One Good Earl Deserves a Lover (4 page)

He fairly oozed reprobate.

Any intelligent woman would run from him, and Pippa was nothing if not intelligent. She stepped backward, returning to the darkness of the Angel.

He followed.

“Yer a much better door-man than the usual lot. They never let me in.”

Pippa said the first thing that came to mind. “I am not a door-man.”

His ice blue eyes glowed at the words. “You are no kind of man, love. Ol’ Digger can see that.”

The exterior door closed with a loud bang, and Pippa started at the noise, backing toward the hell once more. When her back came up against the interior door, she edged through, pushing aside the curtains.

He followed.

“Perhaps you’re The Fallen Angel herself, then?”

Pippa shook her head.

It seemed to be the answer he was looking for, his teeth flashing in the dim light of the casino floor. He lowered his voice until it was more rumble than sound. “Would you like to be?”

The question hovered in the fast-closing space between them, distracting her. She might not know this man, but she knew, instinctively, that behind his weathered smile he was a rogue and perhaps a scoundrel, and that he knew much about vice in all forms—knowledge she had been seeking when she’d arrived here not an hour ago, prepared to request it from another man. A man who had shown absolutely no interest in imparting it.

So when this man, wicked and carefree, questioned her, she did as she always did. She answered him truthfully. “As a matter of fact, I do have some questions.”

She surprised him. His strange blue eyes widened just barely before narrowing in a wide, jolly grin. He laughed, bright and bold. “Excellent!” he boomed, and reached for her, wrapping one strong arm about her waist and pulling her to him, as though she were a rag doll and he a too-eager child. “I’ve answers aplenty, pet.”

Pippa did not like it, the feeling of being possessed by this too-bold man, and she reached out to brace herself against his chest, her heart pounding even as she realized that she might have said the entirely wrong thing to the entirely wrong person. He thought she wanted to . . .

“My lord,” she rushed to stop him. “I did not mean . . .”

“While I’m no lord, moppet, I should certainly like to be
yours,
” he laughed, pressing his face into her neck. Pippa struggled against the caress, trying not to inhale. He smelled of perspiration and something sweet. The combination was not pleasant.

She turned her head away, pushing against his chest again, wishing she’d thought this entire thing through slightly more clearly before leaping to converse with this man. He laughed and pulled her closer, promising her more than she’d bargained for with the tightening of his arms and the press of his soft lips against the curve of her shoulder. “C’mon, love, Uncle Digger’ll take care of you.”

“I am not certain the caring to which you refer is at all unclelike,” Pippa pointed out, trying to be as stern as possible as she attempted to extricate herself from his embrace. She looked around wildly; surely there was someone in this massive building who was willing to help her. Where was that someone?

Digger was laughing again. “Yer an exciting one, aren’t you?”

Pippa held her head back as far as she could, not wanting to make contact again. “Not at all. In fact, I’m the very opposite of exciting.”

“Nonsense. Yer here, aren’t you? If that ain’t exciting, I don’t know what is.”

He had a point. But even Pippa knew ceding such a point would start them down an unpleasant path. Instead, she stiffened, and used every ounce of her lady’s education.

“Sirrah!” she said firmly, writhing in his arms, eel-like, trying to force his hand. “I must insist you release me!”

“Come on, lovely . . . let’s go for a spin. Whatever yer gettin’ here . . . I’ll double it at my hell.”

Double what?

Now was not the time to consider the answer. “As tempting as that offer is—”

“I’ll show you a thing or two about temptation, I will.”

Oh dear. This wasn’t going at all according to plan. She was going to have to scream for help. Screaming was so emotional. Not at all scientific.

But desperate times required . . . well. She took a deep breath, ready to scream as loudly as she could, when the words shot across the quiet room like a bullet.

“Get your hands off her.”

Both Pippa and Digger froze at the sound, low and soft and somehow perfectly audible. And vicious. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at Mr. Cross, tall and trim, that crop of thick ginger hair now perfectly tamed, as though he would have it no other way. He’d also tucked in his shirt and donned a coat in what she assumed was a nod to civility, but it was irrelevant now, as
civil
was about the last word she would use to describe him.

Indeed, she had never seen anyone so furious in her life.

He looked like he might kill something.

Or someone.

