A Game of Cards Like No Other

 

THE CLOCK ON THE bedchamber mantle chimed the midnight hour.

Juliet yanked her gaze from the book she’d been reading onto the clock. The Midnight Ball had begun. She set the book on the settee and rose. A tingle of anxiety climbed her spine. If even one of her friends lingered in the ballroom after the regular ball ended, the illusion she’d worked so hard to create this last year would shatter into a thousand pieces. Word would spread like wildfire and no one would hire the woman in the low-cut blue silk gown and Venetian mask as their dressmaker.

One way or another, this would be the last time she stood in this room. Juliet turned in a slow circle and inspected at the room, now empty of all signs that she had lived here for a year. Her gaze caught on a sliver of dark blue velvet at the foot of her bed. She crossed the room and scooped up the fabric. A scrap that had fallen to the floor when she’d packed the remnants she’d collected from the sewing they’d done at the school. Most pieces were only large enough to use as samples, but a few very nice pieces would suffice to make gloves or even reticules. Every little bit counted.

The money she’d saved would pay for just enough fabric and supplies to get started as a dressmaker. She didn’t have a penny for room and board, but one didn’t worry about such small details. Juliet grimaced. All she had to do was talk her mother into letting her live at the brothel until she could afford a modest home of her own. Until then, she had arranged to pay a small portion of her earnings to a shop owner in the fabric district for a place to meet with her clients. But her plans and future depended on her having a safe place to do her sewing.

Juliet released a sigh. The year really had passed too quickly. She loved her mother, but she wasn’t looking forward to the battle that lay ahead. Her trunk awaited her atop the hired carriage that would take her to the coach headed for London. The day dress she would wear for the carriage ride home lay tucked in the satchel by the door. Once she escaped the duke, she dared not risk even a change of clothes in her room. The transformation from courtesan to dull dressmaker would take place in the carriage ride between Lady Peddington’s and the depot.

Two girls at the school were already engaged to moderately successful London merchants and had begged Juliet to sew each of them full wardrobes. She would earn slave wages, but the girls would tell everyone that Miss Juliet Thatcher, graduate of Lady Peddington’s School for Young Ladies, had sewn their dresses. Then her mother would have no good arguments to prevent her from becoming a dressmaker instead of a courtesan.  

Juliet crossed to the full-length mirror near the door and inspected her appearance. The blue silk cradled her ample breasts to perfection and accentuated her thin waist. She tilted her head. Per Aunt Honoria’s instructions, she’d darkened her lashes and lined her eyes. The dramatic effect made her blue eyes stand out under the mass of curls she’d swept back from her face and fastened in place with two large tortoiseshell combs—all but one seductive tendril, of course. She let it coil gracefully down the back of her neck like a careless afterthought. Men liked that kind of thing. It made them itch to entwine it around their finger.

Her gaze caught on her bodice as she started to turn, and she paused. She should lower the bodice another half inch. The dress was scandalous enough as it was—which meant she had nothing to lose. She tugged the bodice down

She couldn’t help a humorless laugh. She looked like a pale ghost asleep on her feet. That wouldn’t do. A mental image of herself snoring at the card tables made her grimace. If only she had the courage to defy Lady Peddington and her mother. She nibbled on her lip. Not bloody likely. The force of their personalities alone was daunting. But that wasn’t the real reason. In truth, she knew they only sought to give her an easier life than they’d had. She suppressed a sigh and pinched her cheeks to bring out the roses.

The distant strains of a waltz filtered into the room.

She could delay no longer.

Juliet reached for the deck of cards she’d set on the mantle. She’d filched them from the card rooms earlier in the day. She removed the aces along with the face cards and tucked them into a small pouch hanging from a garter on her thigh.

Next, she picked up the Venetian mask, a dainty white satin oval trimmed with white feathers and gold piping just large enough to cover her nose and brows. She wasn’t attending a masked ball, but she knew how to tease a man. Juliet fluffed the feathers, tied the ribbons behind her head, and twirled in front of the mirror one last time. The gloves had to go. It was Lady Peddington’s Midnight Ball, after all. That meant bare flesh. She stripped off the gloves and draped them over the back of the settee.

At last, she was ready—as ready as she would ever be.

