By nine o’clock that evening, Callie was pacing her bedchamber and counting the hours until she could creep down the back stairs and begin her next adventure. Her nerves had been on edge since she’d escaped Ralston that afternoon. Between Oxford’s constant talk of himself and odd advances toward her and Mariana and Rivington’s doting upon each other, the rest of the exhibition had been interminable, not even seeing Jerusalem had made it enjoyable.
Of course, being at home was even less diverting than being at the Royal Academy. Callie had cloistered herself in her bedchamber immediately upon her return, crying headache to ensure that her mother would allow her to forgo the plans to attend the Cavendish Ball. Now she paced the little room, going quietly mad in captivity.
She turned to the clock in the corner of the room, checking the time once more. Ten past nine. She sighed, throwing herself onto the bench under the bay window that overlooked the back gardens of Allendale House.
If only Ralston hadn’t made it abundantly clear that the interludes they had shared—the moments that had made her feel so alive and exhilarated—were a mistake.
She’d wanted the floor to open and swallow her whole when he’d ended their kiss and promptly apologized. While it might have been the gentlemanly thing to do, it certainly wasn’t in Ralston’s character to apologize unless he truly regretted his behavior.
Callie could only assume that he regretted ever getting involved with her—after all, a naïve spinster wasn’t exactly the ideal companion for a first-rate rake.
But he’d called her lovely. She sighed again, pulling her legs up underneath her and playing the moment over in her mind. It had been exactly as wonderful as she’d imagined it would be—wonderful, handsome Ralston, the man she’d pined over for a decade, had finally noticed her. Not simply noticed her—said she was lovely.
And then he’d hauled off and apologized. For everything. She’d rather he’d never given her any attention at all than regret their time together.
Callie stood and went to the looking glass that stood in the corner of the room. Facing her reflection, she took herself in—Too-brown hair, too-brown eyes, too-short stature, too full a mouth, altogether unfashionably endowed with too-ample breasts and too-wide hips.
No wonder he’d apologized.
She sighed, wishing she could banish the memory of Ralston’s earnest words, so forthright and gentlemanly that they made her want to spit.
Or cry.
She took a deep breath, willing away the stinging tears that hovered just behind her eyes. She would not cry on what was to become, she hoped, the most exciting night of her life. Exciting not because of Ralston…but because of her.
And a little because of Ralston.
Fine. And a very little because of Ralston. But mainly because of her.
She thought for a moment, attempting to divine whether gambling or Brooks’s was more of a draw. It was impossible to decide. She would simply have to wait until she had first-hand experience. Which she would have in…she looked at the clock again. Twelve past nine. Was it possible that the timepiece was somehow broken? It couldn’t possibly have been only two minutes since the last time she checked. She watched the hands on the clock face, waiting for the minute hand to move to thirteen minutes past. The wait was interminable. Yes. It was most definitely broken.
Callie spun on her heel and headed toward the door to the room, intending to sneak into the hallway beyond and check the actual time. Surely it was closer to eleven. She was going to have to get dressed quickly if she was going to be on time for Ralston. She had to call for Anne.
She’d barely taken a step toward the door when it flew open and Mariana burst in, closing it immediately behind her. The younger woman stood, arms akimbo, breathless—as though she had run for miles to be there.
With a quick glance to the pristine, unused bed, Mari speared Callie with a triumphant look, and said, “I knew it!” The words were spoken as though she had just invented the wheel. Or something equally world-changing.
Callie’s eyes widened. “Knew what?”
Mariana pointed at her sister, her eyes flashing with excited accusation. “I knew you weren’t ill!” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re going to complete another item on the list!”
Callie stood frozen for several long minutes before turning away and putting a hand to her head. She headed for bed. “Whyever would you think that? I was just getting up to call for one of Cook’s remedies.”
She spared a quick glance at Mariana, who was having none of it. “Cook’s remedies?” she said, disbelief in her tone. “You could be on your deathbed and you wouldn’t take one of Cook’s remedies.” Mari rushed to the bed and leapt upon it as though she were wearing a night rail and not a stunning silk ball gown. “What’s tonight? Horse racing? Boxing? Snuff?”