Possibly her.

The thought returned her to sense, and she began to struggle again, moving scant inches before Digger’s superior strength won the day, and she was hauled to his side like a haunch of prize meat. “No.”

Cross’s grey gaze settled on the place where Digger’s hand sat, wide and possessive against her midriff. “It was not a request. Release the girl.”

“She came to me, Cross,” Digger said, laughter in his voice. “Led me right into temptation, she did. I believe I’ll be keepin’ her.”

“That is entirely untrue.” Pippa instinctively defended herself, struggling against the fox’s grip, silently willing Cross to look her in the eye. “You knocked!”

“And you answered, pet.”

She scowled and looked to Cross.

He did not meet her gaze. “She does not look as though she is interested in being kept.”

“I most certainly am
not
,” Pippa agreed.

“Release the lady.”

“Always so generous, callin’ the Angel’s birds ladies.”

Pippa stiffened. “I beg your pardon. I
am
a lady.”

Digger laughed. “With airs like that, you might fool someone one of these days!”

Irritation flared. She’d had enough of this man. Craning her neck to meet his blue eyes, she said, “I see I made an immense mistake by even conversing with you, Mr.—” She paused, waiting for him to do right and provide his surname. When he didn’t, she pressed on. “Mr. Digger. I assure you I am quite thoroughly a lady. Indeed, I am soon to be a
countess.
”

One of his black brows rose. “Is that right?”

She nodded. “Quite. And I don’t imagine you’d like to be on the wrong side of an earl’s favor, would you?”

Digger smiled, reminding her of a fox once more. “It wouldn’t be the first time, moppet. Which earl?”

“Don’t answer that,” Mr. Cross snapped. “Now, Digger.”

The man holding her released her, his touch a slow, unsettling slide against her midsection. The moment she could be free, she hurried to stand next to Mr. Cross, now paying her even less mind, if it was possible. He was advancing on Digger, his words casual, belying the threat that oozed from him with every movement. “Now that’s out of the way, perhaps you could explain what in hell you are doing in my hell?”

Digger remained focused on her, more thoughtfully, even as he replied. “Now, now, Cross. You forget yourself. I was simply coming over to give you some information I thought you might appreciate—bein’ right neighborly if you ask me.”

“We’re not neighbors.”

“Nevertheless. I’ve information you’ll be wantin’.”

“There’s no information you have that I could possibly want.”

“No? Not even information about your sister?”

Cross stiffened, corded tension tightening the long column of his neck and through the lean muscle of his back, pulling him straighter, taller than before.

Digger pressed on, “I’m guessin’ you not only want it . . . you’re willin’ to pay for it.”

The air thickened. She’d always heard the expression and thought it utterly silly. Certainly, air thickened with fog or with smoke . . . she’d even allow for it thickening with the stench of Olivia’s perfumes . . . but she’d always considered the very idea of emotion impacting the density of gas rather ridiculous—a silly, clichéd turn of phrase that should be exiled from English.

But this air did thicken, and she found it difficult to draw a deep breath, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Lord knows she ain’t comin’ to you herself, you fine cheat.”

Pippa gasped at the insult. Surely, Mr. Cross would not allow it to stand. But he seemed not to hear the personal slight. “You will not touch my sister.”

“It ain’t my problem if the ladies are drawn to me,” Digger said. “A gentleman doesn’t turn ’em away if they’re askin’ for a minute or two.” His eyes slid to Pippa once more. “Ain’t that right, Lady Soon-to-be-a-countess?”

“I find it difficult to believe either that ladies are drawn to you or that, in such a case, you would act the part of a gentleman,” Pippa retorted.

“Cor! Listen to this one!” Digger laughed, the sound booming around the floor of the hell. “She’s a little mink.”

Pippa narrowed her gaze. “I believe you are looking for the word
minx.
”

“No, I found just the right word. You’re a mink. All sharp teeth and”—his lecherous gaze slid over her—“I’m bettin’ very soft fur. Tell me, Cross, ’ad a feel yet?”

Pippa did not understand the words’ meaning, but when Mr. Cross lunged at Digger, hands like lightning clutching the older man’s lapels with wicked force, she had no doubt that she’d been thoroughly insulted. “You will apologize to the lady.”

