Page 47 of Make Mine a Marquess

“You can pour me more, you know,” she said, a note of challenge in her voice.

He winked. “I know. But I don’t want you to blame the arak if you lose.”

She tilted her head back and laughed. He stared, fascinated at her smooth, swanlike neck. He wanted to place a kiss there, to trail his lips lower to the magnificent swell of her breasts. The more time she spent with him, the more comfortable she’d become. It was all part of his plan, of course, to seduce her and take her dowry away from his cousin. He needed to tamp down on his desire and keep his goal in mind.

Mimi leapt from the settee and padded over to wind a figure eight around his legs. He reached down to scratch behind the cat’s ears. She purred then walked back to her spot on the settee.

“She likes you,” Phoebe said.

“The cat?”

“She’s very particular with her affection. She doesn’t purr for just anyone.”

“She has good taste, then.”

Phoebe laughed again and his heart pounded. She had a genuine, earthy laugh, not a high-pitched trill like many of the ladies of the ton when they tried to impress a man. She had the type of laugh any red-blooded man wanted to hear in bed. Christ. He needed to stop thinking of her in his bed.

After adding a good amount of water to her glass, he walked back to the gaming table and handed it to her. She sipped the drink as she rolled the dice in her free hand. He imagined her fingers running across his chest, trailing downward to the waistband of his trousers, then lower still. He shifted in his chair.

“Tell me something about yourself,” he found himself asking.

She tilted her head to the side and lowered her hand with the dice. “Such as?”

“I told you about my Arabic culture and how it is important to me, just as important as my English roots. I know little about you. Other than you enjoy swimming at twilight.”

“Must you bring that up?” Her cheeks blushed a pretty pink. He wondered if the color spread to her throat and down to her breasts.

“You’re right. It isn’t fair since I was in the lake as well. But my question is sincere. What interests you? What do you find important?” he asked.

Her lips parted in surprise at his question. She blinked and he imagined all sorts of thoughts filtering through her mind.

She lowered her voice and her lashes. “I’m involved in a charity in London.”

Many Society ladies involved themselves with charities. He’d always thought their participation was a required activity, almost an invisible checklist, like frequenting a particular shop on Bond Street, a certain dressmaker, or visiting Gunther’s during the summer months. But the way Phoebe spoke of this charity told him it meant more to her.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “Tell me more.”

She let out a breath as if deciding whether to trust him with something of importance. His curiosity heightened. He wanted to know, not just because any information could possibly be used against Willard, but because he wanted to know.

“I’ve become involved in helping the Society of Unwed Mothers. It helps those who are shunned by Society for no fault of their own. The men who are responsible have abandoned these women. Some of the expectant mothers have other children they struggle to clothe and feed.”

As far as charities were concerned, he’d expected another—a school for orphaned children, possibly a hospital for veteran soldiers. She watched him, her blue eyes clear. “It’s an undue hardship and a worthy cause,” he said.

She looked away. “My mother doesn’t agree and told me helping unwed expectant mothers was not an appropriate charity for a young lady.”

Her mother was probably right insofar as she was attempting to protect her daughter. Propriety was a stickler. It was also judgmental. He knew this from his own mother who hadn’t conformed to comply with the rules. The beau monde’s prejudice could be damning and, after watching her suffer quietly, he’d grown to resent it.

“I take it you don’t agree,” he said.

“I’ve had to look for creative ways to continue my efforts.”

He processed this information. She’d gone against her mother’s wishes to keep championing a cause of her choosing. Did Willard know? Highly unlikely. Would he support her charitable efforts once they wed? Highly improbable.

Landon, on the other hand, found her commitment admirable. She might come from a wealthy family, but she was no spoiled miss. The thought of her marrying the murderous baron made him uneasy.

“I think your efforts are admirable. It’s difficult to imagine how alone and fearful the unwed mothers must feel, not only for themselves but for their expected babes.”

“Yes.” A flicker of emotion passed over her delicate features. She quickly lowered her lashes, but not before he’d seen a flash of…distress? Anger? He’d watched her for three long afternoons, sitting across from him as they’d played backgammon. He’d studied every crease of her delicate brow, the dimple in her cheek when she’d smiled, the look of concentration as she’d thought of a move ahead. Instinct told him there was more behind her devotion to this chosen charity, and he considered the possibilities. Had a good friend fallen for a scoundrel and become impregnated? Or had Phoebe met and grown close to one of the young women from the charity?