To Dare the Duke of Dangerfield (6 page)

She tried not to, but she couldn’t help but drink in the sight of his board shoulders braced against the wind, his muscular thighs hugging the horse’s barrel. The daredevil billow and furl of his greatcoat as it fluttered behind him completed the picture of perfect masculinity.

He reined in and skidded to a halt not far from where she stood, mesmerized. The large stallion pranced in place, as magnificent as its rider. The duke gave her a ridiculously arousing smile before dismounting in a graceful slide.

So much for getting time alone with St. Giles.

He swept off his hat and bowed. “How lovely you look this afternoon, Lady Southall. I thought I’d catch you arriving early for our lesson. No doubt ready to prey on Henry’s good nature.”

Their gazes clashed, and annoyance coursed through her veins—mixed with something that edged the annoyance higher. Excitement. His dark-lashed, grey eyes twinkled. The man knew precisely the impact his arrival was having on her.

Caitlin’s lips parted. Her heart pounded against her corset, which was obviously tied far too tightly. She had to remind herself to breathe. In. Out.
Ignore him
.

Harlow’s smile widened, and he brought her limp hand to his lips for a butterfly-light brush of a kiss. Heavens, but his eyes seemed to be burning right through her, reading her thoughts as a blind man reads the darkness. He was all male, preening before a female.
 

Her lungs burned. But still she kept looking… looking… powerless before him… powerless to wrench her hand, or her gaze, away.

“I still prefer you in trousers.”
 

His husky declaration broke the spell that held her captive. “Then I shall ensure never to wear trousers again,” she said, warmth flaring in her cheeks.

He straightened. “Quite right. My apologies.” His little bow mocked her. “I don’t prefer you in trousers. I’d prefer you in nothing at all.”

She should have been angry, but the notion of being naked before this man’s gaze made her pulse quicken. What was the matter with her? “That will never happen.”

“When I win this wager it will. I’m looking forward to it. In fact, it is all I could think about last night. You—naked—in my bed.”

She suppressed a shiver. He made it sound as though it were a foregone conclusion. “
If
you win, don’t you mean?”

He smirked. “Not even getting Henry on your side will change the outcome. I will win. I always win.”

Before she could think of a retort, he offered her his arm—and, in that instant, the rake disappeared and a focused, determined competitor took his place.

“Now, Lady Southall,” he said, with a flash of white teeth that reminded her of predators and danger. “Shall we step inside and begin your Faro lessons?”
 

Her tiny hand fluttered uncertainly on his arm, and he could sense her reluctance to touch him.
 

He wanted to touch her… everywhere

She looked beautiful this afternoon. His groin reacted to the vision before him when he drew up beside her on Champers. When Henry saw her dressed like this, dressed like an angel, he’d try to call the wager off. Her innocence shone like a beacon, enough to lighten any dark soul.
 

Even his.
 

For a brief moment he wondered what he was about.
 

Yet beneath her innocent cloak of respectability a vibrant, lush, and sensual woman curled and stretched, wakening to life. He could almost see it happening. The delicious flush that bloomed across her cheeks. The pale green of her eyes as they darkened and flashed almost as deep as emeralds. Emeralds. He wanted to see her lying naked on his bed with only emeralds draped at her neck and wrists.

He had not lied when he told her he’d dreamed of her. He’d dreamed of nothing
but
her.
 

Nonetheless, in the early hours of that morning he’d decided his seduction of Lady Caitlin Southall would serve several purposes.
 

First, it would unsettle her and make it easy to win the wager. Second, he hoped it would make the idea of marriage to him less repugnant to her. And third, the most primal reason of all, he wanted her.

Henry’s arrival—and his expression of utter consternation at the demur and virginal looking Caitlin on his friend’s arm—confirmed every one of Dangerfield’s fears. Henry’s lips formed into a straight line and he turned his disapproving gaze Harlow’s way.
 

Oh, yes. The man wanted to put a stop to the wager—would probably do his best to do so.
 

But Dangerfield could not allow gentlemanly scruples to ruin his plans. In order to keep Mansfield Manor for Jeremy, yet still protect Caitlin from the poorhouse or worse, he had to marry her. She was beautiful enough to garner many an offer even without a dowry, but he refused to consider the notion that he could arrange an acceptable match, and see her married off elsewhere.
 

He also denied it was guilt that drove him. Guilt at seeing her lose something that by rights should be hers. Given her stubborn pride—which he admired—and her dislike of him—which he didn’t admire at all—Harlow doubted she’d accept a straight marriage proposal. A wager, even a scandalous wager, was far more acceptable to her.

Panic gripped as he realized what lay behind his reluctance. Possessiveness. She was his. No other man could have her. He would not allow it.

“Lady Southall,” Henry said into what had become a difficult silence, “how lovely you look today.”
 

She inclined her head in a regal nod and Henry reddened like a schoolboy before clearing his throat and continuing. “My lady, I must ask you again; are you quite certain you wish to continue this wager? As a gentleman, His Grace would not hold you to it. I’m sure he will allow you to withdraw.”

No, he bloody won’t!
He wanted to shout it at Henry—at them both—but he remained silent, wondering what her response would be.

She took a deep breath. “I do not wish to withdraw.” She removed her hand from Dangerfield’s sleeve and placed it instead on Henry’s arm. It took all his composure not to snatch it back. “Thank you, for your concern. But”—she flashed
 
a defiant look his way—“I’m more than positive I can beat His Grace. If I do not then at least I know I have tried.”

Not until that moment did he realize he’d been holding his breath.

