FeverFantasy

CHAPTER TEN

Lady Caroline Montaine
One King’s Crossing
London, England

Seventh, June, 1814

My dearest Caroline,
How I miss you! But I am afraid I will be unable to accept the invitation you extended, although the Montaine ball would be a splendid time indeed!

I will advise in brief, as Abbey is nagging that there is much to do. (She resides with me now, all will become clear in a moment.) You recall that my father failed to appear at Sacred Heart prior to your departure? We have received the most dreadful news that he will not be coming at all. He passed away while in the West Indies. To further compound an already grievous time, it would appear I have been betrothed to a most unacceptable man!

It would require far too much time to tell it all so I shall cut to the quick.

Abbey and I suspect some nefarious shenanigans at work. Neither of us believe my father would have written a will such as the one of which my “betrothed” is in possession. We women have decided there is but one acceptable option to escape this fortune hunter. I must ruin myself. To render completely unacceptable all that he might gain by wedding me. If I should break the betrothal, the will stipulates that he inherit all my father possessed! Yet if he should be driven to break the betrothal, I shall be free to retain what is rightfully mine.

Therefore, if you should hear any alarming rumors about me, I beg you rest assured I’m in complete control of the situation. Abbey and I have decided that once we drive him to break the betrothal, we shall retire from England and start anew in another place. Possibly the Colonies!

Regrettably, any contact you might publicly maintain with me, given my intent, will sully your pristine reputation. I bid you heed my warning, I do not wish to tarnish the good name of any of my dear friends. I will understand your keeping a distance.

Please pass on to the others of the “Triple S” a scant sketch of my situation. Caution them away from me! I am serious that I’m going to ruin myself in every sense of the word. It’s the only thing that may succeed. Have confidence in me, I will go only as far as is necessary to make Bryce break the betrothal.

Fear not, dearest Caroline, although rumors may make it seem that I am squandering my inheritance, I have the finest financial counsel, and am merely wasting a pittance of what I now control.

I miss you, Caroline. No word on Trina yet, but I continue to hope and pray. How is the man-hunt progressing? Which of the Lords of Lussex is soon to become your prey?
Your soon to be most unsavory friend,

Rafe Bennington


_____

Lady Rafaella Bennington
One-seven-seven Grosvenor’s Square
London, England
Twelfth, June, 1814

My very dearest Rafe,
What a life you lead! Fabulously interesting as ever!

Oh dear, my deepest sympathies. I’m unspeakably sorry to hear about your father.
But I shall not dwell as you’d best not either.

Silly girl! I have never cared a whit about my reputation amongst the ton. Friends are far more important. For now, I shall heed your request for distance, only as it is inconvenient for me to come see you right now. (I have dress fittings every minute of the day and am exhausted from the social whirl!) Mark my words, whence things calm, I shall appear on your doorstep, the ton be damned.

What is it like living with Abbey!

Oh, and by the by, guess who’s back in town?

Yes! The one and only, not seen in two years, notorious, sexy, and much touted Marquis de Galle! Fancy that! I do wish you’d be so good one day as to tell me what really happened that Christmas!

Trina wasn’t your fault, sweet. Get on with it. She remains in my prayers as well. It is the best we can do.

Be good, dearest Rafe, or at the very least, be good at it!

Be strong! Remember, your friends are your family now. We’ll not abandon you no matter how far into the black you sink.

Escape that scoundrel and write me faithfully. I simply must know what happens!

Always with love,
Caroline


Rafe smiled as she refolded the letter. Loyal Caroline, nearly as impetuous and determined as Rafe herself. But the smiled faded quickly as her mind sped back a paragraph to the news she’d been dreading. Damn and double damn! What was he doing back in town?

He had stayed away for two years. Why return now? She didn’t need this complication. She had a dead father, a missing friend, an utterly unwanted betrothal, and two bodyguards dogging her every step.