Digger pulled away from the grip without much effort, straightening his maroon frock coat. “Ah, not yet then, I’m guessin’,” he said smartly. “But not long of a wait now, neither. Not yer usual type, I’ll say.” He bowed low, a teasing gleam in his eye. “My apologies, Lady Soon.”

Her teeth clenched at the mocking name.

Mr. Cross spoke, quiet menace in his tone. “Leave this place.”

“Don’t you want to hear what I came to say?”

His hesitation was so slight . . . a half second . . . less. But Pippa heard it. “No.”

One side of Digger’s mouth crooked up in a smirk. “You will change your mind. I give you two days.” He waited a beat, and Pippa had the distinct impression that there was an invisible knife hovering between these two men, each strong in his own way. She wondered who held the weapon.

Digger drove its point home. “You never could resist family matters.”

Mr. Cross lifted his chin defiantly.

Digger tipped his hat to Pippa, using the movement to give her a proper leer. “As for you, Lady . . . this won’t be the last time we meet.”

“If you know what’s best for you, it will be.” Mr. Cross’s words were cold and unwavering, leaving no room for resistance.

“Nonsense. The lady ’as questions.” Digger’s blue eyes bored into hers. “I’ve answers, I do.”

Mr. Cross took a step toward them, a low, dark sound rumbling in his throat, catching Digger’s attention. He turned his wicked smile on Mr. Cross. “Another reason for you to come see me, then.”

Mr. Cross’s fury was unmistakable, sending a ripple of something not altogether pleasant through her. “Get out.”

Digger did not seem impressed, but he did not tarry. “Two days, Cross.”

With an insolent wink for Pippa, he was gone.

They stood in silence for a long moment, watching the thick velvet curtains sway with his exit, listening for the heavy sound of the main door closing behind him before Pippa released the breath she had not known she had been holding.

At the sound, Cross turned on her, grey eyes flashing and furious. “Perhaps you would like to explain how it is that you are still here?”

Chapter Three

“It occurs to me that I should have considered this course of action prior to now. After all . . . if one wishes to understand the inner workings of the goose, one must observe the gander.

The common grey goose (Anser anser) boasts one of the most easy to identify ganders in the entire goose genus. Ganders are larger than females, with broader heads and longer necks, and when they reach sexual maturity, they have a tendency toward aggressive behavior around female geese. Interestingly, males can also display intensely protective behavior toward females, though it’s often difficult to distinguish between the two types of conduct.”

The Scientific Journal of Lady Philippa Marbury

March 22, 1831; fourteen days prior to her wedding

I
n the interest of self-preservation, Pippa said the first thing that came to mind. “He knocked.”

“And it did not occur to you that one knocking at the door to a gaming hell might not be the kind of person with whom you would wish to become acquainted?”

For someone with a reputation for being charming and affable, he did not seem to be at all such. “I am not an imbecile, Mr. Cross.”

He crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “Speaking the words does not make them so, Lady Philippa.”

She considered lifting her skirts and naming all the bones in her foot. Instead, she stayed quiet.

“Remaining silent might well be the first intelligent thing you’ve done today.”

“There was no one else to answer. I waited. Indeed, I was rather surprised that the gentleman was allowed to bang upon the door to his heart’s content.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “I assure you, such neglect will not occur again. And, for the record, Digger Knight is no gentleman.”

“Yes. I gather that now.” Her blue eyes narrowed behind thick lenses. “Of course, by the time I realized it . . . he was already in.”

“Would you like to explain why his hands were on your person?”

She thought it best not to reply to that. She would not like the situation to be misconstrued.

He pounced on her hesitation. “Did you
ask
for it? Was he your next choice for research partner?”

She hedged, looking to the door, considering escape. “Not . . . precisely.”

I do have some questions.
He wouldn’t like to know she’d said that.

He took a step toward her, blocking her exit. “How, precisely?”

She looked up at him, feeling more guilty than she should. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d tossed herself into the man’s arms. “Did you proposition him?”

“No!” She did not hesitate. She hadn’t.
Exactly.

He heard the thought as though she’d screamed it. “I’m not certain I believe you. After all, you propositioned me not thirty minutes ago.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”
If you’d said yes, I wouldn’t be in this situation.

