Too Wicked to Wed (5 page)

Turning a bit green at the gills, Henry promptly drained his glass. “Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all.”

“Don’t turn priggish now,” she murmured. “What goes on between men and women is no dark mystery when one has overseen the breeding of sheep and—”

“Have some rum punch,” he mumbled, reaching for a new round of libations.

“No, thank you. I prefer to keep a clear head for cards.”

“Cards.” Looking relieved at the change of subject, Henry started forward. “By all means, let’s see what sort of action is taking places at the tables.”

Alexa, however, refused to be rushed. The air, scented with the seductive spice of cigars and perfumes, was intoxicating and she stood for a moment, simply inhaling the tantalizing whiff of forbidden freedoms. Gentlemen had all the luck, she decided. They had so few boundaries. While ladies were expected to be satisfied living their entire lives within the confines of a tight little box.

And most were. Alexa played with the folds of her cravat. Was she odd, to be longing for something she couldn’t quite put a finger on? Looking around again, she knew she should be shocked by the licentious looseness of the crowd. By all rights, the laughter was too loud, the comments too lusty.

And yet, she thought wistfully, they all seemed to be having such fun.

A nudge from Henry finally moved her to follow him into the gaming room.

Despite the low light and haze of cigar smoke, it quickly became evident that the stakes were running a good deal higher than a penny a point.

After glancing around at the taut faces, her cousin was moved to a low whistle. “The play tonight is too deep for a novice,” he cautioned. “We’ll just watch for a bit, then take our leave.”

“No,” replied Alexa firmly.

“But—”

“I’ve enough blunt to take a seat for a hand or two.”

He grimaced as his gaze fell on the players seated in the center of the room. “I would not advise it. Northinger and Haddan are notoriously reckless when it comes to betting.”

One of the gentlemen at the table suddenly rose and with a curse at the cards staggered off. Alexa quickly slipped into his place, leaving her cousin no choice but to play along with their charade.

“Young Lars here has just arrived from Sweden,” announced Henry to the other players as he leaned in over her shoulder. “He wishes to test his mettle against you gentlemen.”

“
Ja
,” she muttered.

“He doesn’t speak much English,” explained Henry.

“Neither does Quincy.” The dealer’s comment drew a good deal of laughter. “Half the time I can’t understand a bloody thing he says.”

“Kroner, crowns—as long as the lad has ready blunt, he is welcome to play,” replied the dealer.

The others nodded in agreement, and after a brief round of introductions, a new game began.

“It’s damnably close in here,” remarked Northinger. “Why the hat and gloves?”

“For luck,” answered Henry quickly.

“
Ja.
Luck,” echoed Alexa.

The reply was accepted with naught but a slight shrug. Without further ado, the group settled in for some serious play.

Grateful for the silence that descended over the table, Alexa soon fell into the rhythm of the cards. Undistracted by the flow of spirits or the occasional female who stopped to watch the action, she paid strict attention to every nuance of the unfolding hands. Such diligence soon paid off. The banknotes began to pile up in front of her.

“I’m done.” After yet another loss, Northinger slapped down his cards with a grunt of disgust. “Come, Haddan, let’s see if the females in the other room will prove more accommodating than the bloody Queen of Spades.”

“No, no, m’luck’s bound to come ’round.” The marquess waved for more brandy. “I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Northinger laughed. “That’s what you always think, Gryff. Especially when the few wits you possess are fuzzed with drink.” He turned and clapped an arm around Henry. “I know I can count on you to be up for a little fun.”

“Well, er…” stalled her cousin, trying to slip out of the embrace. “That is, I shouldn’t leave Lars alone—”

“Ballocks!” With Henry still firmly in his grasp, Northinger moved toward the doorway. “The lad doesn’t need a nursemaid. Doing fine on his own.”

Alexa, emboldened by her string of successes, waved Henry on. “
Ja.
Go.”

Seeing no way out, her cousin allowed himself to be ushered away, but not before shooting her one last look of reproach.

She restrained the urge to stick out her tongue. How glorious it felt to be wickedly, wantonly irresponsible. Like the other free spirits in the drawing room, she wanted to dance a little jig.

The pair tottered through the doorway. But as they rubbed shoulders with a lone figure making his entrance into the room, Alexa felt her stomach do a sudden, skidding slide into her ribs.