As she opened the center drawer of her writing table, she noticed her hand was trembling. “Damn him!” she said. “He still has a hold on me! The mere idea of him being in London makes me want to race down the street for but a glimpse of him. And yet I dread encountering him. He shall most likely ignore me--” She broke off as a thought occurred to her. He had told her to stay out of his sight, or he would destroy her. Was that why he had returned? “No,” she said softly, “he has forgotten me. He has probably returned to take a lover.”

Gloomy thought, that. Rafe had been secretly thrilled that the man had gone into virtual seclusion shortly after she’d left land’s End. The thought of him whiling away the hours with any woman irritated her. Jealousy, she acknowledged. She acknowledged other things as well. That she had wanted him then. When the disconcerting duality of being sixteen had passed, and Rafe had accepted her guilt, she had acknowledged that she had gone to Land’s End, not to get revenge as she had told herself then, but simply because she’d wanted him.

It seemed she still did. She was no better that any other woman of the ton, drawn like a moth to the raw sensuality of the Marquis’ flame. It infuriated her, this betrayal of herself. Ambivalence, Abbey called it. The simultaneous pulling towards and pushing away of an object or person. Knowing he could destroy her, that he was wrong for her, and that she couldn’t resist him.
But she would resist! She wasn’t sixteen anymore. She was not divided internally. She was a woman! She would coolly saunter past him as though he didn’t exist. She would ruin herself, find Trina, and regally walk from London and the stress of his condemning regard.

And she would be free at long last! “It’s because you feel you have something to prove to him that you care what he thinks,” she told herself. “Find Trina, and he won’t matter a whit to you.”

With a matter-of-fact nod, she mentally commanded her hand to close the drawer, but instead, it removed the miniature of him. Rafe’s shoulders slumped. Her body never obeyed her where the Marquis was concerned.

Thick black hair, silky, she recalled. Silvery eyes of fire, and of course for the sitting, he hadn’t shaved. Still had that shadow on his jaw giving him a primitive, untamed look.

But it was the eyes that held her gaze, after she tore them away from his lower lip. The eyes were mocking and challenging her. Can you touch me, little girl? Care to play with fire? she imagined them saying.

Oh, how she would like to play with fire!

Damn him!

Ice, she commanded herself, you shall be as ice.

You shall be so cool, inside and out, for he has every reason to try to destroy you. Once, long ago, he might have been kind, but now, he will spare no mercy. Sixteen and innocent she had been, and a conscience he had tried to have. But eighteen and responsible for his ward’s disappearance? He would excercise no restraint. He would ruin her.

Well, she wouldn’t let him. Rafe thrust the picture back in the drawer and slammed it shut so hard the delicate cherry piece rocked on its legs.

“Everything alright in there, Lady Bennington?” a voice called through the door.

Rafe rubbed a hand across her brow, “Everything’s fine, Kyle.” The ever present guard, she thought. “Any harm that befalls me, I shall probably inflict myself,” she muttered.

“Well, pray refrain, for you’re worth a fortune to us only alive and in good health,” he teased. “We receive tremendous bonuses if we manage to preserve you safe and sound. Besides, this is the most interesting assignment we’ve had yet. We’ve always been charged with keeping young ladies lily-white. We’ve never been hired to help one ruin herself, and we’re looking forward to the betting tables tonight”

Rafe smiled faintly. She had come to like the two giants. It had been only practical they be apprised of the situation and subsequent plan. It seemed she’d won their sympathy, and they felt a fierce protectiveness of her. The brothers were always ready with a quick smile, ever vigilant, and treated her with the utmost consideration. They were well trained from having guarded so many difficult charges. And of course, they were handsome to boot. Blond, nearly identical, the two were heavily muscled, skilled in defense, and towered over her. They had caused quite a stir when she’d attended her first ball at Almack’s last week. She had broken every rule while there, and still not had her membership rescinded. She had disparaged Beau Brummell loudly, she had waltzed! Very closely with the Viscount de Baal, and the Lords Calvin and Cambridge. She had insinuated that she had no intention of marrying, and she had belittled her betrothed. She had flirted shamelessly, and asked not one, but four young men to dance! Only the day before, she had ridden down St. James Street in the early evening, brazenly attired, not side-saddled, and accompanied only by Kyle and Burke.

