Luck Is No Lady (28 page)

He couldn't lose.

He wanted to lose—had started to play for that very purpose—but luck was on his side no matter how he wished it otherwise.

Winning did not suit his mood tonight.

It had been the Earl of Wright who suggested he get out of his club and do something. The man was proving to be quite a bully. Underhanded and subtle in his delivery, but with more nerve and stubbornness than Roderick ever would have expected of the unassuming gentleman.

So Roderick had found himself in the exact situation he had been trying to avoid by staying in every night.

The moment he had seen Emma in her usual position with the chaperones, beautiful in a rose-colored gown, her hair golden beneath the light of the chandelier, a poised smile on her face as she watched the dancers, Roderick wanted to punch someone, or throw something against a wall, or stalk over to her and claim her as he yearned to do.

He had turned to the gaming room instead.

He had been playing now for more than an hour and had won nearly every hand. Several opponents had gotten up from the table in disgruntlement. He was running out of challengers.

The spectators standing around him seemed to find it all quite wonderful.

He was making a spectacle of himself, and normally he would hate being the center of attention, but tonight he couldn't bring himself to care. All he wanted to do was forget that Emma stood somewhere in the room behind him. So close, but entirely out of his reach.

After he took yet another pot, the men he had been playing with all stood and bowed out of the game, claiming they had been looking only for a slight diversion and were not interested in losing their hats tonight.

Out of habit and years of practice, Roderick kept his expression neutral, revealing nothing of his internal frustration. It seemed he would have to go elsewhere for some real play and a more effective distraction. Though now that he had seen her again, he doubted anything would succeed in chasing her from his thoughts.

He tucked away his reluctant winnings. “If there is no one else who wishes to play—”

“I would like to play, Mr. Bentley.”

Roderick froze in the act of scooping the remaining coins from the table. His heart seized and his hands turned cold. He could not move, could barely breathe, as she appeared from behind him.

She moved with efficient grace around the table, her rose-colored gown clinging to her perfect figure, making him ache to slide his hands around her narrow waist and down past the curve of her hips. He was grateful then to be seated, as lust and longing caused an instant reaction in his body. Reaching the opposite side of the table, she stopped, then turned to face him with her hands resting on the back of the chair.

The sparkling light in her gray eyes sent little shocks of alarm to his brain. Excitement, desire, and a touch of fear rushed through his system.

Here now was a worthy opponent.

Roderick did not have to glance about the room to know speculation was high around them. It was not unusual for a lady to join in the games. The play at these type of parties was often quite civilized. But those watching the moment could not possibly miss the tension between the two people facing each other across the table. They might not understand exactly what it was, but they were starting to realize something extraordinary was happening.

Emma tipped her chin. “Do you object?”

Roderick resisted the urge to demand she state her intentions. Something inspired him to be patient and allow the scene to play out as it would. His luck had been extraordinary so far tonight—perhaps it would hold out a bit longer.

Rising to his feet, he smiled. Her gaze flickered in response and her hands clenched more tightly over the back of the chair. She was not as blasé as she tried to appear. He offered a low bow, then replied, “Of course not, Miss Chadwick, do sit down.”

A gentleman from the crowd stepped forward to draw out her chair. She took her seat, her expression showing only effortless calm and steady composure as a new pack of cards was placed on the table.

“What shall we play?” she asked.

His smile deepened. “Lady's choice.”

He thought he saw a flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth as they cut the deck to see who dealt first, but it could have been a trick of the light or wishful thinking. She won the honor and started to shuffle the cards. With a quiet lift of her gaze, she peered at him from beneath her lashes.

“All fours?”

It was the game they had played that night in his private rooms. Wary excitement surged.

He gave a nod of acceptance, and she extended the deck for him to cut.

“Shall we play to eleven? What will you wager, Mr. Bentley?”

A wager? His blood pounded furiously through his veins.

He smiled and forced her gaze to meet his directly. “Wagering for money is such a dull practice, do you not agree?”

He thought he saw the corner of her mouth attempting to curl again, but she suppressed it. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she started to deal the cards. Keeping her gaze lifted from the efficient movement of her hands, she tilted her head.

“I quite agree,” she answered. “Surely, we can think of something more interesting to put on the table.”

“Is there anything in particular you would like me to forfeit?”

He watched her steadily, waiting for her to declare her purpose in approaching him tonight. He had a delightful suspicion what it was, but she was so adept at hiding her thoughts and feelings. All he had to go on was his hunch, and though his hunches were rarely wrong, this was one time he desperately wanted to be right.