Callie lay down on the bed and pulled a pillow over her face.
“I know! A brothel!”
Shocked, Callie thrust the pillow away from her face. “Mari! You are letting your imagination run wild. Of course I am not going to a brothel.”
Mari’s face fell. “Oh. That’s a pity.”
Callie leveled her sister with a wry look. “Yes. I’m sure it is. Nevertheless, I shan’t be visiting any houses of ill repute tonight.”
“But maybe another night?”
Callie shook her head. “It’s quite extraordinary that you are mere months away from being a duchess.”
Mari grinned and shrugged her shoulders in a supremely unladylike fashion. “Exactly! I shall be a duchess! Who will criticize me? Besides Mother, that is.”
Callie met her sister’s smile. “Aren’t you going to be late for the ball?”
“I don’t want to go. I want to go with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You know it’s a sin to lie,” Mariana said, all seriousness.
“Fine. I am going somewhere, but you cannot come. If we both cry sick, Mother will know there is something amiss.”
Mariana clapped her hands eagerly. “Where are you going?”
“What time is it?”
Mari’s eyes narrowed. “Callie. Do not change the subject.”
“I am not changing the subject! I just don’t want to be late.”
“It’s twenty past nine.”
Callie sighed and flopped back onto the bed. “This evening is interminable!”
“Callie!” Mariana said sharply, “Where are you going?”
Callie met her sister’s eager gaze. “If half past twelve ever comes, I am going gambling.”
Mari gasped. “No!”
Callie grinned. “Yes!”
“Are you going to a hell?”
“No…I thought it might be too easy to be caught there. I’m going to Brooks’s.”
Mariana froze. “Brooks’s…as in, the men’s club?”
Callie nodded, color flooding her cheeks.
“You think it will be more difficult to get caught at Brooks’s than at a gaming hell?” Mariana shook her head in amazement. “You’re mad.”
“I’m not!”
“How are you ever going to…My God! Callie! Women aren’t allowed at Brooks’s! If you were caught…”
“I shan’t be.”
“How do you know?”
Callie paused, unsure of what to say. Mariana pressed on. “Callie.”
“Ralston is taking me.”
Mariana blinked twice. Callie waited for her sister to wrap her head around the announcement.
“The Marquess of Ralston?”
“The very same.”
“You’re going with Ralston?” If the words hadn’t been so nerve-racking, Callie would have laughed at Mariana’s squeaking voice. Instead, she worried the stitching on the blanket and nodded. “I knew it!” Mari crowed, triumphantly. “I knew it from the first time you waltzed! At my betrothal ball!”
“Mari! Hush! The whole house will hear you!” Callie whispered frantically.
“You’ll be ruined if you’re caught,” Mariana announced, as though the idea had never crossed Callie’s mind.
Callie nodded again in the silence that fell.
“Well, then. We shall have to be very careful to ensure that you are not caught.” Callie took heart in Mariana’s use of the word “we” as she pressed on. “It appears that you are excellently prepared for sneaking out of the house…but how are you planning to sneak back in?”
“I had thought to come back the same way—through the back door and up the servants’ stairs.”
Mariana shook her head. “It won’t do. The upper doorway of those stairs squeaks horribly, and Mother will hear.”
Callie considered her options. “I shall have to oil the hinges.”
Mari nodded. “And watch the third step from the top. It creaks.”
Callie narrowed her gaze on her sister. “How do you know that?”
“Let’s simply say that Rivington and I have had need of those stairs once or twice.”
Callie gave her sister a wide-eyed look. “Mariana!”
“It’s a little late for you to be outraged. At least I’m engaged to Rivington!” Mariana teased. “You’re meeting Ralston for a late-night rendezvous! My God! Promise me you’ll tell me everything!”
“It’s not a rendezvous,” Callie protested. “He’s merely helping me. We are…friends.”
“Friends do not risk friends’ reputations, Calpurnia.” Mariana lowered her voice. “Have you and he…” She waved one hand as the question trailed off.
“Have we?” Callie pretended to misunderstand.
