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What an odd fish, Deana decided of Lord Rockwell as she tied the ribbons of her bonnet tighter beneath her chin. First he had gifted her the elephant worth some twenty thousand rupees, now he had deliberately surrendered a winning hand. The aristocracy could indulge in the oddest behavior, she supposed as she remembered his outlandish wager that he would forfeit to her five hundred pounds if she failed to spend at his hands. With such a grand sum, she would have thought it simple to withhold from orgasmos. But her body had betrayed her better interests and surrendered to that sublime climax. Even now she could not contain the thrill from knowing that he could not have forgotten their night together or why else would he have deliberately lost to her? Did she dare hope that he held some affection for her even?
She hurried down the steps outside the gaming hall with a light and cheerful tread. The late spring mist might soon turn into rain, and though her thin wrap would prove insufficient against the cool night air, she was warmed by Lord Rockwell’s gesture of charity.
But you must put him from your mind, bid the voice of reason. An act of charity does not signify anything more than the presence of altruism.
“Yes, yes,” she mumbled to herself, chagrinned that she could not allow herself to exalt in her small victory.
“Will you not take a sedan?”
She froze in her tracks. Deep in thought, she had not paid heed to the sound of footsteps behind her. Thank heavens it was not a thief—or worse. She turned around to face Lord Rockwell.
As if reading her mind, he said, “I could have done much harm had I malicious intentions.”
In the dark she could not discern his countenance well, but she heard the displeasure in his tone.
He continued, “For God’s sake, if you cannot secure a chair, at the very least, bribe the page to accompany you home. You cannot claim to lack the means tonight.”
She felt the weight of the coins in her purse, but she had no need for a lecture from the likes of him. “I have walked this way well enough many, many times before.”
Her assurance seemed to displease him more for she thought she saw his nostrils flare.
He narrowed his eyes. “With or without consuming three glasses of port?”
It was her turn to be offended. She remembered well his disapproval of her drinking, and though he made a salient point and she should be obliged by his concern, she did not appreciate his unsolicited intervention.
“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, your lordship.”
His frown conveyed the strength of his doubt.
“My carriage is ready and waiting. I would be much obliged if it could take you home, Miss Herwood.”
She hesitated. It was not the ride but the thought of being in his company in close quarters that unsettled her.
“Thank you for the gracious offer,” she replied, “but if you wish to upbraid me for what you consider to be the foolhardiness of walking the streets alone after midnight, I bid you find a different place and time.”
His features relaxed and she thought she detected a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. Once again she had to force her gaze from those tantalizing lips.
“Such insolence must not proceed with impunity,” he murmured.
/> She flushed at his words. Her derriere smarted at the memory of how he had once meted out punishment.
“For your welfare, Miss Herwood, I urge you to accept.”
She was sure the word he meant to use was command. Her spine stiffened. Their short-lived affair had ended. She was under no obligation to him. He was mistaken if he could carry on as if their prior arrangement were in place.
But the effects of the wine she had consumed lingered, and in retrospect, she was quite fortunate that nothing tragic had happened to her the times she had walked home alone so that she could save a penny or two.
Cutting into her internal debate, he said, “I would be obliged if you would grace me with your company.”
With an elegance that made her heart flutter, he offered his arm. She suddenly envied the women of the ton their constant receipt of such charm.
With a fortifying breath, she took his arm. How solid and strong it felt. She was reminded of the many ways he had once touched her, how he had made her body burn with pain and pleasure all at once. Feeling her body begin to warm, she suppressed the memories as best she could.
They walked back to the gaming hall in relative silence. She considered a variety of comments, mostly about the weather, to keep her mind from wandering into the past and the attention away from the feel of him about her arm. Waving away his footman, he assisted her into the carriage. It was the same vehicle that had conveyed her to his townhome a year ago. Still in top condition, the carriage would provide the most luxurious ride she had ever experienced. Deciding to encourage her jealousy as a buffer to more delicate emotions, she wondered how many other women the carriage had transported? Would Briana Walpole be a passenger? Had she been a passenger?
When she looked across to the Baron, his discerning stare made her feel as if her questions were writ upon her face.