With the cards dealt, she lowered her gaze to her hands, carefully releasing the tiny ivory buttons at the wrists of her gloves. “I understand you have in your possession a collection of distinctive books.” She tugged at the tip of each finger to remove first one glove and then the other. “If I win, I would like to take control of those books. Indefinitely.”

She smoothed the gloves in her hands before setting them in her lap. Only then did she look up again. Her eyes met his, her intention clear in their depths.

The books. She wanted to return to his employment.

Roderick shook his head. It was an involuntary movement stemming from the very center of his person. There was no way in hell he was going to have her come back to Bentley's as the club's bookkeeper.

He did not want her sneaking in and out of the side door, hiding her identity, denying the association. Though he understood why she may feel the need to protect herself and her sisters, he could not accept such an arrangement anymore.

It was all or nothing.

As she waited for his response, he saw her lovely gray eyes flicker with uncertainty. For the first time ever, he saw her expression falter.

And he smiled.

“I will agree to forfeit the books should you win.” He paused, watching the way her pupils dilated and her chin lifted the tiniest bit. “But if I win, I demand your hand.”

Her lips parted. He could see it by the rise in color on her cheeks. She was thinking of their last game, when he had claimed a kiss on her hand as his prize for each winning round. But as he stared at her, his eyes direct and unwavering, he saw the moment she considered his demand may be referring to something else entirely.

Somewhere in the back of his awareness, Roderick heard the wave of murmurs erupting around them. The crowd of spectators, which had nearly doubled in size since she took her seat, also realized what could be at stake with this game.

He didn't give a damn about anyone but her.

Roderick held his breath, waiting for her response. Every speck of his being was held in an intense state of suspension.

After her initial surprise, she brought herself back under control. She stared at him without a single shift in her expression. But she was not entirely successful in hiding her thoughts this time, because in the last moment before she lowered her gaze, Roderick saw a flash of intense determination in her eyes.

“Agreed,” she said finally, in a voice that was clear and strong, as though she intended to ensure everyone present heard her acceptance of the terms.

Then she swept up her hand and the game began.

Emma had never been so nervous in her life. Her decision to enter the game room had been rash and unexpected. She hadn't thought through all the angles and hadn't considered all the consequences. She risked her reputation, but more importantly, she risked her heart.

But that was the point of reckless decisions, wasn't it? You threw your cards onto the table and allowed them to fall where they may.

If there was one thing she had learned in her association with Roderick Bentley, it was that she was capable of far more than she allowed herself, and she deserved her own happiness. If she had to create a little scandal to get it, then she would.

There was no turning back now. Practically half the party was watching her public display. And with his shocking wager, everyone was speculating as to the nature of the relationship between the two people at the table. For a man to essentially propose marriage over the turn of a few cards was simply astounding.

That a lady would accept was even more so.

And that the two people in question were the Earl of Wright's notorious bastard son and the eldest Chadwick girl, a prim and common spinster, made the whole scene titillating beyond compare. The room filled quickly with more guests as whispers of the game spread out to the ballroom.

She should have known Roderick would find a way to shock her. She had hoped that in wagering for her position at the club, she would gain a chance to show him what he meant to her. She had hoped perhaps they would begin a discreet affair, take a chance on where it may go.

Clearly, he wanted more. He wanted her hand. In marriage.

All or nothing
, he had whispered to her once.

She risked a glance at him across the table.

His gaze was trained on the cards in his hand as he arranged them to his liking. His expression revealed nothing. She wished she could read his mind. She wished they were alone so she could ask him outright why he wanted to marry her.

Were her sisters correct in their assumptions? Did he feel for her the same deep, windswept emotions she felt for him?

As if sensing her covert stare, he looked up just the barest degree, his bright blue gaze catching hers instantly.

A flash of knowledge went through her.

Roderick Bentley was intelligent, thoughtful, sensitive, and not at all the reckless cad everyone thought him to be. Every decision he made was as carefully considered as Emma's, though in an entirely different way.

Her heart swelled painfully.

She had no intention of winning. Losing to Roderick in this game would gain her everything she most wanted—a life of love with him.

She looked at her hand to distract herself from the elation rushing her blood, and her heart dropped to her stomach.

Her hand was practically unbeatable.

* * *

She won the first round, but after Roderick's next deal, she was relieved to see cards that were a bit more manageable, and she was able to throw the round to him without undue effort. The same went for the next round.