Mariana narrowed her gaze on her elder sister. “Callie. You know very well what I am asking.”
Callie looked away. “I assure you I do not.”
Mariana squealed with delight. “Yes! You do! And you have!” She clapped her hands. “How delicious!”
“It’s not delicious.”
Mariana’s face fell. “Oh. What a pity. He looks as though he would be—”
“Mari!” Callie cut her off. “That’s not what I meant.”
“So it is delicious!”
Callie sighed. “It rather is.”
Mari’s grin was wide and wicked. “I would like to hear all about that.”
“Well, you shan’t. And this conversation is entirely inappropriate.”
Mari waved one hand to dismiss Callie’s prim statement. “You know that if you’re caught together, you shall have to marry. Imagine the scandal!”
Callie closed her eyes tightly—it was only too easy to imagine the scandal. “I shan’t be getting caught.”
“MARIANA!!!!” Callie was saved from the embarrassing conversation by the Dowager Countess of Allendale’s shrill call from belowstairs. Mariana rolled her eyes, and said, “My word that woman can screech. You should see what she’s wearing, Callie. It’s velvet. Canary yellow velvet. Turban to match. She looks like a furry banana.”
Callie winced at the vivid image. “It’s part of her charm.”
“It’s a miracle Rivington offered for me.”
Callie smiled broadly at the dry comment. “Have fun.”
Mari reached forward to give Callie a quick hug. “You are the one who will have fun! I shall be thinking of you all night long! Tomorrow, I want to hear everything! Promise me!”
“I promise.”
Mariana stood, smoothed out her wrinkled skirts, and gave a little hop of excitement in Callie’s direction before she took her leave. Callie followed her to the door, pressing her ear against the wood to listen for the sound of the family exiting the house before rushing to the window to listen for the clatter of hooves and wheels indicating their official departure for the ball. When she could no longer hear the carriage, she spun away from the window and called for Anne.
She had much to do before Ralston arrived.
Ten minutes before she was to meet her escort, Callie stole across the darkened Allendale gardens to the gate in the far wall. Opening the latch, she pulled the gate open, noting its screaming hinges. “Damn,” she said, irritation in her voice. Was every hinge on the property in need of oiling?
Thanks to Mariana, however, Callie had expected that she might need the oil can Michael had fetched for her earlier that evening—without a single question as to her motives, bless him—and she had come prepared. Lifting the can in her hand, she soaked the hinge with the dark liquid, working the gate to spread the lubricant and silence the jarring noise. When she had completed her work with the top hinge, she turned her attention to the lower one.
She was so engrossed in her work that she did not hear Ralston approach.
“Now here is a gentleman of many talents,” he said dryly, and she jumped in surprise at the words. Looking up at him from her crouch, she smiled before carefully adding drops of oil to the hinge and working the gate. He removed his gloves and crouched next to her, taking the oil can as he continued, “Of all the clandestine outings I’ve taken in my life, I will say that this is the first one that included oiling squeaky hinges.”
She smiled at his casual tone. “I could not take the risk that I could be caught by my family should I return home after them.”
He nodded, the movement barely perceptible in the darkness. “A clever precaution.” Finishing his task, he set the oil can aside and removed a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands on it and handing it to her to do the same. Rising, he reached down to help her into a standing position. He took a step back to survey her disguise. It wasn’t easy to see, but this time she was wearing black and white eveningwear, entirely appropriate for the inside of Brooks’s. Her boots shone in the moonlight, black breeches and black topcoat highlighting a crisp white shirt and waistcoat and a perfectly starched cravat. Anne was becoming quite adept at dressing her mistress in men’s clothing. To complete the look, Callie’s hair was tucked into a black top hat. Lifting her cane with a flourish, she asked in a low tone, “Well, my lord? What do you think?”
“I think that, though diminutive, you should pass just fine. Assuming the lights inside Brooks’s are similar to those here. In your garden. In the dead of night.” His lips set in a firm line as he considered her, then shook his head. “One would have to be an imbecile not to know you’re a woman. This is going to be a disaster.”