Chapter Four

A
pproaching the smoke-shrouded table, the Earl of Killingworth nodded a greeting to the players. “Who’s the puppy,” he growled, his gaze lingering for a moment on Alexa.

Ducking her head even lower, she made a show of studying her cards.

“Lars—he’s a friend ’f Sir ’Enry,” answered Gryff, sloshing more brandy into his glass.

“Lars appears to be a lucky lad,” remarked the Wolfhound, flicking a quick look at the pile of banknotes piled in front of her.

“Nipping at our balls, that’s for damn sure,” muttered Quincy. “Next he’ll be gnawing on my prick.”

Leaning a hip against the back of her chair, Connor crossed his arms. “How very embarrassing,” he drawled. “I, for one, would never dream of letting such an inexperienced mouth anywhere near my privy parts.”

The remark elicited a round of guffaws.

Alexa was suddenly hot all over. Her cheeks flamed, her fingertips burned. But the worst of the flames seemed to be licking at a small spot just below her left shoulder. Beneath the layers of her clothing her skin felt scorched.

The Wolfhound shifted slightly and the fall of his trousers grazed against her.

Dear God. Dear God.
As if she needed any reminder that he was a distinctly male animal.

“Your turn to discard, Lars,” chided Quincy.

She threw down a random card.

“Ha! Knew it!” With a slurred smile, Gryff scooped up his winnings. “Lady Luck’s finally going to kiss my hand.”

“Kiss my arse,” grumbled Quincy.

“Perhaps, you ought to quit while you are ahead,” said Connor softly, eyeing the pair of empty bottles by his friend’s side.

Making a face, Gryff replied with a rude oath.

“Suit yourself,” murmured the earl.

Alexa felt the Wolfhound’s big, muscled body shift again, and silently prayed that he was taking his leave. A trickle of sweat teased its way down her spine, leaving a trail of liquid sparks.

“What’s the matter, puppy?” he snapped. “Am I making you nervous?”

She shook her head, not daring to speak.

“Then stop squirming.”

Her limbs tensed and she held herself very still. This was dangerous.

Oh-so dangerous.

But it wasn’t just fear that was coursing through her blood like hot buttered rum. It was something far more potent—a heady mixture of excitement, elation, and some emotion she couldn’t quite define.

After several long moments of silence, the Wolfhound moved away, but only to stand by the marquess.

“Do you wish to pull up a chair and join the game?” asked Gryff.

Holding her breath, Alexa ventured a peek from beneath the brim of her hat.

“The stakes aren’t high enough to tempt me.” The Wolfhound appeared to have lost any interest in the players or the card game. As he turned to survey the room, his gunmetal gaze skimmed over her as if she weren’t there.

Alexa knew she should be relieved, and yet…

“Have you seen Babcock?” he asked his friend.

“Not that I can recall,” answered Gryff.

“If you are searching for company, Lord Killingworth, you need not look too far.” A voluptuous blonde slipped around two gentlemen at the dice table and placed a hand on his sleeve. Alexa tried to concentrate on her cards, but she couldn’t help noticing that the décolletage of the woman’s gown was cut nearly to her navel. And her ample bosom was covered by barely a thread. “I would be delighted to keep you company.”

“I’ve business elsewhere,” he replied.

“Business?” The blonde’s hand rubbed suggestively along his arm. “But here, you won’t have to pay for your pleasures.”

Her touch dropped to toy with the fastenings of his trousers. And then her fingers slid lower and cupped a small squeeze.

As the Wolfhound gave a rumbled laugh, Alexa felt her own flesh begin to tingle. His brandy-roughened voice seemed to stir a fresh wave of molten heat that swirled in her belly, then dipped deep between her legs.

With a little purr, the blonde began to tease her palm back and forth.

The earl’s reaction was obvious, despite the low light. However, his laugh grew a little louder. “I assure you, my dear, that wherever I go, I am never required to pay for my pleasure.”

“Hell, the lad’s blushing,” chuckled Quincy. “Have you ever tupped a woman, Lars?” he asked with a leer. “You’ve got more than enough to pay for a prime article like Sally.”

“Bloody hell, could we stubble the talk of sex?” grumbled Gryff. “Be a good lass and dangle those lovely tits elsewhere, Sal. You’ll frighten the lad away before I’ve had a chance to recoup my losses.”

