Page 7 of A Game of Hazard

Neither her finishing school nor her traveling had prepared her for an intimate conversation with a gentleman. She sensed she was already on the verge of getting into exceedingly deep water with him and had no idea how to avoid it.

“Still nothing to say?” He pressed a hand against his chest. His very broad, very buttoned-up chest. “You drive the knife deeper.”

At this point, she was supposed to flutter her eyelashes and wave her fan about, then shake her head in denial. Wasn’t she?

“I—” This wasn’t going well at all. She didn’t know how an empty-headed, simpering miss would respond to such an approach. Neither did she know what a clever bluestocking might say by way of a put-down.

The captain took her elbow in a persuasive grip and steered her toward an empty corner of the room. Catching Mama’s eye, she made frantic gestures, but Mama simply nodded, a beatific smile on her face. There would be no help from that quarter.

“If you won’t speak, then let me speak for you. I shall be plain. The moment I first saw you, I knew I must make your acquaintance. I can tell that we are two of a kind—we don’t need to follow the conventions, to dance or make polite conversation. Just like good friends, we can be open and honest with one another. You probably think me too forward.”

She nodded vigorously and grabbed a glass of punch from a passing footman.

He gave a rueful smile. “I confess that I am too forward. But I don’t know how long my business will keep me in Bath, and I can’t afford to waste any time.”

Did the man know, she wondered, that she was no willing participant in this meeting engineered by Lady Osbourne but was a victim of genteel blackmail? What had the woman said—or done—to the captain to make him pursue her in so determined a manner?

Bother it. It was high time she stopped gaping like a hungry fish and recovered her wits. She ought to find out what this redcoat was doing in Bath—any information that would keep the Dorset Circle out of the eye of the military would be invaluable.

“I apologize for my awkwardness. I’m new to Bath society and have been introduced to nobody here but yourself and our hostess, so I confess that I’m feeling overwhelmed and shy. But I’m grateful you’ve made me feel less like a wallflower with your attention, although I still don’t understand your reason.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Does a man need a reason to seek the company of a delightful young lady? It’s only natural, surely?”

She bit back a laugh. “Delightful? How can you possibly establish that fact when you’ve been barely two minutes in my company?”

He moved closer, leaning down so that his hazel eyes were staring directly into hers. His eyelashes were dark and silky, framing his eyes most pleasingly, but the twinkle of mischief had gone.

“I’ll be candid with you—I’m impressed by your lack of artifice. You have made no effort to conceal your delightful freckles. You haven’t hidden the brilliant fire of your hair. Your gown is made from the best possible stuff and trimmed with fine continental lace, and the whole paints a picture of authentic beauty that dazzles. I know what you’re thinking—that a young lady should be petite, with a rosebud mouth, a porcelain complexion, and guinea-gold curls. But that’s just a fashion, which will pass in time and eventually be rendered worthless. So, I beg you, don’t think that because your attributes are not in fashion, they render you plain or uninteresting. In my opinion, the effect is entirely the opposite. You fascinate me.”

Although she knew it was all rot, Alex was enjoying his outpouring of praise. It was something she was entirely unused to, and even if it was all flimflam, these were the best compliments she’d ever been paid. She was finding the man’s proximity enjoyable, too. Topping her by a good four inches, he made her feel small and delicate for the first time in her life. Feminine, even. And the way his body’s heat conveyed itself to her pricked her skin with a thousand tiny points of delight.

“I’ve monopolized you too long.” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s high time I returned you to your mama.”

She tore her eyes away from the buttons on his waistcoat. So many of them! What would it be like to slowly undo them and feel the firmness of the broad chest beneath? The buttons on his jacket intrigued her, too. Were the flaps meant to join up and button across his chest in cold weather? There was so much gold braid, and the fringes on his epaulets swayed as he breathed. He looked like the statue of a Greek god—but clothed—and detailed in gold leaf.

“Miss Isaacs?”

She gazed up at the square jaw and saw his mouth tilted in wry amusement.

“Oh!” Had she made her perusal so obvious?

“I said that we should return to your Mama, as I would like to be better acquainted with her. But take care not to leave us alone together, or I shall discover all your secrets.”

Alex stopped drifting in delicious speculation as ice flooded her veins. All her secrets?

“Miss Isaacs? Miss Alexandra Isaacs?”

She spun around to see a footman holding a folded paper out to her. Alarmed, she nodded.

“An urgent message for you, miss.” The man bowed and retreated, leaving her staring at the note.

“Not bad news, I hope? Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Captain Harewood’s face was all concern.

Recognizing the handwriting in which her name had been written, she knew that the redcoat was the last person who ought to see the note. The paper would prove to be blank when unfolded, and that would arouse his suspicions immediately.

“Forgive me, sir. I have a sick friend, and this note summons me to her.”

“Let me fetch your wrap and call up a chair. Or I’ll escort you wherever you need to go.”