Pulling his gloves back on, Ralston began to walk the short distance to his coach. She followed, pointing out, “You didn’t notice I was a woman in the fencing club.”
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
“I find that people see what they expect, my lord, as opposed to what is there.”
He opened the coach door and handed her up into the darkened interior. As she scrambled across the seat to make room for him, she could have sworn that she heard him say, “This was a terrible idea,” before he joined her, pulling the door closed behind him and knocking on the roof to set the carriage in motion.
They rode in silence, Callie attempting to ignore Ralston’s obvious second thoughts when it came to smuggling her into his club. She had come this far…she most certainly was not turning back. The drive wasn’t far, and when the carriage arrived, Callie sat forward on her seat to get a better look out the window. As she pressed her face to the glass, Ralston produced a large greatcoat and handed it to her. “Here. Put this on.”
“But, I—”
“This is not negotiable,” he cut her off in a clipped tone. “It is my membership on the line if you get caught.”
“Not to mention my reputation,” she said under her breath.
He gave her a firm look. “Yes. Well, tonight I’m rather more concerned with my club. Put on the cloak; pull the collar up; keep your head down. Do not meet anyone’s eye. Stay close to me. Do not look at anyone. And for God’s sake don’t use that ridiculous voice you think sounds manly.”
“But, I—”
“No, Callie. I promised you I’d take you gambling at Brooks’s. But I did not promise to do it your way.”
She sighed. “Fine.”
He opened the door and hopped out of the carriage, striding to the door of the club without giving her another glance. She watched for a moment, surprised that he so easily ignored his gentlemanly instincts—leaving her, instead, to fend for herself in alighting from the coach. She did so, slamming the door behind her.
The coach door banged shut with a too-loud crash, drawing attention from Ralston and several others on the street. As several heads spun toward her, Callie’s tentative steps faltered. She met Ralston’s brilliant blue gaze with her panicked brown one and watched as he raised one brow just enough for her to read his thoughts.
Are you quite finished?
She dipped her head, hiding her face in the ample collar of his greatcoat, and headed for him. When she was a few steps away, he entered the club, throwing the door open wide enough for her to catch it and follow him inside.
Callie’s first thought upon crossing the threshold was that Brook’s was stunning. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it was not this. The wide marble entryway boasted the wealth and stature of the men who were members—all lovely planes and gilded edges.
She caught her breath at the space, outfitted like the finest London homes in deep masculine colors and rich woods. And there were men everywhere. They stood in little pockets of conversation in the foyer, acknowledging Ralston with quick nods as he passed through the large entryway and led Callie down a long corridor toward the back of the building. Trying to be discreet, she peeped into the rooms that stood open, some large and warmly lit, where clusters of men were engaged in billiards, cards, and discussion, and others, small and intimate, hosting just a handful of occupants who drank port and smoked.
Callie slowed down as she passed each doorway, cataloging the activities and those present inside, eager to absorb every bit of this mysterious, fascinating place. As Ralston led her deeper into the maze of corridors, the number of open doors dwindled and the hallway became darker and more quiet. As they passed one room, Callie noted the door was ajar and the room inside warm and golden with candlelight. She heard a distinctly feminine laugh from within, and she froze midstep, unable to help herself from taking a closer look.
Peering through the crack in the door, Callie’s eyes widened as she took in the scene beyond. There were three men inside, each wearing a domino mask, each seated in one of three large leather chairs arranged in a tight circle. The men, though relaxed in their chairs, were transfixed by the woman who stood at the center of the cluster, tall and buxom, her hair cascading down her back in a luscious mane of ebony curls. She was stunning: high cheekbones, lovely skin, perfectly kohled eyes, pouting red lips curved in a wicked, knowing smile. Callie was transfixed by her—just as the men inside seemed to be—for it was obvious that the woman was a courtesan.