And still the ton lauded her! What on earth would she have to do to have them condemn her? Abbey said that as she was only so recently arrived, so well-connected, and word of the Duke’s demise had quickly spread, that the ton was giving a bit of leeway. Well, she didn’t want any leeway! She wanted to be ruined! She wanted to be the focus of malicious and slandering gossip. She wanted word of her atrocious behavior circulated widely until Terrence Bryce felt too humiliated to wed her. Until he was convinced she was more trouble than what was left of her fortune would be worth. Abbey had further counseled that as the ton knew the Duke had died, they also knew just how wealthy she was. Money meant much to the ton, so her best bet was to lose astonishing amounts, and quickly.

Rafe sighed and commenced dressing. This evening she was embarking on that very quest. Kyle and Burke were escorting her, unchaperoned, to Salon des Estrangers, a gambling hell only recently opened on the notorious Pall Mall. Although women were not encouraged, and in many places were quite discouraged, a wealthy and determined woman could obtain access to even the most prestigious and masculine betting rounds. Tonight, they would start with, Salon des Etrangers, the room of strangers. It was the most lady friendly and once she’d made her mark there, entrance would be granted at White’s and the famous Watier’s. To date, Rafe’s wagers had been made openly at balls, but this evening she would establish herself as a serious gamester, intent on wagering, and privately intent on losing an apparent fortune.

_____

“Oh dear!” Abbey exclaimed when Rafe entered the parlor. You cannot truly intend to make an appearance in such attire!”

“I can hardly expect to ruin myself if I have a mother hen dressing me in sackcloth,” Rafe said dryly.

“Yes, but—”

“No buts.”

“Perhaps I should accompany,” Abbey stood and reached for her wrap.

“No.”

“At the very least, take my wrap.”

“I cannot. You know I have to do this,” Rafe said.

“Yes, but your, charms are so, well…er...oh, my…amply displayed. Shouldn’t you be in mourning?”

“I have on black,” Rafe said, fully aware calling her gown black was a stretch by anyone’s estimation.

Abbey sniffed. “It’s a bit difficult to tell with all that rosy skin showing through.”

“We agreed it is the only way.”

“You have no idea how difficult this is for me,” Abbey fretted. “While I agree it is the best course of action, I wanted to see my daughter shine, not sink into the depths of scandal.”

“We’ll be free, mother. It shan’t take long. Then we’ll leave London forever and begin anew.”

Rafe turned and studied her reflection in the foyer mirror, She was dressed in high Greek fashion, but rather than white, the fabric was the sheerest black muslin. So sheer that it could be seen through with little difficulty. The full curve of her breasts was readily visible, and the crest of her nipples were barely concealed by delicate black embroidery that played havoc with the eyes. The gown was one piece, divided into a bodice and skirt only by a thin black ribbon tied beneath her breasts. The dress hugged her body a l’antique, much as the revealing draperies that hugged the ancient Greek statues. One shoulder was completely bared, the gown fastened by an elegant knot on the other shoulder. Her raven hair fell in soft curves to her waist, bouncing and swaying when she walked, completely unbound—yet again—defiant of current fashion.

Abbey sighed as Rafe picked up delicate porcelain half-domino and arranged it over her eyes. The domino gave her a feline look, making her eyes appear even more slanted and green that usual. It also did nothing to disguise who she was.

“At least take your Kashmir shawl.”

Rafe spun from the mirror and smiled. “How do I look?”

“Like trouble. Like a woman who is about to be ruined,” Abbey said glumly.

“Perfect! And no to the dratted shawl but I shall take my Zephyr cloak.”

“Bah,” Abbey snorted, as Rafe attached the delicate and transparent black lace cloak that fell in soft folds to her feet. “That will certainly keep you from catching a chill now won’t it?”

