Too Wicked to Wed (7 page)

She was, of course, thinking purely in terms of the practical skills needed to run a business. But clearly the earl assumed she was referring to something else.

His chiseled lips thinned to a lordly sneer. “You must be joking, Lady Alexa.” His gloved fingers tightened around hers. Even had she wished to cause a scandalous scene she could not have escaped their grip. “Need I remind you that I have had an intimate enough acquaintance of you to form a judgment.”

Her outspoken independence had drawn enough criticism over the years that Alexa considered herself impervious to insult.

Apparently she was much mistaken.

The room suddenly seemed to be spinning. She was well aware she had none of the physical attractions that might tempt a gentleman like the Irish Wolfhound to look twice. But hearing it said to her face was painful beyond words.

She was of no more interest to him than a mouse in the molding…

No—there was nothing mousy about her. Mice at least were cute and cuddly. She was more like a stork, with long legs and ungainly feet.

One of which chose that moment to trip over the earl’s shoe.

Mortified, Alexa squeezed her eyes shut. Why, oh why couldn’t she be more like the other young ladies, with their porcelain prettiness and their tiny, graceful little creampuff slippers that moved so effortlessly across the dancefloor?

The sting of tears burned against her eyelids.
Stork
, she repeated.
A bird-witted stork with feathers for brains.

“Lady Alexa?”

Though Alexa wished she might sprout wings and fly straight through the open windows, she forced her eyes open. Mouse or stork, she would not be so cowardly as to flee from him.

The Wolfhound’s mouth had softened to a quizzical line, and he was regarding her with a strange flicker to the steel of his gaze. The look upset her even more. She would much rather be subject to his anger than his pity.

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly. “Are you feeling…faint?”

“Of course I’m not feeling faint! I’m merely annoyed at your abominable arrogance and unspeakable rudeness,” she snapped, restoking her courage with a show of indignation. After a moment, she added, “I never feel faint. As you have so kindly pointed out, my looks are not those of a polished and proper young lady. And neither are my sensibilities.”

To her surprise, the earl did not react.

Drawing in a lungful of air, she went on, “Go ahead and snarl all the insults you want, sir. It does not alter the fact that, whether you like it or not, I now own half of The Wolf’s Lair. And unless you plan to renege on a debt of honor, there is precious little you can do about it.”

His expression betrayed no sign of emotion, save for a tiny tic of his jaw. “My honor, unlike a good many things about me, has never been called into question.” His eyes had gone flat and opaque as pewter plates. “As to my options, they may depend on what you intend to do with your half.”

“I haven’t decided,” she muttered. “When I do, I shall let you know. In the meantime, please return me to my aunt as soon as this dratted dance is over. I don’t see that we have any further business to discuss tonight.”

Given how badly she stumbled through the last few steps, Alexa imagined that the earl now had several bruised toes to go along with his bruised pride. As a rule, gentlemen did not take well to losing at anything, and given his fearsome reputation, the Wolfhound was unlikely to be an exception. Indeed, she was rather surprised he was not trying to bite her head off instead of maintaining a stoic silence.

The effort must be costing him dearly.

It wasn’t until the last notes had melted into the murmurs of the crowd that Connor leaned in for a last word. “Not now, perhaps, Lady Alexa. But I am surprised that a player of your reputed skills would stake a claim to victory when there are still a great many cards that lie unturned. This is merely the first round of play. Be assured that the game is far from over.”

Chapter Six

H
ell and damnation.

Connor frowned as he swallowed the last of his brandy. What the devil had brought tears to the young lady’s eyes? To her credit, she had not attempted to use them to her advantage. She had tried her best to blink away the telltale drops, but several had formed luminous little pearls on the fringe of her lashes. Oddly enough, he had been sorely tempted to reach up and blot them away with a gentle brush of his lips.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her. But he had.