She wore a gown that was not for public view—a bold, sapphire silk with a tightly fitted bodice that appeared more corset than dress. Her breasts nearly spilled from the top of the dress as she bent low over one of the men. Callie held her breath as he reached out and grazed the side of one breast, his eyes transfixed on the woman’s feminine bounty. She gave a low laugh as he touched her, boldly placing her hand over his and guiding him to touch her breast more firmly. He did as he was directed, and one of the other men reached for the hem of the courtesan’s gown and began to raise it, baring long legs and, finally, her rounded bottom. Callie gasped quietly as he caressed the woman’s behind.
The gasp turned into a little squeal as Ralston grabbed her arm and pulled her from the spot where she had been frozen. He growled close to her ear, “This is exactly why men’s clubs are not for women.”
“It appears that particular room is most definitely for women,” she replied tartly.
He did not respond, instead guiding her into the next open doorway before closing and locking the door behind them. When she heard the lock click ominously in the silence, she whirled to face Ralston, who was glowering at her from his position—pressed against the closed door.
“Did I not make myself clear? You were to stay close to me and not to look at anyone.”
“I didn’t!”
“So you were not just peering into a room full of people?”
“I wouldn’t call it full,” Callie hedged. His gaze narrowed at her words. “It’s not as if they saw me!”
“They could have!”
“They were rather busy,” she pointed out. “Perhaps you could explain something to me?”
His gaze turned wary. “Perhaps.”
“How is it that one woman is…enough…for three men?”
Ralston raised his eyes to the ceiling and made a choking sound. After a moment, he looked back at her. “I don’t know.”
She gave him a look of disbelief. “She must be a very talented courtesan.”
He raked a hand through his hair before saying in a strangled tone, “Callie.”
She plunged ahead, innocently, “Well, that was what she was. Wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How very fascinating!” She smiled brightly. “I’ve never met a courtesan, you know.”
“I could have surmised as such.”
“She looked just as I imagined they did! Well, she was rather prettier.”
Ralston’s eyes darted around the room as though he was looking for the quickest escape route. “Callie. Wouldn’t you rather gamble than talk about courtesans?”
She tilted her head, considering his question. “I don’t really know…both things are worth the time, don’t you think?”
“No,” he said with a surprised laugh. “I don’t.”
Ignoring him, she took in the room around them. It was decorated with Grecian friezes depicting the gods and goddesses in a variety of different scenes, and furnished with a large card table and a collection of carved wooden chairs. At one side of the room, in front of a roaring fireplace, there was a seating area complete with two overstuffed chairs and a long chaise. The walls that did not boast the enormous pieces of marble artwork were lined with bookshelves. It was a comfortable, if masculine, room.
She turned back to Ralston. “Won’t others be irritated that we’ve commandeered this room?”
Ralston removed his gloves and hat and placed them on a small table by the door. “I doubt it. By this time of night men are usually fully ensconced in whatever…pursuits they are planning for the evening.”
“Pursuits.” She repeated dryly, mimicking his actions with her own hat and gloves before removing his greatcoat and hanging it on a nearby stand. Turning back to him, she noted his sharp gaze. “You’re not still angry with me, are you? We arrived with no difficulty. No one out there even knows I am in here.”
A long moment went by as he gave her outfit a thorough perusal. He shook his head. “I just find it impossible to believe that not one man in this entire club noticed that you’re no more a man than you are a giraffe.”
One side of her mouth kicked up. “I should think they would have noticed if I were a giraffe. And why do you say that? Don’t you think the disguise is a good one?” She looked down at herself, suddenly uncertain. “I know I have rather a…figure, but I think I’ve hidden it…well, as much as I can.”
When he spoke, his voice was low and dark. “Callie. It would take a blind man not to notice your figure in those clothes. No man I have ever known has had such a lovely—”
“That’s quite enough, my lord,” she cut him off, primly, as though she weren’t standing in the middle of Brooks’s with one of London’s most notorious rakes, wearing men’s clothing. “It’s getting late. I would like to learn to gamble now, if you don’t mind.”
He gave a little smirk and held out a chair, indicating that she should sit at the card table. She moved to take the proffered seat, keenly aware of his nearness. When he had seated himself across from her at the table, he lifted the deck of cards that had been set there, and said, “I think we should begin with vingt-et-un.”