“The way the lady looks this evening, I do believe the heat of admiring gazes will keep her quite warm enough,” Burke rumbled. “Of course the other ladies will take quite the affront. But the men, their eyes will heat you from head to toe, Lady Ella.”

“Quit looking at her,” Abbey snapped reprovingly. “She’s my daughter.”

“I can see where she gets it from then, my lady,” Kyle bowed over Abbey’s hand. “You’d look quite delectable in such a piece yourself, if you’d quit wearing those ridiculous spectacles. I’ve looked through them, you know. You don’t need them.”

“How dare you look through my spectacles! Really! Spectacles are a private thing!”

“Adieu, Mother,” Rafe said sweetly, taking both Kyle and Burke by the arm. “Wish me luck, or rather, bad luck. I really must stop winning. And tonight shall be the night.”

___

Those words came back to haunt her hours later. The Salon des Estrangers was quite the fashionable place to be, and was roaring by ten o’clock with masked and gaudily costumed dandies, and the more daring and jaded Ladies. Wish me bad luck, she had said, and it seemed her wish had been granted. She’d been playing Hazard and winning far too much, so she’d switched to Vingte et un. The tables for the game of Twenty-One were in the front-most salons of the house. The Salon des Estrangers was divided into five areas, each for a different game. There was Whist, Macao, Hazard, Faro, and Vingte et un. These five areas were exclusive of the seldom-mentioned and private salons abovestairs used for more intimate play. Kyle had told her that abovestairs the wagers were made for far more familiar favors, and it was not uncommon to find entire tables of respected Lords and Ladies in their altogethers, the wagers being made for clothing, or personal gratuities.

Her bad luck had begun the moment she’d switched tables, for as she placed her first wager, she suffered a shivering apprehension that had nothing to do with the game. Raising her head, she scanned the rooms quickly, but noticed nothing of oddity. She shook it off as unpredictable nerves, and returned her attention to the cards before her. Carefully she peered at the card dealt down and nodded to the dealer. As the dealer placed a third card before her, she again scanned the room, feeling a distinct regard, and there he was.

It was him! Clad completely in black and surrounded by the Lords of Lussex. He wore a silver mask which concealed the upper half of his face only, and the color of his mask only made his eyes seem more metallic and cold. But she would never forget that gaze. The mocking silver eyes flashing as they raked over her from head to toe. Suddenly her mouth was a desert, and she seemed to have an entire flock of twittering birds in her stomach.

“Lady, call?” The irritated voice of the dealer penetrated her thoughts.

“Oh, yes, terribly sorry, call.” She had vingte et trios, and had just lost 150,000 pounds. Not to mention her courage. Of a sudden she wished she had taken Abbey’s Kashmir wrap. She would have wrapped it about herself from her toes to her eyebrows, and masqueraded as some kind of mummy. Damn the man, but he unsettled her! Made her feel infantile and foolish, made her feel guilty, and unsure of herself. Reminded her of too many things, far too personal things. Like having her hand wrapped around his…oh! Her cheeks flamed at the memory. Swimming nude, enticing him, defying him. Helping Trina escape to certain misery, if not death.

After two years Rafe had been certain she wouldn’t react the same way; with that quivery feeling of languor, yet exhilaration, with that tense feeling of hope and dread.
But it seemed inside her, nothing had changed. She responded to him, and she hated him for his effect on her. And she heeded the inner voice which told her with undeniable truth that two years were as a blink of an eye, for the battle was once again on, as it had always been.

He sauntered to the table with an aplomb she wanted to crush. His silver eyes glittered behind the mask as they lingered on her breasts. She flushed. Her breathing quickened. The hell with him, she reminded herself, he’s already seen them anyway. Rafe Bennington steeled herself inside and summoned the enviable and dangerous mettle she once used so impetuously. But she would use it with caution this time, only to protect herself, nothing more.