Well, it served the chit right, he reminded himself. It was not his fault if she had mistaken his cultivated cynicism for deliberate cruelty. Perhaps it was even for the best. For all her show of spark and spirit, she had little experience in the ways of the world. It was high time she learned that life was, for the most part, a bare-knuckled brawl.

Flicking the butt of his cheroot into the hearth, Connor resumed his restless pacing, moving from the overheated card room out to the upper terrace of the gardens.

Torches set along the carved balustrades cast a flickering light over the stone. Leaning up against the cool granite, he stretched out his legs and flexed his shoulders. The afternoon hours spent hunched over ledgers and sifting through recent rumors had left his muscles knotted and his patience frayed. It had not helped any that the interlude with Lady Alexa had been yet another exercise in frustration.

The swirl of mist and muddled moonlight gave the clipped hedges and topiary trees a vaguely sinister air. The blurred outlines and indistinct shapes kept shifting under his brooding gaze, while spreading shadows threatened to engulf the grounds in a pool of blackness.

All in all, it mirrored his current mood. He was still no closer to puzzling out who was seeking to destroy The Wolf’s Lair. Or why.

The business, while beginning to turn a decent profit, was no threat to anyone, save for the few wives who resented the fact that their husbands sought pleasure in places other than the marriage bed. Yet it was nigh on impossible to picture the very proper Lady Burke or the straightlaced Lady Wilford conspiring with a gang of hired thugs. The fine points of card sharping and burglary discussed over tea and cream cakes?

Absurd.
But no more so than any of the other possibilities that had come to mind.

“I thought you might care for another brandy.” Gryff perched a hip on the smooth stone. “That is, unless you would prefer to be alone with your thoughts.”

“They are proving damned depressing company. Even your phiz presents a welcome sight.” The earl accepted the drink and quaffed it in one gulp.

The marquess raised a brow. “Turned you down flat, did she?”

A grunt confirmed the surmise.

“I feared as much. Never met a female with such steel in her spine. And elsewhere.” There was a touch of wry admiration in his tone. “Unfortunately for us, she has the iron cojones to stand up to a man.”

Cojones.
Connor’s mouth tweaked up at hearing the expression used by their Spanish allies. He supposed she did have iron balls. In a manner of speaking.

Gryff fingered his chin. “Perhaps we should appeal to Sebastian.”

The earl found the idea repugnant for a variety of reasons. It seemed a betrayal of the lowest order. And aside from the ethical questions of turning tattlemonger, he did not care to test whether his old army comrade had lost any prowess with a saber. Their friendship was a tenuous one at best, and while Sebastian Hendrie did owe him a favor—a rather large one—expecting the fellow to throw his sister to the wolves, as it were, was rather overdoing it.

“Let us leave Seb out of it.”

After brief consideration, the marquess nodded. “I suppose you are right. Two battlehardened veterans of the Peninsular campaign ought to be able to handle a skirmish with a lone lass.” His scowl turned a touch more sanguine. “Or make that three, now that Cameron has rejoined our ranks. With his imagination, he can always be counted on to come up with an unexpected strategy.”

Connor gave a snort. “That’s what I am afraid of. I have had enough bloody surprises, if you don’t mind.”

Gryff shot him a quizzing glance. “Speaking of surprises, were you aware that he steals jewels?”

“Yes. In fact, he’s wanted for theft in at least four different countries. You remember his sojourn in Rome? I heard his precipitate departure had something to do with the fact that his partners in a smuggling venture were threatening to fry his testicles in olive oil and garlic.”

A bark of laughter. “I wonder why he takes such outrageous risks?”

“I imagine he has his reasons.” Connor finished his brandy in one long swallow “Don’t we all.”

“Er, Lady Alexa…”

Her head jerked up as Mr. Givens—he of the enameled snuffboxes—added a nervous cough.
Dear God. Not another lecture on Russian cloisonné.
At the moment, she wasn’t sure she could stand to hear any more details on pigments and alloys.

However his next words were nothing of the sort. “Please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Daggett.”

