the snuffbox and stared at it, twinkling in the lamplight. The thought of risking it in a card game was so ludicrous he actually laughed out loud. It was one of his most valuable possessions.

His mind turned back to when he was a young man, just graduating from the university. His father had come to town and they were strolling past some shops when Dare noticed the jeweled snuffbox in the window.

With the brash surety of youth, he announced, “That’s quite the thing.”

“Pshaw,” growled the marquess. “Nothing but a useless play toy for the idle. No son of mine would waste his time with snuff…and certainly not with such a foppish box as that.”

Determined to exert his independence, Dare declared, “I disagree. I think I might get it.”

His hand had not even reached the latch to the shop’s door when his father’s fist slammed into Dare’s head, leaving him with a familiar dizziness.

“You bring that into my house and I’ll bounce you out on your arse, make no mistake,” he bellowed and strode down the street without a backward glance.

Dare could vividly remember the shame and humiliation of his father’s abuse right there on the sidewalk for all the world to see, and anger roiled in his belly.

He had stood there for a moment, gathering his wits, before turning on his heel and marching back to his rooms. The next day, he had gathered all the coin he could find and purchased the snuffbox. It was with great satisfaction that week, upon returning to his home in Raynsforth, that he had sat as his father’s dining table and pulled it out of his pocket.

True to his word, his father threw him out on the spot. It was five years before he was forced to lay eyes on his sire again. Five blessed years. That snuffbox was a symbol of Dare’s freedom and he treasured it above all else.

Feeling restless, Dare instructed his groom to take his carriage to Madame Amora’s. He was certain to find ample entertainment at her elegant and exclusive accommodations.

As he walked in the door, he realized it had been almost two weeks since he’d had a woman. No wonder he was unsettled. That was an extraordinary oversight on his part.

Madame Amora welcomed him as soon as he entered the oversized parlor. The room was filled with a plethora of attractive ladies draped across comfortable furniture and amused gentlemen. Madame pressed her abundant figure against him and asked, “Lord Landis, my pet, we have missed you. What sort of entertainment would you prefer this evening?”

He stared at her, realizing he had no idea. That was odd. Waving a hand, he proclaimed, “I care not. Pick me something new.”

She pondered a moment, tapping a finger to her lips before proclaiming, “I have just the thing. We have an exotic creature from the south upstairs. Quite talented.”

“From the south, you say? Sounds intriguing.”

“Quite,” she answered, stroking his arm.

He followed her upstairs and paused as she knocked on a door to the right. A husky female voice called out, “
Si
?”

“I have a gentleman who would like to meet you.”

The door opened and a lithe young woman appeared in the doorway. Her even white teeth flashed at Dare as she leaned her slim hip against the frame. Her long black hair hung in a thick curtain around her scantily covered body. The candlelight illuminated the gauzy fabric, turning it transparent.

“Welcome, milord. My name is Marita. Please come in.” She let her eyes walk slowly over his form as she gestured toward the room.

“Is she to your liking?” asked the madam, silkily.

He nodded and crossed the threshold.

Marita directed him to a chair and slid his jacket off his shoulders. As he sat down, she whispered in his ear, “First we will relax and get to know each other a little,
mi amor
. It is important to soothe the mind as well as the body.”

“Hm,” he grunted.

She crossed to the sideboard and poured him a glass of brandy. Crossing back, she knelt in front of him, and placed her small, warm hands on his thighs. “Do you have any troubles you would like to tell me about? I am a good listener.” She stroked his tight breeches and looked up at him with a coquettish smile.

No
.

No, he did not want to talk. Nor confess any troubles. Or be touched, for that matter. Which didn’t bode well for the evening. So Dare took a good long pull of brandy and tried to put himself in the proper frame of mind.

When he didn’t answer, she let her fingers brush the placket of his trousers and slide open the first button. She licked her lips and slanted him a look of lust.

“No? That is all right. Perhaps you would like to take me to bed, then?” She took his hand and pulled him up from the chair before heading toward the bed. When he didn’t follow, she stopped and gave him an alluring glance over her shoulder.

She was sensual and erotic. She was here to give him pleasure, and, judging by her movements, he could expect considerable enjoyment. Yet Dare was dismayed by his complete lack of interest.

Determined to shake off the unsettling mood, he bestowed an appreciative smirk on Marita and strode toward the bed. When he reached her side, she raised her arms to the buttons on his shirt. He snatched her hands and pulled them to his lips. Just because he had let Nivea see his scars, he wasn’t going to open that door to everyone.

Adopting a tone that implied he was sharing a secret of utmost importance, he whispered, “Indulge me, darling. In my line of work, I prefer to keep on as many clothes as possible. It allows for a safe and speedy exit, if needed.”

Like all women, she looked suitably impressed. Having dodged that issue, he took her into his arms and began to stroke her long, silky hair. He inhaled her scent—a spicy, exotic mixture filled his head. He ran his hands down her spine and pulled her close, allowing her flat stomach to press against his manhood.

And nothing.

He felt nothing. What the hell? Normally, he would be primed and ready to throw her down and take his pleasure, but not tonight. Determined, he reached down to knead her derriere while burying his face into her neck.

She ran her hands through his hair and undulated her hips against him. Then she pressed him down onto the bed and began to unbutton his trousers, her knuckles brushing his thighs.