A few hours later, Harlow had to admit to himself that she was rather good—for a woman. She’d already known Faro to be a game of chance where the odds were enhanced with mathematical skill. She’d also known the players had to keep track of the cards that had been played in order to ascertain the odds of what was still to be played.
 

She’d also picked up the nuances of the game very quickly and, unfortunately for him, had a good head for numbers.

Most men had to use a case-keeper to keep track of the cards that had been played, but Harlow could keep them in his head. It would appear Caitlin, to a certain extent, could too. It was most annoying. He’d hoped to have that advantage at least.
 

However, while she had won the last few turns, she had yet to understand that one needed a strategy when playing faro.
 

 
“This is not as difficult as I imagined.” Her beaming smile took his breath away, and for once he remained silent.

Henry, however, did not. “I would be remiss if I didn’t suggest that, for this wager, it is not how many turns you win, Lady Southall, but how much money you earn off each turn. It is the total money won over the course of the game that counts. Whoever wins the most money in this game of faro will be the victor in this challenge.”

Her frown squinched that cute nose of hers up, and Henry demonstrated.

“Let’s think about this turn. Given you’re near the end of the fifty-one cards, and you know the cards that have been played, you can place higher bets knowing the odds are more in your favor.”

She fiddled with the bracelet at her wrist and studied the layout. “I see. I know there are still a king and two queens left, and there are more low value cards left than higher. Therefore, as we get closer to the end of the deck I should place more money on the lower cards. Is that right?”

“Yes, this is what Harlow has been doing. He increases the amount of money he bets as he calculates the odds of the cards that are left falling due.”

“But it’s still a gamble,” she insisted. “You could lose more.”

Harlow let his gaze wander over her. “That is why it’s a hazardous game. There is always an element of luck. Are you feeling lucky? Luckier than your father?”

The mention of her father cooled Caitlin’s satisfaction in picking up the game so quickly.

“How can you sit there and boast of the way you ruined my father?” she snapped. “I assure you, I won’t be as easy to ruin.”

He didn’t look away or appear embarrassed. Instead, he reached out and cupped her face in his hand. “If I made it known you were here on your own, alone with two rakehells, you’d already be ruined. No, it is not your ruin I want.”

In spite of her resolve not to let him rattle her, Caitlin’s breathing quickened. Her heart missed a beat, then jumped into her throat. After a quick swallow, she managed to curl her lip. “No, it is a house that does not belong to you.”

He had the audacity to laugh. “But it
does
belong to me. That is why you are here. Let’s not forget that point.”

Caitlin fought to focus her mind back on the task at hand: to learn faro and to win the first challenge. She did not wish to have to win the cake baking. That challenge could go either way given her lack of cooking skills.

The glittering regard in Dangerfield’s darkening eyes made her feel hot and uncomfortable—and more than a little unsettled. She itched to cross her arms over her breast, even though she had little in the way of a bosom to ogle. She was half convinced he could see through her layers of clothing to her naked form beneath and she was worried that what he saw wouldn’t entice him. Her mind pictured Larissa’s voluptuous figure, and envy streaked over her heated skin.

What was wrong with her?

She glanced at the clock on the mantle and then back down at cards in front of her. “It’s time I left. My father may miss me if I’m out too long.”

“I shall see you home.”

She had been placing her coppers back on the table, but Dangerfield’s cool effrontery had her chin jerk up. “No. That won’t be necessary. If my father saw me with you...”

“I shall escort Lady Southall home.”
 

Henry’s voice brooked no nonsense. Her shoulders relaxed in relief. The journey would give her a chance to question him.

“No.” Dangerfield’s response came out as a growl. “I don’t trust her with you, Henry. She’ll beguile you into revealing secrets best kept. Won’t you, vixen?”

Provoking man. “Of course I will,” she snapped. “Or I’d try.” She turned to Henry and gave him a smile that was both apology and thanks. “Please stay, my lord. I’m quite capable of seeing myself home. I’ve been seeing myself home for quite a few years now.”

“Nevertheless,” Dangerfield said as Henry bowed and reddened once more. “I shall ride with you until you reach the boundary of Bridgenorth.”

His tone told her it would be useless to argue, so she didn’t. “Suit yourself.” She pulled on her gloves, determined not to speak another word to him, and to drive home as though he were merely a shadow in her wake.

If the woman thought she was going to treat him as though he didn’t exist she was going to have to think again. More than once.

Dangerfield waited until she tried to sweep out past him before catching her elbow.

The delicate bones under his hand did not match her Amazon personality. The softness and heat of her body through the cloth sent messages racing to the part of his anatomy he should keep under control around her. The last thing he needed, if he were to win this challenge, was a woman who understood the power she had over him.

She immediately wrenched her arm free. “Let go. There is no need for you to touch me.”

He stared down into eyes stormy with anger... and something else. Desire? Yes. She was affected by him—and the reality of what that could mean almost unmanned him. The impulse to make those stunning, ethereal, green eyes deepen in sensual delight, nearly overcame his good sense.

But no. He would not deviate from his plan. While he had no qualms about seducing her it would be on his terms and according to his timetable. Winning the wager came first. Her seduction second. Her agreement to marry third. In that order.

He stepped away from her. “All that fire,” he murmured. “Save it for when you come to my bed. It will enhance the pleasure.” He noted the flare in her gaze, the ripple in her throat as she gave a hard swallow, and smiled. “After you, my lady.” And gestured for her to precede him from the room.

Stepping around him, she dragged in a breath that held a distinct—and satisfying—tremor. “I can’t see what women see in you. You’re such a bore.”

“Ah,” he said to her departing back. “But then you’ve not had the pleasure of seeing all of me.”