The Ice Duchess: Scandalous Regency Widows, Book 2 (2 page)

Unless flirting was just a ploy to put her off her game. Lord Markham struck her as a man who liked to play games in the true sense of the word. And to win. She would show him though. Georgiana, the Duchess of Darby, never lost. Ever.

Markham reached for the deck, his long fingers covering the cards before he took his turn to cut them. With a small jolt of surprise she realized the knuckles of his right hand were scarred, misshapen even. She stole a glance at his face and noticed further evidence of past physical altercations—a slight deviation to the bridge of his nose and the faint line of a scar running through one dark eyebrow. Was he a pugilist, or a military officer perhaps? But she had no more time to speculate on the man’s recreational habits or profession.

Markham turned over the ace of hearts.

Oh, Lord no.
She was already at a decided disadvantage, unsettled by Markham’s good looks and devil-may-care manner. And now he’d claim all the subsequent advantages that came with being the younger hand during the first round.

“I’ll deal.” Markham flashed her such a confident grin, if Georgie had a drink at hand, she’d be tempted to throw it at him.

Instead, she simply smiled back and unclenched her teeth with an effort to reply, “Of course.”

Markham reached for the cards. “What stakes shall we play for, Your Grace?” he said, his voice running over her like rich, thick treacle, making her shiver. His disconcerting gaze slid to her lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet her eyes. “I am open to whatever you suggest.”

Georgie blushed hotly again. Why did Markham make it sound as if they were playing something infinitely more dark and dangerous than cards? She would never be able to concentrate with his stare focused so intently on her, and sexual innuendo lacing everything he said.

Provoking man
. That’s when Georgie had a premonition that she was in deep trouble. What if she, the Ice Duchess, lost? Oh, she would never live it down.

* * *

“
I
’m satisfied
with playing for points, nothing more, Lord Markham.”

Rafe couldn’t help but smile inwardly at the frosty reply of the stunning woman before him. She was doing a sterling job at affecting a calm demeanor but he knew that deep down she was flustered. By him.

His reputation in particular covert circles as one of Britain’s premier spies hadn’t been without good reason. Reading people was his stock in trade. His life had depended upon it for so long it was second nature to him. He’d have been killed a dozen times over during his years in Spain, France and in the Russian Court if he hadn’t been able to accurately deduce someone’s emotional state and thoughts. Anticipate their every move.

And right now he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the newly widowed Ice Duchess—who as rumor had it was a card player extraordinaire, a woman who had rarely been beaten in the last decade and by no one at all in the last three years—was more than a little bit nervous being around him.

Intriguing.
It was the first time in a long time that a woman had so effortlessly and completely aroused his interest. He had been back in England just over a year and had heretofore managed to avoid most of the
ton’s
lackluster whirl of social events. Until his bloody friend Maxwell had persuaded him to turn up this evening.

At least it was going to be more entertaining than he’d previously anticipated.

He began to deal the cards. The Duchess of Darby obviously despised flirtations; her beautiful blue eyes were still narrowed with annoyance as she waited to see how he would respond to her request to play for points alone. Maxwell had warned him she would be pricklier than a gooseberry bush when he’d proposed that he, Markham, take his place in this
partie
.

Now seeing the heightened color in the duchess’s cheeks and her slightly elevated rate of breathing, Rafe was going to flirt with her like mad. He could never resist a challenge. She might have a tart tongue and a glacial blue gaze, but one thing was certain, the delectable duchess was going to be the most exciting challenge of the feminine kind that he’d come across in a long time.

“Points alone it is then, madam,” he said at last with a deliberately provocative smile. To his amusement, he was rewarded with an even icier glare, entirely at odds with the deepening flush across the duchess’s high cheekbones. “Although, if you’d like to up the stakes at any time...” Cad that he was, he dropped his gaze to her tightly compressed, rose-pink lips again.

“Just deal, Lord Markham,” she replied in the most delightfully clipped tone, he had to bite his cheek to keep from chuckling with glee.

But she was right. They should get down to the business at hand. Win or lose at piquet, he was going to have the time of his life.

* * *

L
ord Markham had trounced her
. Well and truly.

So much for winning for Teddy...

The damp, cool night air was welcome after the stifling crush of the ballroom. And the terrace was completely deserted, thank God. A recent shower of rain had obviously put off those guests who usually sought illicit assignations from venturing outside. Georgie quietly took her first glass of champagne for the evening over to the farthest corner of the terrace and stared out into the dripping, lantern-lit courtyard garden. Her blue satin slippers would be ruined—she could already feel dampness creeping up through the soles—but she didn’t care.

She still couldn’t believe it
.
She’d lost at piquet for the first time in three years. All because of that devil, Markham. She took a large sip of champagne to prevent herself grinding her teeth with frustration. The gossip would be all over
ton
circles by midday tomorrow—that the indomitable Duchess of Darby’s famous composure had slipped.

They would think it was because she’d just come out of mourning no doubt. But that wasn’t the case at all. She couldn’t bear it.

Now that Teddy was gone, her reputation as a ruthless card-player was the only defense she still had against men like Markham. And now it was all but shattered. Just as her heart had been shattered ten years ago.