The woman made a moue of disappointment and flounced away.

“Very well, I’ll leave you all to your games.” The Wolfhound glanced at Alexa and gave a bored shrug. “Enjoy your evening, puppy. You may blink now and I won’t bite off your head.”

Gritting her teeth, Alexa watched him walk away.
Damn the man.
The fire inside her cooled somewhat, and yet her blood was still thrumming.
How dare he treat her like a child when she was besting some of London’s most notorious gamesters?

Forcing her attention back to her hand, she steadied her nerves and channeled her pent-up emotion into sharper play and bolder bets.

“Damn, I’d wear
two
pairs of those cursed black gloves if it would bring me such a winning touch,” growled Quincy, as he shoved back his chair. “I’m done for the night. Ye better fold them as well, Haddan. Your dish is as empty as mine.”

“No, no, I can feel it in my bones—this next deal is going to change everything.” Gryff looked to Alexa. “Any objection t’ playin’ on, Lars? Say, f’r one hand t’ recoup all m’ losses?”

She thought for a moment, then nodded in agreement, though the spot in front of him was indeed bare.

Following her gaze, Gryff started fumbling through his pockets. “Bloody hell, must have some more blunt tucked away s’mewhere.” A slip of crumpled paper emerged from the depths of his waistcoat. After giving the contents a bleary squint, he dropped it on the table. “This should do it. Worth a demmed sight more’n the bet—and likely cost me m’ prick if I lose it. But I don’t intend t’ lose.”

Alexa didn’t imagine anyone ever did. But even had she trusted her voice, she would have kept mum. Far be it for her to offer advice to a seasoned gamester, even if a novice could see that tonight was not the night to keep challenging Fate.

“Will y’ accept a vowel, lad? ’Pon my word of honor as a gentlem’n, it’s good.”

“
Ja.
” In truth, she wasn’t thinking about the money. The heady thrill of taking a risk, heightened by her earlier encounter, was making her heart race and her breath come in ragged gulps. It was both frightening and exhilarating. No wonder gentlemen frequented gaming hells if it made them feel this…alive.

Gryff took up the deck and dealt the cards.

Alexa paused for a moment, eye to eye with the Queen of Hearts as she waited for the butterflies to cease fluttering around in her stomach.

The marquess groaned in disgust.

A peek at her hidden cards showed the Ace, King, and Jack.

Alexa could scarcely believe that luck had favored her with such an unbeatable hand. She turned the dazzling show of red face up in the flickering light.

“May the Norse Gods be neutered,” swore Quincy. “He’s done it again.”

“Er, so he has.” Gryff swore under his breath. “Was sure my luck w’s turning.”

She gathered in the slip of paper and shoved it, along with the jumble of banknotes, into the pocket of her coat. Touching the brim of her hat in a jaunty salute, she rose and walked off, hoping her mimicking of a masculine stride would hide her real desire to twirl on her toes.

Feeling light as a feather, and free as a bird, Alexa passed through the doorway. In her elevated mood, she saw it as a magic portal. Indeed, it was all like something out of a fairy tale, where the rules and roles had given way to dreams and desires. Her lips, half hidden by the false mustache, curled up in secret delight, but after another step or two, the smile turned rather bittersweet.

All fairy tales had an end. At the stroke of midnight, the laughter would fade, the revelries would die away and the glass slipper—or in this case, the high top Hessian boots—would turn back into ordinary kidskin pumps.

Alexa glanced at the clock, then plucked a glass of champagne from the sideboard and headed out to the gardens. The air was cool, and she stood for a moment in pale moonlight, sipping her wine and savoring the scent of lilac. She meant to enjoy the last few minutes of precious freedom in solitude, but for some unaccountable reason, she found herself wishing she might conjure up a storybook prince for company. One whose hair shimmered with silvery highlights…

“Silly goose,” she muttered under her breath. The champagne must be having an odd effect on her brain, for rarely did she indulge in such silly schoolgirl fantasies.

A prince, indeed!

Ha!
She may as well kiss the stone gryphon set in the niche of the wall, for all the good it would do her.

“There you are!” Henry appeared a trifle out of breath as he caught hold of her sleeve. “What—what the deuce are you doing standing atop that urn?”

Her boots hit the gravel with a crunch. “Nothing,” she muttered, grateful that a twist of ivy covered her embarrassment.