For the next few moments, he explained the rules of the game—helping Callie to understand the strategy required to ensure that her cards were valued as closely to twenty-one as they could be without exceeding the number. They played several rounds, Ralston letting her win before, on the third and fourth games, he beat her roundly. On the fifth game, she was thrilled that she had reached twenty when he flipped over his cards and showed his twenty-one.
Frustrated by another loss, Callie burst out, “You cheated!”
He looked at her, wide-eyed with feigned outrage. “I beg your pardon. If you were a man, I would call you out for that accusation.”
“And I assure you, my lord, that I would ride forth victoriously on behalf of truth, humility, and righteousness.”
He chuckled, shuffling the cards. “Are you quoting the Bible to me?”
“Indeed,” she said primly, the portrait of piousness.
“While gambling.”
“What better location to attempt to reform one such as you?” she said, humor twinkling in her eyes. They shared a smile before he dealt the cards, and she continued, “It would be rather fortuitous, however, if you were to call me out, though. I should like to attend a duel.”
He froze for a fleeting moment, before shaking his head in surrender. “Of course you would. Is there anything on this list that won’t shock me?”
She checked her cards casually before saying, “Oh, most assuredly not.”
“Well, considering it seems that it has become my particular role to help you complete the items, I must ask…how are you enjoying this one?”
She wrinkled her nose as she considered the question. “The club is quite remarkable. I feel certain that I would never have had such an experience if not for you, my lord.”
“Gabriel,” he interrupted.
“Gabriel,” she corrected herself. “But I will say that I am rather uncertain as to what it is about gambling that is so very compelling. To be sure, it is a fine pastime, but I fail to see what it is about the process that lands so many in debtors’ prison.”
He leaned back in his chair and watched her carefully. “You don’t see it, lovely, because you have nothing at risk.”
“At risk?”
“Indeed,” he said, “the appeal of the tables is enhanced by both the thrill of winning and the fear of losing.”
She considered the words before nodding thoughtfully. “Shall we play for money, then?”
He inclined his head toward her. “If you’d like.”
She changed her mind. “You don’t care about losing money.”
“Not particularly.”
“Then it’s not a risk for you.”
“It doesn’t matter if there is no risk for me. This is your night. Only you have to feel the edge of risk. I’m merely your able assistant.”
She couldn’t help the smile that broke at the trivial description. “Oh, no, Gabriel,” she said, and he stiffened at her free use of his given name. “If we are to play a legitimate round of cards, I should like you to feel that you might lose.”
His blue eyes glittered across the table. “Name your terms.”
Excitement flared. “All right, for every round I win…you must answer a question. Truthfully.”
His brows snapped together. “What kind of questions?”
“Why?” she teased. “Are you afraid you will lose to me?”
He leaned forward. “All right, Empress, but for every round I win, you must grant me a favor…of my choosing.”
A thrill went through her at the words, followed immediately by an acute sense of terror. “What kind of favor?”
“Why?” he repeated. “Are you afraid?”
Yes. She met his eyes firmly. “Of course not.”
“Excellent,” he said, dealing the cards quickly. “Then let’s make this interesting, shall we?”
All of a sudden, gambling seemed to Callie like a wonderfully addictive pastime. Every turn of the cards had her breath catching in her throat as she sought ways to beat Ralston. And, on the first round, she did…although she couldn’t help but wonder if it wasn’t possible that he’d let her do so.
Not that she cared. She wanted her answer. She leaned back in her chair and watched for several moments as his long, graceful fingers collected the cards from the table, stacking them carefully and idly shuffling them while he waited for her question. She met his eyes. “Tell me about courtesans.”
He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. “I agreed to answer questions. That wasn’t a question.”
She rolled her eyes. “All right, then. Are there often courtesans here?”
“Yes.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she pressed, “And do they often entertain groups of men?”
“Callie,” he said, matter-of-factly, “what are you really getting at?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m just having trouble understanding how she was—that is…what they were going to—I mean…”
He smiled a wry smile and waited for her to finish.
“Oh…you know what I mean.”
“I assure you I do not.”
“There were three of them and only one of her!”
“Were there?”