She lifted the cool and slightly dewed champagne flute to her flushed cheek. Maybe she was coming down with something. That might explain her inability to keep count of the cards and her poor decision making throughout the game. Yes, that must be it. Aside from feeling infuriated with herself and Markham, she also felt edgy, feverish. Her pulse was racing, as if the champagne she had just been sipping was fizzing through her veins. She was not herself at all.

“Your Grace?”

Georgie turned her head, knowing before she saw him that it was Lord Markham. Damn the brazen devil back to hell. She supposed he had followed her out here to gloat.

He crossed the wet terrace toward her with an unerring stride, obviously sure of a welcome reception from her. She slid her gaze over him. She supposed many women, perhaps even Jonathon, would find him attractive. He had a lean, muscular build, and as he drew closer she was struck again by how tall he was.

But so what if he was broader across the shoulder and more powerfully made than most other men of her acquaintance? So what if he was roguishly handsome? He was only another man.

In the end, he would be bound to disappoint her.

He paused but a foot away, leaning a hand nonchalantly on the stone balustrade. “May I join you?”

She steadfastly tried to ignore the vibration the rich timbre of his voice sent through her just as she futilely attempted to suppress the wild thudding of her heart. She couldn’t account for her body’s wayward responses to this man.

Stop it, Georgie
.
You are reacting like the foolish girl you used to be.

“If you like,” she replied, pleased that her voice sounded even and non-committal, despite her inward discomposure. She took another sip of champagne and turned to stare out into the dark garden again. Let Lord Markham state his business and be done with her. She wasn’t going to play along.

She felt his gaze upon her.

“I’d heard that you hardly ever lose, Your Grace. I’ve come to offer my apologies for spoiling your run.”

She sensed the undercurrent of smug amusement in his voice. Yes, he was definitely an arrogant peacock.

Steeling herself against any further errant physical reactions, she angled herself toward him and summoned a slight smile that she hoped conveyed a lack of concern. “It’s no matter,” she lied.

His wide mouth tilted into a smile. “Hmm... Your brother didn’t think you’d feel that way.”

She bristled. “So Jonathon put you up to this,” she accused, unable to hide the sharp note of irritation in her voice. “Well it won’t work you know. I’m not interested in engaging in flirtatious banter as you make a futile attempt to woo me.”

Markham lifted a dark eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked. “So cynical, Your Grace. But I like a challenge.” He slid a little closer to her and sought her gaze. Even though the terrace was only dimly lit by patches of light spilling through the salon’s main door and the softly glowing lanterns placed at strategic intervals around the garden, she thought she detected a sincere light in his dark gray eyes. “However it seems I have put you out. Again I apologize.”

He paused and leaned a little closer, his shoulder touching hers, the tantalizing scent of his expensive cologne wrapping around her. His breath warmed her ear. “Perhaps I could even offer you some recompense for ruining your winning streak. Make it up to you.”

He was much too close. Georgie’s mouth went dry and she fought the urge to take another sip of champagne. Instead she placed the flute on the balustrade and faced him, readying herself to quit the terrace. “I assure you that’s not necessary, Lord Markham. Besides I’m certain that I wouldn’t be interested in anything you had to offer.”

“Are you sure?” His gaze pointedly fell to her lips before returning to her eyes.

She only just repressed a most unlady-like urge to snort. “It sounds like whatever you have in mind would be rather more for your benefit than mine.”

His mouth curved into a slow, sensual smile. “I’m sure it would be mutually beneficial. In fact, I promise you that you’ll thoroughly enjoy what I’m offering.”

Damn him.
She realized that despite her urge to berate him for his audacity, part of her knew she probably would enjoy what he was so clearly proposing to do.

His gaze roamed over her face before dropping to her mouth again. He angled his head a little, moved imperceptibly closer. He was going to kiss her she was sure of it.

But then he drew back. Frustration as well as an unexpected surge of desire flared. “You’re teasing me, Lord Markham.”

“Just heightening your anticipation, trying to turn the odds in my favor. Besides, I’m still waiting to hear if you’ll actually accept my offer of recompense. You won’t be disappointed.”

She shot him a heated, hopefully withering look. “You are so cock-sure of yourself.”

He smiled and shrugged a wide shoulder, clearly unperturbed. “So?”

“So what?”

“May I kiss you, Your Grace?”

Georgie narrowed her eyes, resisting the urge to let her gaze drop to his suddenly all too tempting mouth. “I’ve a mind to say no.”

“But you won’t.”

No, she wouldn’t
.

Markham knew it too. That utterly enticing, languorous smile appeared again and she felt breathless. Almost lightheaded. She grudgingly acknowledged that it had been a long time since she’d been so affected by a man. Been kissed by a man.

She was such a fool to crave something that could only be bad for her.

Markham closed the small distance between them and raised a hand to wind one of her brown curls around one long finger. “Beautiful,” he murmured, watching it slide off before he gently brushed the back of his hand across her fevered cheek. Her breath caught and his gaze returned to hers. “You’re nervous,” he said, a note of surprise in his voice.

Georgie swallowed. Yes, she was
.
But she didn’t want to acknowledge the real reason why. “We... I need to be discreet that’s all,” she lied.