She wasn’t sure she could stand acquaintance with another Hellhound, either, but it did not appear she had any choice.

Givens quickly sidled away, leaving her to face the tall, elegant gentleman who was looming over her chair.

“Forgive me for using the pup to gain an introduction, but none of the tabbies were likely to throw you to the dogs—proverbial or otherwise.” He sketched a graceful bow. “However, seeing as I am a old friend of Sebastian, might I have the pleasure of the next dance? That is,” he added dryly, “if your card is not full.”

Alexa saw his eyes were angled at the bit of pasteboard dangling from her wrist. Its pristine white surface was blinding in its blankness.

“If this is yet another attempt to intimidate me, you may save your breath, sir—and your toes,” she muttered. “I don’t intend to dance to Lord Killingworth’s tune.”

“Clumsy, was he?” Cameron moved so smoothly that before Alexa quite realized what was happening, her hand was tucked in the crook of his arm and they were on the dance floor, ready to step into the first figures of a waltz. “The Wolfhound is usually a bit more agile on his feet.”

Seeking a moment to regain her equilibrium, she deflected his question with one of her own. “Do you also have a nickname, Mr. Daggett?”

“Yes. My friends call me the Bloodhound—or, as the ancient Scots called it, the Sleuth hound.”

Alexa blinked. With his lean height, chiseled features and mocking eyes, her partner’s resemblance to a lugubrious, wrinkle-faced dog was difficult to discern.

Her consternation must have showed for Cameron gave a light laugh. “You see, I have a nose for trouble, if you will, and once I’m on a scent, I usually follow it to the bitter end.”

A gentleman who could make fun of himself? She couldn’t help but smile back. “And like a bloodhound, do you always catch what you are chasing?”

His eyes turned a darker, more enigmatic shade of green. “Bloodhounds are very stubborn, persistent creatures, Lady Alexa.” There was a fraction of a pause. “In that we appear to have something in common.”

She fell back on the defensive. “You may insult me all you want, but I am not giving back the vowel. I won it fairly and squarely.” Seeing that her retort did not bring the slightest hitch to his step provoked her to add, “Why is it that qualities that are considered laudable in men are looked on as shocking in a female?”

“A good question.” His gaze was once again lit with amusement. “My observation was not meant as an insult. Though I suppose any proper young lady would take umbrage at being compared to a Hellhound.”

“As you seem aware of my recent activities, you know very well that I am hardly a pattern card for propriety.”

“Yes, that’s what makes you so intriguing.” Moving with an effortless grace, Cameron twirled her through a series of turns. Above the whisper of silk brushing the parquet, he murmured, “What is it you are after, Lady Alexa?”

She was sure her cheeks were turning the same hue as his neckcloth. “I—I don’t quite follow you.”

“I rather doubt that you are having any difficulty in keeping pace.”

The light pressure of his hand had her suddenly reversing direction. Alexa drew in a deep breath, trying to keep her head from spinning.

“Judging from all I have heard, you have a very quick mind.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “And, I might add, the imagination to stay a step ahead of the game. Do take care to go slowly, and not let such admirable traits lead you into trouble.”

Her chin came up. “I assure you, I am used to looking out for myself.”

As the violins finished the last notes of the crescendo, Cameron’s gliding step brought them into the shadows of the potted palms. “Then far be it for me to offer advice. As you say, you seem to be finding your way in Town without any help. But bear in mind that it is easy to stray into danger, even for those who are familiar with all its hidden twists and turns.” In the shifting patterns of light and dark, she wasn’t aware of the small calling card until he tucked it into her glove. “Don’t hesitate to send word if I can ever be of service to you.”

“I—”

He was already gone, the faint stirring of fronds quickly settling back into a leafy silence.

“What the devil were you doing with Lady Alexa?”

“A waltz,” replied Cameron, after quaffing a mouthful of champagne. “Perhaps the two of you ought to go out more often in civilized society if you have forgotten how to dance.”