She plucked her gaze from his as though he were invisible and leaned back into the comforting strength of Kyle and Burke. She knew without looking that his expression altered when he saw her with the two handsome giants. For he stopped in mid-step, that much she saw peripherally. But the gait was resumed with the grace of a panther. He was coming directly over to her table. The cards were laid, and the dealer was eyeing her expectantly. Among serious gamesters, hesitation between calls was a source of tremendous agitation. She eyed the cards, split the queens, and doubled-down, sliding another 150,000 pounds to match the set.

The sighs about the table revealed the envy and awe at her sizable and risky wagers. A silence fell on the table, as was wont to do when someone had 300,000 pounds at stake. The dealer laid the first card face down and she kicked a nearby chair irritably as she spied a king. Drat it anyway, doubling-down allowed the taker only one card, and she’d played the odds that the cards would be low, therefore a losing hand. The second was a ten and she kicked it again. House called dix-neuf, and the table roared as the dealer turned over the cards. “I’m sorry, My Lady,” came a voice from behind her, “but it seems you have quite beeen taking my tables. Might I interest you in a challenging game of higher stakes playing elsewhere?”

Rafe turned to see the proprietor eyeing her with a worried gaze. “Oh, but really, my luck can’t continue—“

“No, I wouldn’t think it would,” a deep voice interrupted.

She wouldn’t look, no she wouldn’t look! She looked. Damn him!

“This is none of your concern, so I’ll thank you to stay out of it,” she snapped, hoping he would go away. Surely he couldn’t have come back to London to see her. Surely he didn’t really want to play at her table. It almost seemed as though he were deliberately seeking her out. Why?

“What a way to greet me after all this time, darling Ella,” the Marquis smiled. The same smile, the melting, rakish, flash of a smile that made her feel like a mouse to a cat. He might as well have licked his lips. “I would have thought you might have learned a softer touch by now, or at least, some restraint. But I can see that although you possess some considerable softness,” his eyes raked over her transparent gown, “it is obvious restraint is not yet a word with which you’ve become familiar. By the by, I simply wish to offer my assistance, that is, if you’ve the courage to accept it. It seems you’ve got the house quite worried, I merely offer a solution to your gaming needs. As the house is reluctant to bet against you, what say I shall?”

Although Rafe couldn’t see it behind the mask, she could feel him arching a mocking brow at her. “I don’t think so—“ she began, then stopped abruptly as Kyle kicked her chair reminding her that she needed to lose, and what an opportunity this was!—“I guess I shall,” she added hastily.

“You don’t think, so you guess you shall?” he echoed mockingly. “I wasn’t aware you acknowledged he former portion of that sentence. How charming! Perhaps you have changed,” he drawled insolently.

Rafe’s jaw clenched, a thing it hadn’t done in forever, it clenched. Her teeth gritted and she felt the old recklessness rising up, uncoiling as if from a deep slumber. “That would make one of us,” she gritted, “but I suppose it’s too much to hope that an old dog such as yourself might learn a new trick. So what shall it be, my Lord? Shall I limit myself to 5,000 against the house and keep mw original bet as a side bet with you?”

“It would seem you are quite familiar with the tables. And I would caution you to recall your familiarity with this ‘old dog’s’ lethal bite, as it seems you may be in need of another lesson. A lesson I would be only to happy—“

“Oh no, I have never forgotten your annoying habit of nipping at people, my Lord,” she cut him off sweetly, “Now please, spare the other gamesters our personal dissension, and either accept or reject the side bet. There is a game to be played.”

“Oh, that there is Ella,” the Marquis smiled dangerously, his voice laden with promise. “I accept, but only at 300,000 per set.”

“Done,” she nodded, as the table gasped and the proprietor backed off quickly. She would play to win, she decided, just to rub his face in it. To hell with the betrothal, she would see to her ruin next time. She had forgotten just how much this man provoked her. She would win, and she would make a fool of him.