“Prepare to be stunned, Duke of Hamilton.” She gave a lofty wave of her hand, gathered her skirts, swept out the door and down the stairs. She paused in the downstairs foyer, outside the ballroom.

Juliet had witnessed years of scandalously grand entrances at the brothel. A tantalizing amount of skin, a seductive sway of the hips, and a devil-may-care attitude were the main requirements of a successful entrance. With one final downward tug at her bodice, she lifted her head and swooped through the door.

Few candles burned, leaving the corners of the ballroom shrouded in intentional darkness. The girls who waltzed were cradled closely in their partners’ arms. She recognized a few of the men from the portraits that hung on the wall of her aunt’s study. The Duke of Hamilton’s ancestral lands lay north of Edinburgh, which is why his portrait didn’t hang on the wall. What had brought him to Edinburgh? Her ill luck, is what. Her gaze drifted to the refreshment table hugging the wall to the right. Bouquets of spring flowers tastefully encircled silver bowls of Aunt Honoria’s special midnight punch.

No one approached her. There could be only one reason for that: the duke had warned all others off. That he made her wait at the door spoke volumes. He was obviously a man of command, accustomed to getting his way. No doubt, women tripped over their feet and drooled after him. Their mistake. A man of his power lived for the thrill of the chase.

Well, it was time to see him run.

With a proud toss of her head, Juliet turned on her heel and quit the room. She’d gone three steps when strong fingers closed around her arm. She suppressed a smile. So easily snared. Juliet paused and, brow arched, slowly faced the man.

By God, he was handsome. Devastatingly so. He wore his dark chestnut hair longer than current fashion dictated, but it suited him. The fabric of his expensively-tailored, velvet cutaway coat stretched across the defined muscles of his chest. She dropped a slow gaze, mimicking the best of Lady Aphrodite’s girls in a bold inspection of his lean hips and the tight breeches that hugged muscled thighs. Juliet deliberately lingered on his groin before lifting her gaze to the details of his expertly tied cravat, smoothly shaven chin, and the regal curve of his lips. Her pulse quickened. She hadn’t realized how heated the ‘Lady Aphrodite Inspection’ could make the originator. She shook the feeling aside and concentrated on her prey. Small wonder women found him attractive. He was quite the specimen.

Finally, she lifted her lashes and looked into a pair of piercing gray—and vastly amused—eyes.

“You must be the ravishing Juliet,” the duke said in a deep baritone. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Carrick Hamilton.”

“Carrick,” she repeated his name in low, sultry tones, and graced him with a slight nod. He’d hear no ‘my lords’ or ‘sirs’ escape her lips.

“Shall we dance?” Slowly, he slid his fingers down her elbow and over her bare forearm before dropping his hand away.

The simple gesture left a trail of fire in its wake. No matter. She had a trap of her own to set; a man to keep intrigued and off balance.

As he offered his arm and nodded toward the ballroom door, she boldly stepped into his arms—much closer than propriety allowed—and murmured, “I would much prefer to waltz here.”

Delight danced in his eyes. He crushed her so close, the buttons on his waistcoat pressed into the soft mounds of her breasts as he began to twirl her in the dimly lit hallway. The flex of hard muscle against her softness startled her. His fingers drifted lower to the swell of her hip. Heat radiated off his broad chest. Juliet shoved aside the distraction. She had a game to play.

“I do love a waltz,” Juliet said sotto voce as she peered up at him through her Venetian mask.

“By Jove, Stirling was right.” His chest vibrated with a deep chuckle. “You’re quite beautiful.”

It was an easy opening. She’d witnessed her mother’s girls spar in provocative wordplay countless times and summoned a mischievous smile. “Beautiful? Beauty is merely the cover of the book, is it not? Is not what lies underneath more…interesting?” She punctuated the question by mimicking Lady Aphrodite’s most popular girl’s signature move: a flutter of the lashes combined with a slow, undulating arch of the back.

The rub of her breasts against the solid wall of his muscled chest hardened her nipples. A shock of sensation rippled straight to her core. She drew a startled breath.

The man studied her through hooded eyes. “I believe you would be a book worth reading, my dear.” He executed an expert turn. “Perhaps, even more than once.”

Perhaps? That smacked of an insult.

“I fear I may be written in a language you cannot understand.” She flashed her eyes.

With a devious quirk of his lip, he trailed a slow finger up her spine. She couldn’t halt the shiver of response. He felt it. He couldn’t miss it. Not with how tightly he held her.