As the game went on, Emma was forced to maintain her focus. It took all her concentration to effectively let Roderick win. Her glances at him were rare and brief, because each time her eyes met his, her grip on the game would slip a little.

After more than an hour, she found herself with seven points to Roderick's five, and she risked a look across the table as she dealt the next hand.

He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the curved wooden arms. His posture was completely relaxed. Totally confident. His blue eyes watched her. Studied her.

He was losing and he didn't seem bothered by it. He seemed far more interested in what she was thinking. His pure attention sent tingles down her spine and caused her palms to sweat. The longer he stared, the more heated she became, and when his gaze slid to watch her hands move over the cards, desire pulsed deep inside her.

He was doing it on purpose. Seducing her with his gaze.

She fought to hold back her smile. She could play that game too.

With the round dealt, she picked up her cards and began to arrange them in her hands. She was pleased to see she had terrible cards.

As the play began, she cast him a flickering glance, her lips gently parted, her attention resting for just a moment too long on his mouth before she looked away. When she glanced up again a second later, she saw the dark dilation of his pupils and the hard pulse beating at the side of his throat.

She wanted to laugh in triumph, but held her composure through the rest of the hand. She lost as intended.

The next rounds went rather quickly as she continued to receive weak hands that allowed her to lose without much effort. And through it all they continued to cast each other subtle, smoldering looks. Emma was quite certain everyone in the room must be aware of the trembling state she had been reduced to.

As Roderick claimed another round, finally reaching eleven points, a spontaneous cheer went up about the room.

He had won.

Elation burst through her, filling her with a kind of happiness she had never experienced before.

He stood and made it around the table to Emma's side in two long strides.

She allowed her delight to show then as he reached for her hand and drew her to her feet.

“If you will all excuse us,” he declared to the room without taking his eyes off her face, “we have a wedding to plan.”

The crowd erupted into another cheer as Roderick drew Emma's hand into the bend of his elbow and led her impatiently toward a door at the back of the room.

Her laughter flowed freely as he rushed them from the room, closing the door tightly behind them to lock out anyone who might think to follow. Then he turned her to face him and leaned into her, pressing her back against the door. She felt his hardness, his heat, his desire along the length of her entire body. The decadent sensation coming after the hours of emotional restraint and surreptitious flirtation made her light-headed and greedy for more.

He gripped her upper arms in a secure hold as he lowered his head until his lips hovered breathlessly above hers.

Emma's eyes drifted closed and she titled her chin, trying to bring their mouths closer. Her earlier elation settled into a fierce hum vibrating intensely through her bones.

“For weeks, I have been dying to feel your body against mine,” he whispered harshly. “I have been desperate to taste the sweetness of your lips.”

Emma found it difficult to form proper words. She curved her back in a soft undulation against him.

He responded by stepping closer and leaning more fully into her. Shivers of pleasure rolled through her. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to the side of her throat in a gentle, fleeting caress.

“I need to hear you say it,” he whispered.

Emma took a steadying breath and looked up into the amazing blue of his eyes. He revealed everything to her in that moment. His desire, his fear, his need, and most of all his love.

She lifted her hands to his face, cradling the hard lines of his jaw in her palms.

“I love you, Roderick,” she said with the ease of someone who had no doubts. “I never should have walked away. I was afraid for my sisters. Afraid for their future. I was afraid to want something I could not have. But I know now as long as I have you at my side, I can manage anything.”

A smile teased his lips. She wanted nothing more than to feel the curve against her own.

“You will honor the terms of our wager and become my wife?” he asked.

Emma sighed. Just the sound of the word filled her with warmth and love. She slid her hands around his neck and rose up on her toes, delighting in the friction of her breasts brushing heavily against his hard chest. Bringing her mouth a breath away from his, she looked into his eyes and whispered, “I would like nothing more than to be your wife. Now, will you kiss me?”

And he did.

His tongue plunged fiercely past her teeth as his arms wrapped around her to hold her close. The kiss was deep and needful and passionate, fulfilling every corner of emotional yearning Emma held inside.

And finally, after the kiss shifted to gentle nips and languid strokes, Roderick drew back just enough to say quietly, “You let me win, didn't you?”

Emma nodded. “Are you angry?”

He tightened his arms around her. “How could I be when it got me exactly what I wanted? Besides, I let you win the first time we played.”

She drew back in surprise. “You did not.”

“Of course I did. You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss your lovely mouth that day.”

Emma smiled. “Oh, I have some idea,” she replied as she drew his lips back to hers.