“No?” He rocked back on his heels.

“No!” She exhaled on a huff of displeasure. “You were part of a plan.”
A plan you then thoroughly mucked up.

His gaze was narrowed on her, as though he could hear her thoughts. “I suppose that makes sense in a strange way.” He turned away from her, stalking across the dark floor of the club, tossing back, “I suggest you return home and await your brother-in-law, Lady Philippa; he will no doubt come looking for you when I tell him that you’re a complete madwoman.”

He could not tell Bourne. Bourne would tell Father, and Father would lock her away in Surrey until the morning of the wedding. Without question. And Pippa would be without the information she required. Without the security knowledge brought. Without the safety of it. She could not allow it.

“No!” she cried across the room.

He turned back, his tone dark. “You are under the mistaken impression that I am interested in doing your bidding, my lady.”

She hesitated. “I didn’t approach him. There’s no harm done. I shall go. Please . . . don’t tell Bourne.”

She might not have said the words at all for the way he ignored her, his gaze having fallen on the hazard table. On the dice she’d left, forgotten, on its mahogany edge.

She took a step toward him, and his gaze swung to meet hers, powerful and direct. She caught her breath. Stilled. “Your dice?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“You wagered?”

“I had been about to,” she said, the words coming quickly. “
When a man doth to Rome come,
so to speak.”

He ignored her quip. “With Knight?”

“With myself.”

“The terms?”

“I hadn’t decided. I thought . . . perhaps—” She stopped herself, the heat of her embarrassment washing through her. “Perhaps I could . . .”

His gaze turned searing. “You could . . . ?”

She looked to the dice. “I could redouble my efforts to garner your assistance.”

“With your ruination.”

Well. When he put it like that, in this big room, it sounded much more scandalous than before. “Yes.”

“And if not that? What? You’d go home and wait to be married like a good girl?”

He made her sound like a child. As though her entire plan were idiotic. Did he not see that it was imperative? That it was
science
? “I hadn’t decided,” she said, smartly. “But I rather think I would have considered alternate opportunities. It’s London in season. There is no shortage of rakes to be found to assist me.”

“You’re as much trouble as your sister is,” he said, flatly.

Confusion flared. “Penelope?”

“The very same.”

Impossible. Penelope was proper in every way. She never would have come here unescorted. She shook her head. “Penelope isn’t any trouble at all.”

One ginger brow cocked in wry disbelief. “I doubt Bourne would agree. Either way, Digger Knight is in no way a viable candidate for such a thing. You would do best to run far and fast should you ever see him again.”

“Who is he?”

“No one whom you should have ever encountered.” He scowled. Good. Why should she be the only one to be irritated? “You did not roll.”

“I did not,” she said. “I’m sure you count yourself very lucky indeed for that. After all, what if I had won?”

His eyes darkened. “I would have been a win?”

She nodded. “Of course. You were the research associate of choice. But as I never had a chance to wager, you may count yourself very lucky indeed,” she said, lifting her skirts to leave as elegantly as possible.

“I count myself no such thing. I don’t believe in luck.”

She dropped her skirts. “You run a casino, and you don’t believe in luck?”

He half smiled. “It’s because I run a casino that I don’t believe in it. Especially with dice. There are odds in this game. But the truth, Lady Philippa, is that even odds would have had no bearing on your roll. It is impossible to wager against oneself.”

“Nonsense.”

He leaned back against the table. “There is no risk in it. If the outcome is what you desire, there is no loss. And if the outcome is not what you desire . . . you may simply renege. With none to hold you accountable, there is no reason to follow through on the results.”

She straightened her shoulders. “I would hold
myself
accountable. I told you. I dislike dishonesty.”

“And you never lie to yourself?”

“Nor to others.”

“That alone proves that you are in no way prepared for that for which you would have wagered.”

“You find honesty to be an impediment?”

“A wicked one. The world is full of liars, Lady Philippa. Liars and cheats and every sort of scoundrel.”

“Like you?” The retort was out before she could stop it.

He did not seem insulted. “Precisely like me.”

“Well then, it’s best that I remain honest, to offset your dishonest balance.”

He raised a brow. “You do not think that affecting your own secret ruination is dishonest?”

“Not at all.”

“Lord Castleton does not expect you to come to his bed a virgin?”