“You are insufferable! You told me you’d answer my questions!”
“If you were to ask a question, love, I assure you I would answer it.”
“Could she really be expected to…” she paused, searching for the word.
“Pleasure?” He offered, amiably.
“Entertain. All three of them?”
He began dealing the cards again. “Yes.”
“How?”
He looked up at her, and offered her a wolfish grin. “Would you really like me to answer that?”
Her eyes widened. “Uhm…no.”
He laughed then, a deep, rumbling laugh unlike anything she’d ever heard from him, and she was stunned by the way it transformed him. His face was immediately lighter, his eyes brighter, his frame more relaxed. She couldn’t help but smile back at him, even as she admonished, “You’re enjoying my discomfort.”
“Indeed I am, Empress.”
She blushed. “You shouldn’t call me that.”
“Why not? You were named for an empress, were you not?”
She closed her eyes and gave a mock shudder. “I prefer not to be reminded of the hideous name.”
“You should embrace it,” he said, forthrightly. “You’re one of the few women I’ve met who could live up to such a name.”
“You’ve said that before,” she said.
He turned a curious look on her. “I have?”
She met his eyes and immediately regretted bringing up the decade-old memory, so insignificant to him—so very meaningful to her. She spoke quickly, trying to end the moment. “Yes. I don’t remember when. Shall we play?”
His eyes narrowed on her slightly before he nodded. She was so flustered during the next round that he won easily, twenty to her twenty-eight.
“You should have held on nineteen,” he offered casually.
“Why? I still wouldn’t have won,” she said, grumpily.
“Why Lady Calpurnia—” she was certain he used the name to provoke her, “I believe you are a sore loser.”
“No one likes losing, my lord.”
“Mmm. And yet it seems you have.”
She sighed. “Get on with it. What do you want?”
He watched her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Take down your hair.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I won. And you agreed to the terms.”
She considered his words briefly before lifting her hands and removing the pins that held her hair in place. As it fell in soft, brown waves around her shoulders, she said, “I must look silly, dressed in men’s clothing with all this hair.”
His gaze hadn’t left her as she’d released her locks from their tight restraint. “I assure you, ‘silly’ is not the word I would use.”
The words, spoken in the dark voice she was coming to adore, set her pulse racing. She cleared her throat. “Shall we continue?”
He dealt the cards again. She won. Attempting to sound cool and collected, she said, “Do you have a mistress?”
He froze briefly in collecting the cards, and she immediately regretted the question. She didn’t really want to know if he had a mistress. Did she?
“I do not.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting him to say, but it hadn’t been that.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you. I mean, you wouldn’t be here with me if you could be somewhere with someone like…” She stopped, realizing that her words could be misunderstood. “Not that I think you’re here to…with me…”
He watched her, his expression revealing none of his thoughts. “I would still be here with you.”
“You would?” she squeaked.
“Yes. You’re different. Refreshing.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you.”
“Mistresses can be rather difficult.”
“I don’t imagine you like difficult,” she said quietly.
“No. I don’t,” he agreed. He set the deck of cards down on the table. “Why are you so interested in mistresses and courtesans?”
Not mistresses. Your mistresses. She shrugged her shoulders. “They’re rather fascinating to women who aren’t so…free.”
“I’d hardly call them free.”
“Oh! But they are! They can behave however they’d like, with whomever they like! They’re not at all like women in society. We’re expected to sit quietly while men hie off and sow their wild oats. I think it’s high time that women have the chance to sow some oats of their own. And those women do.”
“You have an overly romanticized view of what women like that can and cannot do. They are bound to the men with whom they consort. They rely on them for everything. Money, food, clothing.”
“How is that different from me? I rely on Benedick for all those things.”
He was clearly uncomfortable with the comparison. “It’s different. He’s your brother.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong. It’s quite the same. Only women like the one across the corridor get to choose the men to whom they are beholden.”
His tone turned serious. “You don’t know the first thing about the woman across the corridor, Callie. She is the opposite of free. I assure you. And I suggest you stop romanticizing her before it gets you into trouble.”
