Never Trust a Scoundrel (2 page)

D
aniel Throckmorten watched the blood drain from Grace Banbury's lovely face. Would she cry and plead? He hated when women used those tactics, all to make him feel like a bully.

“How could you have won
me
?” she demanded, her jaw clenched, her eyes dry.

He was reluctantly impressed. She had an abundance of composure for a woman who could not yet have twenty-five years.

“Do not think the worst of your mother,” he said dryly. “She did not offer the right to bed you.”

She flinched, and he saw fury dancing in eyes as green as summer grass. Her hair was light brown, the color of new wood cut in the depths of a mysterious forest. It was caught into a heavy braid that snaked over her shoulder. Perhaps she made him think of the outdoors because of the freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose, as if she spent time out in the sun without a parasol. She was small but generously curved, easy to see without the restriction of corset and heavy fabrics. He wanted to see more.

She lifted her chin. “You are making poor sport of me, Mr. Throckmorten.”

“I'm not. This particular player had apparently been unable to court you. He wanted to marry you.”

“Who is he?” she demanded.

He spread his hands. “I do not know. We all need privacy in our vices.”

“But if he wanted to marry—”

“Your mother offered the exclusive right to court and marry you.”

“And he
accepted
that?” she said in obvious outrage.

“He did. And that's when I began to wish that I had not entered the game. But I did want that violin.” It had been of the same class as one his father used to own. He'd sold it to support them when Daniel's grandfather, the duke of Madingley, had not given enough spending money to his daughter.

Her mouth opened, but she said nothing at first, as if she didn't know where to begin. “But you won that dreadful game.”

“I did.”

She came down another step, temptingly close, leaning above him to point a finger in his face. “I refuse to marry you. Surely there is no way to enforce such a thing.”

She smelled of lavender, of moonlit nights in a summer garden.

What kind of foolish romantic was he turning into? He'd known from the moment she'd
appeared out of the darkness above him that he desired her, but he never allowed lust to cloud his judgment.

But it was difficult not to think such thoughts when, in a deserted house, a beautiful woman in her nightclothes was showing such spirit and passion.

He almost wanted to tease her, to insist they would marry immediately, just to see her reaction. But even he wasn't that much of a cad.

“Do not worry, Miss Banbury. I have no intention of marrying you.”

“I will go to Scotland Yard and—” Her mouth shut and she blinked. “Oh. Thank goodness you see the ridiculousness of—”

“But I am in the market for a mistress.”

A blush of warmth colored cheeks that had been too pale. Her lips curled, and she covered her mouth. At last he realized that merriment twinkled in her eyes.

And then she giggled. “Oh, dear,” she said, sitting down on the stair behind her and wiping a tear from her eye. “As if I would ever be your mistress, no matter what you say you've won.”

Daniel loomed over her, watching his shadow slide up and cover her. She leaned back on her elbows to look up at him, which left her lovely breasts on shadowy display through her thin nightclothes. She seemed innocent enough not to realize it.

“Miss Banbury, I think you underestimate my charms,” he said softly. He rested one foot on the
stair beside her legs, and then his forearm upon his knee, his hand dangling very near her.

Her smile faded, but she didn't move away.

“There have been only a few women before you who thought they could resist me,” he continued, “but they were mistaken. If I wanted you as my mistress, it would not be difficult to persuade you.”

And then she laughed, but with more bitterness than amusement.

He narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze wander down her garments, where he could see the press of her nipples beneath the linen. The fabric was caught between her thighs, and fell in folds that revealed her bare feet. Her small toes seemed so very intimate in the dark entrance hall.

Since no one had come to investigate upon hearing his entrance or their loud voices, he'd already guessed they were alone. She must know it, yet she so brazenly resisted him. He admired her bravery and determination, and the thought of her as his mistress was appealing.

It occurred to him that she was a gentleman's daughter, most likely a virgin. But, that had not stopped him with other women…. And the challenge was so much more exciting.

“You can step back now,” she said coolly. “Your intimidation and boasts will not work.”

He remained where he was, leaning over her. “Miss Banbury, I don't need intimidation or boasts. I am confident of my skills and my appeal.”

“So you send the women swooning, do you?” she asked, tilting her head.

“And more,” he said softly. “If I wanted you as my mistress, and set about to persuade you of the reasons you'd want to succumb, you would eventually do so.”

To his surprise, she looked at his mouth. The arousal that had been toying with him now became an aching erection. What was it about this woman that so drew him? Surely it was only her scanty clothing and her pretty face and body.

“You think I would so easily forget my virtue—not to mention what your gambling has cost my family—and take you into my bed?”

“I didn't say it would be easy. I thrive on challenges.”

She started to stand up, and when he didn't move, she gave his shoulder a push. He almost felt the warmth of her hand through his layers of clothing, so attuned to her was he. But he slowly straightened and allowed her to stand. She was several steps above him, but they faced each other straight on.

“So this is a challenge?” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want it to be?” He hadn't thought she would be the kind to join the game so willingly. The warmth of her breath caressed his face. He could feel his blood thrumming through his body, his every sense aware of this woman, from her creamy skin to her delicious pink lips to her hair, in which he longed to press his face and inhale.

“And what do I get as you prove your inability to sway my morals?” she continued speculatively. “The house?”

“Of course not.” He played a hunch. “The violin.”

She took a deep breath.

Yes, he had guessed correctly. “And of course, if I win, I get you in my bed, willingly.”

“You won't win.”

She seemed far too sure of herself.

“You cannot cheat by avoiding me,” he said. “You must allow me to try to seduce you.”