She lost. Hand after hand, until the stakes were obscenely against her. Hand after hand during which she suffered his regard. Silent hand after hand during which she alternated between hating him and thinking he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. For hours they played, a silent battle of wills, imbalanced by the effect his eyes had on her last nerve, a tap-dance in stiletto heels on her last nerve. Her nervousness became readily apparent when the Marquis left his chair across the table and crossed to stand directly beside her. Close, oh much too close. She could smell the male scent of him, feel the heat of his body through his shirt against her bare arm. She tensed, automatically, and glanced at her bodyguards, motioning them silently closer.

“Are you going to sic your personal bodyguards on me, little Ella?” he taunted for her ears only, eyeing the two massive giants with amusement.

If she knew his arrogance as she thought she did, he was thinking even now that he could take them.

“Leave me alone, and play the card game,” she growled.

“Oh, but I really want to know,” he whispered, his head bent low to her ear. “Are you afraid of me, little girl?”

Kyle stepped forward protectively, forcing the Marquis slightly to the side.

“Stay out of this, Kyle,” Rafe waved him back. “This is between he and I. And besides, he presents no threat to me.”

“Oh, but that’s were you’re wrong, little Ella,” the Marquis said. “That’s where you’ve always been wrong. I do,” he said, with a devastating smile.

Nothing had changed. To devastate, her mind whirled: to lay waste to, to ravage, to ruin.

Rafe moved with haste then, and crossed the table to take the stool he had just vacated. He allowed her temporary escape, which was good, for if he had moved toward her again she would simply have fled the Salon with no further thought.

The game continued in silence, the other gamers watching with acute interest as the stakes mounted ever higher. The silence was broken at last by the Marquis’ patronizing words.

“Really, dear Ella, I do think you should know better than to draw upon a seventeen.”

Rafe scowled. “But my dear sir, you had a king showing. I was astutely wagering the odds that you would have an equally high card down, being as the latest cards were all quite low. The odds, unfortunately, were inconsistent. Furthermore, I will thank you to notice that my name is not Ella, but Rafaella. Rafe to my friends, which you are not.”

“Rafe,” he drawled the name out slowly, “and all this time I thought Rafe was merely a diminutive of Ruffian, and that I was doing you a great service calling you by a proper name,” he smiled insolently.

“Oh! Do let’s talk about proper name, Dionysus!” she stressed his name--a full four syllables, with a sweet smile on her face, amused by the disbelieving stares of the other gamers. She’d guessed correctly, his real name was not common knowledge. “Let’s see,” she pondered aloud, “now Dionysus, wasn’t he the Greek god of the goats, or something? Given to frolicking in the pastures with animals. Or was it young goatherds?”

“That was Pan,” that Marquis gritted, “you little snoop. And Dionysus is a perfectly respectable name, although for you, ‘my Lord’ will do. You might append, ‘and master’, if you wish, for at cards, if not all else, it is obvious I am that.”

Rafe forced a saccharin smile, “I do believe it was Thomas Fuller who once said, ‘every cock is proud upon his own dunghill.’ The point being, that it’s a dunghill, nonetheless. Lady Luck is a capricious woman, Dionysus, so revel in your luck at cards, but please good sir, do not take it too seriously, lest you make of yourself a fool.”

“Never a fool where you’re concerned, fair Ella,” he smiled, his eyes dark with an unfathomable expression. “But Ella I shall call you, as you lose to me over and over again.”

Rafe held her silence at last, realizing that he would continue to provoke her until she was ready to physically pummel him, with no thought to consequences. Nearing the hour of two o’clock, Kyle finally nudged her with his soft boot, and she heeded the warning. Enough damage had been done this eve, and the hour was fast approaching the time she had promised to be home. Abbey worried, and it would be too unkind for Rafe to consider adding to her worries further.

Drawing a deep breath she forced herself to smile beguilingly at the Marquis. “I’m afraid that’s all for this evening. You have quite run the odds. I can see perhaps that I have much to learn about the odds,” she offered self-deprecatingly, privately consoling herself with the thought that although she hadn’t managed to wipe that triumphant smirk off the Marquis’ face, at least Terrence Bryce would be horrified when he read the morning news.