Whether the result of the adventure of the evening or the verbal sparring with Ralston, Callie’s mouth seemed to have become completely disconnected from her sense of self-preservation. “Why?” she asked. “I confess, I’m rather intrigued by the whole idea. I wouldn’t necessarily dismiss an offer to become someone’s mistress out of hand.”
The words stunned him into silence, and Callie couldn’t hide the little smirk of victory that sprang to her face as she noted his surprise. His brows snapped together as she reached across the table to lift the cards and begin dealing them. He grabbed her hand, stilling her motion and drawing her gaze to his, which glittered with an emotion she couldn’t quite place except to know it was not a good thing. “You don’t mean it.” His tone brooked no refusal.
“I—” She sensed danger and spoke the truth. “Of course not.”
“Is it on the list?”
“What? No!” Her shock was real enough to convince him.
“You are too valuable to play the mistress to some society dandy, Callie. It’s not a glamorous role. Not a romantic one. Those women live in gilded cages. You should have a pedestal.”
She scoffed. “Thank you, no. I would prefer not to be handled with kid gloves and apologies.” She tugged her hand from beneath his. The warmth of his touch was too much. Too close to what she really wanted—to what she’d wanted for her whole life.
“Apologies?”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, shoring up her courage. “Yes. Apologies. Like the one you delivered so beautifully this morning. If I were anyone else…your opera singer…the woman across the hall…would you have apologized?”
He looked confused. “No…but you are neither of those women. You deserve better.”
“Better,” she repeated, frustrated. “That’s just my point! You and the rest of society believe that it’s better for me to be set upon a pedestal of primness and propriety—which might have been fine if a decade on that pedestal hadn’t simply landed me on the shelf. Perhaps unmarried young women like our sisters should be there. But what of me?” Her voice dropped as she looked down at the cards in her hands. “I’m never going to get a chance to experience life from up there. All that is up there is dust and unwanted apologies. The same cage as hers”—she indicated the woman outside—“merely a different gilt.”
He watched her carefully, unmoving, as the words poured out. When he did not respond, she looked up at him, only to find his expression shuttered. What was he thinking?
“Deal the cards.”
She did, and they played the next round in silence, but it was clear he was no longer playing a harmless game of twenty-one. She knew from his hard face that he would win, and her heart pounded in her chest at the thought—what would he do in the face of her outburst?
When he won, he threw his cards into the center of the table. In silence, he stood, moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of scotch. Returning, he offered her one of the tumblers.
She took it and sipped the amber liquid, surprised when she did not sputter and cough as she had in the tavern. In fact, the liquor served only to enhance the warmth that had spread through her as she waited for Gabriel to name his next favor.
Turning away from her, he moved to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace and relaxed into it. She watched as he stared into the fire, wondering what he was thinking. Was he considering taking her home? She’d certainly said enough not only to embarrass herself but also him. Should she apologize?
“Come here.” The words cut through the room, even though he didn’t redirect his attention from the dancing flames.
“Why?”
“Because I will it.”
An hour ago, she would have laughed at the imperious sentiment but, for some inexplicable reason, at that moment, Callie was drawn to the command. She stood and went to him, stopping mere inches from his right arm. She waited, the sound of her own blood pounding in her ear, the sound of her breath seeming to fill the room.
The wait was torturous.
And then he turned to her with an imperious look in his brilliant blue eyes, and said, “Sit.”
It wasn’t what she had expected. She moved stiltedly to take the other chair, but stopped as he added, “Not there, Empress. Here.”
She turned back to him, surprise and confusion in her eyes. “Where?”
He reached out a hand. “Here.”
The word echoed through the room. He meant for her to sit on his lap? She shook her head “I couldn’t.”
“You wanted to try the role on for size, lovely,” he said, the words warm and coaxing. “Come. Sit with me.”
She knew without his having to say any more that this was her chance to experience it all. With Ralston.
She moved to stand directly in front of him and met his eyes. She did not say anything; she did not have to. Within seconds, he had pulled her down onto his lap and covered her lips with his.
There was no turning back.
She gave herself up to the adventure. And to him.