She colored. “Very well. And you cannot cheat by claiming possession of the house right now. I have to live somewhere. And you cannot allow it to be known that you own the house.”

He gave a faint smile. “Or you really will look like my mistress?”

“No one can know about this.”

“Whatever you think of me, I do not go around ruining women's reputations—unless they want me to. There is no need to unveil to Society what I wish to enjoy in private.”

She nodded. “Will you shake on it?”

He looked at her slender hand, then slowly took it, letting her know who held the power as he swallowed her fragileness within his big hand.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

She inhaled, not lowering her eyes, standing up to him in a way that was maddening. It suddenly seemed like a long time to wait to claim her.

“Because someone has to bring you down, Mr. Throckmorten.”

“And because you enjoy the challenge, just like the rest of us gamblers?”

When she gasped, he thought he'd gone too far, equating her with her mother, with him. He sensed she did not see herself as the weak creature she thought they were.

She pulled her hand away. “I've stated my reasons. We've shaken on it. You can attempt to seduce me, and I will resist. But if I surrender and become your mistress, you win. If you break your word on any rule we've agreed to, I win the violin by default.”

“Very well.”

“And we cannot wait forever for you to prove that you cannot seduce me.”

“Forever is a long time.”

“Exactly. And you'd be waiting that long.”

“Cocky, aren't you?” he said, reaching to capture her hand again before she knew what he was about. She wasn't even trembling. He knew she had probably never held a suitor's hand without gloves between them. He took advantage by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, then turning it over and pressing another to her palm. Lavender seemed all around him now, burned into his brain. Whenever he smelled it again, he would remember this night, the challenge of this woman. He touched her with his tongue, and although she stiffened, she did not gasp or frantically pull away.

“A time limit, Mr. Throckmorten. You have one week to prove my supposed inability to resist you,” she said with subtle sarcasm. She removed her hand from his.

“Three weeks.”

“Two,” she shot back.

“Very well.”

“And all I have to do is resist you.” She sounded as if she would be getting off lightly.

“And soon you won't even want to do that, Miss Banbury.”

“I'll be doing other things as well, have no fear.”

“Against me?”

“Against you.”

“Ah, I look forward to it.”

Then neither of them spoke, and they just looked at each other. Daniel wondered if she were taking his measure, as he was hers. He was suddenly glad that he'd won that card game.

“You may leave now, Mr. Throckmorten,” she said softly.

“I look forward to our next visit, Miss Banbury.”

Strangely, it took effort for him to turn away from her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, and prove to her that she would be no match against his seduction.

But that wasn't part of the game.

When he reached the door, she said, “Mr. Throckmorten?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and she held out her hand.

“The key, please.”

“I own this town house.”

“And you agreed not to reveal that fact. While I am living here, you will not find it so easy to enter again. The key, please.”

He walked back to her, noticing with amusement that she still had not come all the way down the stairs. She liked meeting him eye to eye. And he didn't mind giving her the key—he still had one to the kitchen door. He placed the key in her palm, and before she could pull away, he folded her fingers around it.

“Clutch it tightly, Miss Banbury,” he said in a soft voice. “I won't willingly give up anything else.”

She pressed her lips together, but all she did was nod.

He bowed. “Good evening.”

As he closed the door behind him, he heard her turn the lock. He didn't look back as he descended the stairs to the street, where his horse waited. He felt lighter than he had in a long time.

He'd been restless lately, on edge—bored. He was almost thirty, and the life he'd been leading since he'd been sent down in disgrace from Cambridge years before no longer seemed enough. He had accumulated a fortune, and the making of it now seemed too easy. Even gambling, taking wild risks and winning, had lost its appeal, for he was talented enough to win at anything that required skill—including seduction.

But now he had a new challenge to focus on. He sensed that Grace Banbury wasn't used to some
one with his control. Her mother surely had none. By the sight of the bare town house, her brother was not much better.

Grace most likely took care of them all, as she was trying to do now. The violin couldn't be all she wanted, although he knew it would bring a pretty penny. She'd just been betrayed by her mother, had just lost the security of a home.

But she was playing her own game with him, and he wouldn't deprive her of it.

Or deprive himself of the chance to have her willingly naked in his bed. Daniel didn't need the lengthy commitment of marriage. He had no need to please his family, for he wasn't the real heir. He and Grace would tire of each other and move on, the inevitable result, but until then, he would show her pleasures that she had never imagined.

 

Grace didn't trust him. She stood near the window beside the front door, watching between the draperies as he mounted his horse and rode away. The gaslights illuminated his figure down the length of the street, and she watched his straight back, the easy way he rode his horse.

He thought he had command of everything.

With a groan, she sat down on the bottom step and put her face in her hands. What had she allowed to happen?

There was a sick feeling, a twisting of her gut inside, as if she were somehow surprised at what her mother had done. So many times over the years, Grace had thought her mother could not
possibly do anything worse. And usually, Grace was unpleasantly surprised.

But this—

She swallowed heavily. Her mother always believed she would win, always assumed the risk smaller than it was. Because a man wanted to marry Grace, her mother had used that against him, “sweetening” the winnings.

I am not a prize to be won,
Grace thought bleakly.

But thank God, Mr. Throckmorten had not wanted her to wife. He was not foolish enough to try to enforce such a prize. And she wasn't even offended that he didn't want to marry her. He didn't know anything about her.

Except that he desired her.

She shivered, and she admitted to herself that it wasn't unpleasant. She had always reacted this way to men who looked at her with appreciation. To her dismay, she had always enjoyed every moment of it, basking in the attention, flirting as only a too-confident woman could.