Gryff swallowed a snort. “When I take a lady in my arms, I prefer her to be naked.”

“Keep your paws off that particular one. Our old comrade Sebastian would not take it kindly were you to ravish his sister.” Cameron savored another sip of his wine. “Though she really is quite ravishing, don’t you think? Stands head and shoulders above the crowd. All those milk and water misses look pale in comparison—”

“Damn it, you ought not be sniffing around her skirts, either.” Connor spoke more sharply than he intended. “I’ll handle this on my own.”

“No need to bare your fangs, Wolf. I merely wished to meet the girl and form my own opinion of what you have gotten yourself into.”

“And?” prompted Gryff.

Cameron didn’t take the bait. His gaze remained on the bubbling of tiny explosion in his glass. “Is there a reason she seems to react so viscerally to the mention of your name, Connor? Other than the fact that you trod on her toes earlier tonight. My guess is you have met before.”

“Once,” replied the earl through gritted teeth. “Or twice. We ran into each other during Sebastian’s recent troubles.”

“You didn’t mention that to me.” Gryff’s voice held a note of reproach.

“For a damn good reason. It has nothing to do with the fact that you are a bloody idiot for playing cards when what few wits you have are soused in brandy.” Connor turned abruptly on his heel, causing a clutch of nearby couples to edge back into the woodwork. “You two may do as you please, but I have had enough of polite entertainment for one night.”

“Heading back to the Lair?” asked the marquess.

“Yes.” His scowl turned a touch fiercer. “Assuming my half is still open for business.”

What was she after?
With the Bloodhound’s probing question thrumming in her head, Alexa twisted the sash of her dressing gown into a string of knots. No amount of reasoning seemed able to unravel the tangle of her emotions. Or the answer to why she was so desperate to win the Wolfhound’s regard.

A shiver ran through her, as if his arms were still encircling her. As shadows from the mullioned window danced across the wall of her bedchamber, she could picture the angled leanness of his jaw, the faint whiskering on his cheeks, the refracted glow of the candelabras illuminating the silvery highlights of his hair.

A lordly wolf.
She had never in her life encountered such a magnificent beast.

But physical attraction, though undeniably powerful, was only part of the earl’s allure. Oddly enough, the more she learned about him, the more she admired him.

Like her, he was…different. He had chosen not to fall in line with the usual expectations. Whereas most men would have married for money, the earl had refused to take the easy way of recouping his fortune. Instead, he had applied himself to a difficult task with dogged determination and great resourcefulness, despite the risk of being shunned by his peers.

Oh, he was a rogue, to be sure, but while most people saw him only in black and white, Alexa was aware of an infinite range of grays in between. She sensed the earl was a man of subtle nuances, most of which were overshadowed by the glare of his notoriety. A more intimate acquaintance might…

Alexa gave herself a mental shake. Not that Killingworth would ever willingly seek her out.

When it came to companionship, the man had no dearth of choices. She had seen for herself the come hither glances from highborn ladies of the
ton
. And he did not have to look far if it were other company he sought. Under his own roof were exactly the sort of women skilled in satisfying the primal urges of any man.

A scudding of clouds dimmed the dappling of moonlight. In light of reality, how had she ever dreamed that she could measure up? It was absurd to imagine that a man like the Wolfhound might appreciate any of the qualities she had to offer.

Of which there were pitifully few she could point to at this moment.

Avoiding her own reflection, Alexa took up her brush from the night table and began to comb through her unruly curls. If only she were more like other young ladies, who seemed to fall in and out of love at the drop of a feather.

Oh, but longing for what could never be was too heavy a weight on the spirit.

Heaving a sigh, Alexa blew out the candle. The evening had quickly snuffed out her schoolgirl fantasies about dealing with Connor Linsley as an equal. She had taken a gamble, but played her cards badly. Was it time to cut her losses while she still had a shred of dignity left? Or was she willing to chance another match of wills with the Irish Wolfhound?