He lowered his head and whispered in her ear, “There’s only one language between a man and a woman, my dear. And yes, I read it astonishingly well, in all its forms.”

The situation wasn’t proceeding as planned. The man obviously knew a few tricks of his own. She’d been taught that suggestive innuendo drove men mad with desire—she hadn’t realized it worked the other way, as well. As he twirled her again, she decided it was time to play a different game, and gracefully slipped free of his arms.

“Where are you going?” He fell into step beside her as she glided toward the ballroom.

Juliet lifted her chin and fixed him with a cool stare. “Perhaps, this book doesn’t wish to be read, Carrick.”

Their gazes locked. She couldn’t deny the strong tug of attraction this time. He obviously felt it, too.

He looked away first, then performed a lazy assessment of her slender form. “On the contrary, my dear, this book is simply begging to be explored.”

The lust on his face sent her pulse soaring. She couldn’t allow him to get the upper hand. This was a game. Nothing more. She curved her lips in an ambiguous smile and turned away.

The musicians struck the opening notes of another waltz as she stepped through the ballroom door and paused inside.

A balding man immediately emerged from the nearby shadows and bowed low. “May I have this—”

“No, you may not.” Carrick clamped a possessive hand around her waist.

She hid a smile. As expected, like a puppet on her string, he’d followed her.

The man scurried away like a frightened rabbit.

This time, Carrick didn’t ask permission. With smooth, elegant grace, he caught her close and spun her onto the ballroom floor, locking her against his powerful body with a hand placed low on the small of her back.

For several long moments, she surrendered to the foreign desire to mold herself against him. They whirled in the glittering candlelight, easily weaving through the remaining couples on the dance floor. As they spun into a darkened corner, Carrick’s hand slid across her buttocks until they emerged into the light once again.

Juliet had expected as much, but instead of feeling affronted, she wondered what his lips would feel like on her naked skin. Somehow, the thought didn’t evoke the same disgust it did when observing the clientele in her mother’s establishment.

“A penny for your thoughts,” the whispered words bathed her ear with warm breath.

Her heart beat fast. Might he nuzzle her ear? He didn’t—of course. The man was clearly a master of seduction and, much to her chagrin, he’d won the game—so far. But all was not lost.

Juliet lowered her lashes and, with a naughty little smile, slid the tip of her tongue along the upper seam. “Perhaps, I wished that I danced with the other gentleman.”

Was it her imagination or did his muscular arm flinch? It was difficult to tell. The gray eyes looking down at her only held a wry amusement.

“No doubt, if you wished to dance with the fellow, you would be doing so.”

Again, he whirled her into a darkened corner and, this time, stopped and slid his hands lower until he cupped her buttocks. Excitement thrilled through her as he gently undulated his hard length against her.

“Tell me what you wish, Juliet.” He nuzzled the sensitive skin under her ear.

His body fascinated her. She liked how her name sounded like a song when he said it. 

What she wished?  His question suddenly roused her from the haze of lust. She knew what she wanted. She’d thought of nothing else the past three years. She wished to become a dressmaker—though one wouldn’t guess it who watched her in the ballroom’s shadows with a man’s hardened cock pressed against her abdomen.

That realization evoked a perverse grin even as shock twisted through her. She’d come close to proving her aunt right. She was too hot-blooded for her own good. But then…her passionate blood had served her well. She had the man right where she wanted him: thinking with his cock.

Now, it was time to play cards, and, judging by his thick erection, she might not need to cheat.

Juliet slipped free of his embrace. He groaned, and her smile widened. He reached for her, but she avoided his grasp with a quick sideways step. She tossed her head, adjusted the ribbons of her mask, and started toward the card room, which opened off the far end of the ballroom.

She didn’t wonder if Carrick followed. She knew he did.

The card room’s gaming tables boasted half a dozen gentlemen sipping brandy and lounging on plush green chairs with their legs splayed wide. The men sat up straighter as she entered, but she ignored them and angled toward a table in the darkest corner of the room. The shadows would aid her if cheating proved necessary.

Juliet took the seat with the wall at her back and the door facing. Carrick entered and paused. Her heart beat wildly as he scanned the room. She deftly adjusted her skirts, withdrew the cards she’d tucked in the garter’s hidden pouch, and slipped them under her seat cushion as his gaze settled on her.