He pulled open her silky robe and stroked her coffee colored skin.

And felt…nothing, absolutely nothing. It just felt…wrong.

She was too bony and small. Her skin wasn’t smooth and pale. She tasted wrong, spicy and exotic, not like sweet English cream.

Unbidden, visions of Nivea flashed through his mind. His hands stroked her skin, translucent and voluptuous in the flickering shadows of a single candle. Breathing in her delicious vanilla scent as he buried himself inside her soft willing thighs.
That
was what he wanted.

He froze.
My God, no. Why was she tormenting him here of all places?
He was being entertained by an experienced, exotic beauty ready to serve his every desire. How could he even be thinking of Nivea?

She was clingy and needy and constantly pressing him to discuss things he had no intention of sharing. She was certain to be his downfall, either trapping him into marriage or subjecting him to a public betrayal. Or both.

Suddenly the room seemed stifling. Hot and stuffy, with an overwhelming foreign smell.

This was lunacy. As Marita leaned down to remove his boots, he decided that this would not happen. Could not happen. It was time to leave. Which put him in a quandary.

How would he get out of this?

Should he claim too much to drink?
He scoffed. Surely not. That would be too lowering.

He could get rough with her and scare her from the room. No. That sort of behavior was not allowed in Madam Amore’s. And frankly, the thought made him ill.

Then it occurred to him.
I need no excuse. I am Lord Landis. I don’t have to explain myself to this woman.
With that, he rolled off the bed, threw down some banknotes and strode from the room without a word.

As he burst through the door, he took a deep breath.
What the hell is happening to me?

Dare slowly raised his gaze to find Joseph standing over him, smiling.

“You look like hell”

“Thank you. You may go.”

Naturally, Joseph sat down. The man’s gold waistcoat and green breeches were far too much color for his pounding head, and he groaned.

Dare had come to White’s this afternoon to regain his equilibrium. He needed to be around normal things, manly things, to stop that infernal woman from burrowing into his thoughts. She was like a splinter that had slid under his skin, starting to fester and throb.

Of course, most of the conversation at the club centered around horses, horse racing, and women. The horseracing reminded him of his fight with William, which pained him. All the rest reminded him of William’s blasted sister.

What was she doing now? Scheming a plan to ensnare him into a “next time?” Or plotting revenge over his sudden departure, eagerly disclosing his secrets to any and all who would listen? Fully irritated, he had retired to a table, alone, to nurse a bottle of brandy.

Or he
had
been alone, until now. Joseph leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his stomach, and smirked. “Still upset about your fight with William?”

“Sod off. The man’s an idiot. At some point he will realize that and apologize.”

“You accuse his wife of cuckolding him and think
he’s
the one who will apologize? That’s rich.”

“Women cannot be trusted. He should know that.”

“Women must be watched closely, that is true. But once you find the
right
one, they are both trustworthy and wonderful.”

“Even the
right
ones can’t be trusted,” Dare mumbled, disgusted by the thought. Then, realizing what he’d said, he stiffened. He must be drunker than he’d imagined. It wasn’t as though Nivea was the right one. God’s blood, if Joseph had heard him, no doubt he would misinterpret
that
slip of the tongue. Warily, he raised his eyes and groaned.

Oh, no.

Joseph was staring at him. He watched as the jacksnape inched forward in his chair with a slow, spine-chilling smile creeping up his face. Dare returned his attention to his drink, determined to ignore whatever rubbish was forthcoming. It didn’t take long.

“The right one, eh?” Joseph drawled. “Well, well, that explains an awful lot.”

“What explains an awful lot?” Dare sneered.

“You, the infamous rake, Adair Landis, have met your match. You have fallen ass over teakettle for a woman.”

Dare snapped his head up and glared at him. “What bloody nonsense are you spouting?”

“You. Classic symptoms. Miserable, drunk, fighting with friends, condemning all of womankind, and losing all sense whatsoever. I heard you wagered your ring in a card game, almost losing to Barley of all people. Good God, man, you never lose, especially to that wastrel.”

Dare waved his jewel-encrusted finger in front of Joseph’s nose. “That is true. And as you can see, I won both the hand and the pot.”

“Yes, but it was apparent to all that your concentration was abysmal. I heard they were circling you like sharks. Graves tried to drag you out, but you insisted on remaining. In fact, he said you’ve been acting queer all week.”

Dare shook his head, but Joseph was just warming up on the subject.

“It’s so obvious now. You have lost your heart, and either can’t win the woman—highly unlikely, I know—” he added, airily, “or she has demanded more than you think you can give. You want to forget her, move on, prove that she’s wrong. But you can’t because there’s no hiding from the truth. You are in love.”

Dare looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. Love? Preposterous! He was distracted, maybe. Unsettled. And oddly fixated on a woman he had no business thinking about. But love?

Joseph was an idiot. Of course, that didn’t stop him from prattling on.

“Lord Landis in love. Remarkable really. I never would have believed it. Now, who could it be? Who could bring down a confirmed rake such as yourself?” He tapped his fingers to his lips. “Was it a delicate debutante who caught your eye? Most likely, no. Maybe a mature woman, a wealthy widow perhaps, who has no need of a husband. That would be quite rich. After years of shunning marriage, to be attracted to a woman who turns the tables on you.”