“Step over here. We must talk.”

His peremptory tone caused her hackles to rise. Why must he ruin these last few precious moments of freedom? “What is so important that it cannot wait until later?” she demanded.

“The vowel.”

Alexa stared at him blankly.

“Haddan’s pledge. You have to give it back.”

“Give it back?” He meant to rob her of that as well? “But I won it fair and square!”

Henry shuffled his feet. “Er, well, he wasn’t quite thinking straight at the moment. He wasn’t supposed to risk that particular piece of paper.” Clearing his throat, her cousin added, “And, er, had he known he was playing against a female, he would never have made the wager.”

It was now righteous indignation that brought fire to her cheeks. “I thought that once a gentlemen made a bet, he was honorbound to abide by it.”

“Yes, but…”

Once again there appeared to be two sets of rules. And as always, the one that applied to gentlemen apparently allowed for far more latitude than did the one that applied to ladies. Her mood already on edge, Alexa reacted with blunt outrage. “Well it’s a trifle late for regrets.”

Her cousin’s face took on a greenish cast. “Be reasonable, Alexa!”

“Why should I?” she shot back.

“B-because it’s…” Taken aback by the unexpected resistance, Henry was reduced to an incoherent stuttering. Raking a hand through his hair, he finally gathered enough composure to blurt out the truth. “Bloody hell, Alexa. The pledge happens to be a half-ownership in a gaming hell and brothel!” He gave a nervous laugh. “Surely you can see now why it must be handed over immediately.”

She withdrew the paper from her pocket and for the first time took a close look.

The Wolf’s Lair.
The name was written in a bold script, along with a scrawled signature.
Linsley.

Wishing to make sure it was not a bend of light or a hiccup of reason that was playing tricks with her imagination, Alexa read it over several times before carefully refolding the foolscap and tucking it away in a more secure place.

For whatever reason, it appeared the Earl of Killingworth had been forced to take a gamble. Her lips set in a grim smile.

Ha! The Wolfhound had held the upper hand the first three times they had met. Now, she was—to say the least—on equal footing with the rogue.

“Alexa? You are going to give it back, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely not.”

Henry was rendered momentarily speechless. Seeing that pleas were getting him nowhere, he resorted to wheedling. “Pater will have my guts for garters when he finds out—that is, if Sebastian doesn’t murder me first and feed my entrails to the wolves.”

“There are no wolves in Yorkshire,” retorted Alexa. A spasm of resentment caused her fists to clench. Turning on her heel, she started to walk away. “As for the consequences, you will just have to chance them, won’t you?”

“Alexa! Wait!”

His lunge caused her to stumble up against a trellis of roses. Caught in the thorns, her hat came off, pulling her tightly wound tresses loose in a scattering of hairpins.

With an angry toss of her head, she yanked herself free. “By all rights it’s mine, Henry. Come hell or—”

In the heat of the argument, neither of them heard the approaching steps.

“May Sat’n be boiled ’n brandy!”

Alexa whipped around to find the Marquess of Haddan staring at the tumble of her wheaten curls.

Gryff blinked. “Good God.”

“Good God,” repeated Henry, in hollow echo of the marquess’s surprise. “We are really in the brambles now.”

Seeing there was no way to disguise the truth, Alexa reached up and peeled the itchy bit of hair from her upper lip.

“Who—” began Gryff.

“Allow me to introduce my cousin, Lady Alexa Hendrie,” said Henry through gritted teeth.

“D-delighted t’ make your acquaint’nce,” drawled the marquess.

“I highly doubt it,” replied Alexa.

“Look, Haddan, I know this looks highly irregular—”

The marquess slid his gaze down to Alexa’s snug breeches and allowed a small smile.

“But I beg that as a favor to us—and to your old comrade Sebastian Hendrie—that you will promise to keep this little charade a secret. It was all meant in harmless fun, but if word were to leak out, the lady would be ruined.”

“Seb’s s’ster?” Gryff’s expression sobered. “You have my word ’f honor that I’ll say nothing about this.”

Alexa waited until the sigh escaping from Henry’s lips had run its course. “Speaking of honor, Lord Haddan, it appears we have another rather delicate matter to discuss.”

Gryff started to hold out his hand.

“Not so fast.” Alexa folded her arms across her chest. “Would you seek to renege on your bet if I were really a gentleman?”