Heat washed over her cheeks. She supposed that she should have expected the frank words from him, but she’d never had this specific topic raised in conversation before. “I still intend to . . .” She looked away. “To do that. I simply intend to be more knowledgeable about the act.”

He raised a brow. “Let me rephrase. Lord Castleton does not expect you to come to your marriage an innocent?”

“We’ve never discussed it.”

“So you’ve found a loophole.”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “I have not.”

“Dishonesty by omission remains dishonest.”

It was a wonder he had a reputation as a charmer. He didn’t seem at all charming. “If he asks, I shan’t lie to him.”

“It must be lovely to live in black and white.”

She shouldn’t ask. “What does that mean?”

“Only that in the real world, where girls are not protected from every bit of reality, we are all cloaked in grey, where truth is relative.”

“I see now that I was wrong in believing you a scientist. Truth is truth.”

One side of his mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Darling, it’s nothing close to that.”

She hated the way the words rolled off his tongue, utterly certain. This had clearly been a mistake. She’d come in the hopes of gaining experience and knowledge, not a lesson in male superiority.

It was time to leave.

He didn’t say anything as she crossed the room, headed for the exit. He didn’t speak until she had pushed back the curtains and opened the inner door, suddenly eager to leave.

“If you’re going to wager, you should do it honestly.”

She froze, one hand holding a heavy length of velvet. Surely she had misunderstood him. She turned her head, looking over her shoulder to where he stood, tall and slim. “I beg your pardon?”

He slowly removed one hand from the pocket of his coat and extended it toward her. For a moment, she thought he was beckoning her.

For a moment, she almost went.

“You’ve come all this way, Pippa.” It was the first time he’d called her by the nickname, and she was struck by its sound on his tongue. The quick repetition of consonants. The way his lips curved around it. Teasing. And something more. Something she could not explain. “You should have a real wager, don’t you think?”

He opened his hand, revealing two small, ivory squares.

She met his calculating grey gaze. “I thought you did not believe in luck?”

“I don’t,” he said. “But I find that I believe less in making a wager with oneself, thereby forcing the outcome to accommodate your adventure—”

“Not adventure,” she protested. “Experiment.”

“What’s the difference?”

He couldn’t see?
“One is silly. The other is science.”

“My mistake. Tell me, where was the science in your potential wager?”

She did not have an answer.

“I’ll tell you . . . there was none. Men of science don’t wager. They know better. They know that no matter how many times they win, the odds remain against them.”

He moved closer, crowding her back into the darkness. He didn’t touch her, but strangely, it didn’t matter. He was close enough to feel, tall and lean and ever so warm. “But you’re going to wager now, Pippa, aren’t you?”

He was muddling her brain and making it very difficult to think clearly. She took a deep breath, the scent of sandalwood wrapping around her, distracting her.

She shouldn’t say yes.

But somehow, oddly, she found she couldn’t say no.

She reached for the dice, where they lay small and white in his broad palm. Touched them, touched
him
—the brush of skin against fingertips sending sensation coursing through her. She paused at the feeling, trying to dissect it. To identify it.
To savor it.
But then he was gone, his hand falling away, leaving her with nothing but the ivory cubes, still warm from his touch.

Just as she was.

Of course, the thought was ridiculous. One did not warm from a fleeting contact. It was the stuff of novels. Something her sisters would sigh over.

He moved, stepping back and extending one arm toward the hazard field. “Are you ready?” His voice was low and soft, somehow private despite the cavernous room.

“Yes.”

“As you are gaming in my hell, I shall set the terms.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

His gaze did not waver. “When we wager at your tables, my lady, I shall be more than happy to play by your rules.”

“I suppose that is logical.”

He inclined his head. “I do like a woman with a penchant for logic.”

She smiled. “The rules of scoundrels it is, then.”

They were at one end of the long table now. “A roll of a seven or an eleven wins on the first roll at the Angel. As you are wagering, I shall allow you to name your price.”

She did not have to think. “If I win, you tell me everything I wish to know.”

He paused, and she thought for a moment he might change his mind. Instead, he nodded once. “Fair enough. And if you lose . . . you shall return to your home and your life and wait patiently for your marriage. And you will resist approaching another man with this insane proposal.”