“You’ll do fine if you simply commit to memory that where I’m concerned the odds will always be against you,” he said, flatly.

“Then perhaps we should simply avoid each other,” she replied, stiffly. She was exhausted from the stress of the past few hours. The stress of watching him, wondering what his game was, why he was back, now of all times. “I bid you good eve, Sir, and pray we needn’t repeat this tedious event.

“Not so fast,” his hand clamped her arm across the table in a steely grip.

“Please, good sir, the other gamers can’t see, what with us obscuring the table,” she said sharply. For at his touch her body blazed. Tensed, melted, quickened, heated. But as she glanced about the table, she could see that the other gamers weren’t offended at all, but quite relishing the entertainment.

“The gamers will be quite good enough to wait while you honor your debt, I’m sure,” he smiled wolfishly. “I would consider entertaining your favors in a private room abovestairs, but it would seem my memory of you favors is, shall we say politely, less than favorable? Pray you have the ready, for dallying with you would satisfy no more than a pound of what you owe me.”

Rafe seethed, as his eyes burned into hers. She knew full well that only moments ago they had been burning holes in the sheer fabric of her dress, knew that he’d rarely taken his gaze from her body as they played. She knew he was lying, and Rafe Bennington was determined not to lie as well. With stoic restraint, she opened her mouth and was horrified to hear herself say, “My Lord, you would have to cancel my debt to you and pay me an additional million pounds to get me to go abovestairs with you. From what I recall of you favors, which-although I did suffer them-I find the memory is quite lacking, unfavorable would be too kind a description. For if you are touted as a skilled lover, then, as I once said, skilled should be redefined to mean something worse than bumbling and inept,” she replied. “It recalls to mind a showing of ‘Troilus and Cressida’ I saw only last week at Drury Lane.” She quoted with a condescending smile, “They say all lovers swear more performance than they are able and yet reserve an ability they never perform, vowing more than the perfection of ten and discharging less than the tenth part of one.”

The table gasped. He smiled, and it terrified her when he smiled at her that way. His grip on her arm was wrenching now, and he looked murderous in spite of the smile. “Careful, lest they call you bluestocking, little Ella. I wondered if you had changed. Silly of me, nothing about you has changed at all. You are still precisely what you were then. Tell me, do you even think of Trina anymore? Or was that simply another game of chance to you? An insignificant hand of cards that didn’t play out well? To be written off with a casual IOU? Well my dear, you-do-owe-me. And rest assured, I shall collect. Have you the ready?” He shook her across the table, and her breasts bounced softly beneath the fabric. He looked, and it made her smile.

“Absolutely,” she spat. “Kyle,” she commanded, “unattach this man from me, for his grip is most unpleasant. And pay him as well,” she added, as Kyle and Burke strode forward.

The Marquis dropped her hand so suddenly it fell limply on the table. Without even looking at the amount Kyle was holding out, the Marquis announced loudly, “I will collect the debt when and how I see fit, Lady Ella Bennington. Not for a moment will I accept that of which you are much too eager to be quit.” With that he turned sharply on his hell and left the trio, Kyle still holding his hand out.

___

“Damn him!” she cursed, on the way home. “Damn him, he knows I’m trying to lose money! How could he know that!?” she asked of no one in particular.

There was a considerable silence in which she fumed, seething inside at the memory of his stinging remarks. The silence was finally broken by Burke. “My Lady, is there something between the Marquis and yourself which we should perhaps know about,” Burke asked hesitantly.

“Whatever do you mean?” she snapped.

“To cut to the quick, I couldn’t decide whether you disliked the gentleman or not. That’s why I didn’t intervene when he took you by the arm.”

“You couldn’t decide if I disliked him?” she shouted. “If I disliked him? Of course I dislike him! I loathe him! I despise him! The mere sight of him makes me shudder! I can’t stand the bastard!” Not think about Trina, indeed! God, how he got under her skin!

___

“Methinks the Lady doth protesteth too much,” Kyle said later, to an adamantly concurring Burke.