Eyes locked on her face, he strode across the room.

“Join me,” she invited in a low voice when he arrived, and she picked up the deck of cards resting on the table. “A game of commerce, shall we? Three rounds.”

“What shall we wager?” He sat down sideways in his seat and stretched out his long legs.

Her throat went dry. Dear God, the man knew what he was about. The blatant lust in his eyes held her mesmerized. For the first time in her life, her pulse raced at the thought of a man touching her most intimate places and suckling her tender flesh. Wet heat pooled between her thighs.

It took a moment to recall he’d asked a question. Juliet frowned. How had she succumbed to his designs yet again? Irritation flared. She inhaled a mind-clearing breath and dropped her gaze to the cards. It was time to turn the tables on the man and his seductive ways.

With deliberate focus, she leaned forward to provide him an unimpeded view of cleavage as she fanned the cards in a line and ran her fingertips sensuously over the patterned, gold-painted backs. Juliet repressed a grimace. She’d tugged her bodice so low, she could only hope her breasts didn’t escape the confines of her gown.

“What should we wager?” she asked with a little aching pant, mimicking the sound her mother’s girls used to drive men wild. She followed with the standard sucking in of her bottom lip. Slowly, she let her lip drag against her teeth, then released it, and added, “Gentlemen first.”

He watched her. “I would see you…uncovered.” His piercing gray eyes flicked to her mask before sliding down to her breasts.

Her heart skipped a salacious beat and she flirted with the idea of losing—but only for a moment. She gathered the cards and cut the deck with a one-handed pivot cut.

His eyes lit with appreciation. “And your bet?”

It was time to stack the deck. For that, she needed a distraction. She dropped her eyes to his necktie and murmured, “Your cravat. I…would…claim it.”

“Are you in the habit of collecting men’s cravats?” he queried softly.

She offered a mysterious smile, then dealt the hand. She set the deck to her right then reached for her cards. He grasped her wrist. She glanced up, surprised.

“One round,” he demanded in a rough voice.

One round? She would definitely have to cheat.

“Very well,” she agreed.

Juliet slid her palm over her cards in a lover’s caress and, as his gaze tracked her fingers, she dropped her other hand to retrieve the aces from under the cushion.

His gaze lifted from the fingers skimming the cards to her face. Her breath hitched when the fire in his eyes intensified. She took another stuttered breath and her bodice felt as if it would burst. He shifted in his seat and her nipples pebbled. He couldn’t possibly see her nipples through her corset. Still, she had to will her trembling fingers into submission when she quickly brushed one palm over the other, skillfully exchanging the cards.

“Shall we?” This time, she only half-feigned her shallow breathing as she tapped the table with her knuckles, signaling time to display their cards.

Carrick’s gray eyes caught and held hers as he slowly placed his cards face-up on the table. Four kings. She blinked, her long lashes brushing her mask. He had cheated! She hadn’t noticed a thing. Well, that would teach her to watch the man. With a private smile, she rose.

He lifted a curious brow.

“Do not move,” she ordered in low, throaty tones. “I would fetch my prize.”

Curiosity crossed his face as she walked around the table, trailing a finger along the linen-covered table. She stopped behind him. He smelled of sandalwood and pure masculinity and, damn him, the way his coat stretched over his broad shoulders captured her attention too easily. Heart pounding, Juliet placed the heels of her palms on his broad shoulders and let the cards slide from her hands and down his chest. Two of the aces landed face up on his thighs. The other two landed in his crotch. God help her.

His muscled chest rose and fell.

Slowly, she slipped her fingers around his neck. He tilted his head back against the pillow of her breasts and closed his eyes. Juliet shivered. He inhaled a deep breath. It took longer than she’d expected to untie his cravat—Lady Aphrodite’s girls had made it seem so easy—but at last, the deed was done.

With a sensuous twist of her wrist, she slid the silk free and stepped back. “Thank you, Carrick, for a most pleasant evening.”

She turned away and heard the harsh intake of his breath followed by the scrape of his chair. She quickened pace when his bootfalls followed, but she eluded him by slipping into the shadows, then made a quick righthand turn out a side door and up the Servant stairs. She was glad to go. Midnight balls were far too dangerous—especially for girls like her.