Read The Rogue and the Rival Online
Authors: Maya Rodale
The Rogue and the Rival (10 page)
“That’s a problem?”
“Yes. No. It’s just, well, you’re
you
.” He winced at her words, and she saw that. A look of something like guilt or concern took over her features. But they both knew that she was only being honest.
you
.” He winced at her words, and she saw that. A look of something like guilt or concern took over her features. But they both knew that she was only being honest.
Phillip had never given a damn what people said about him, even when they spread horrid lies, or even when they whispered the truth of what he had done in drawing rooms and ballrooms all over town. But now he was really beginning to hate everything he had done in his entire life until he entered this abbey. It struck him all as monstrously unfair: she was changing him, and she couldn’t see it. What, then, was it all for?
“You’re you,” she repeated and continued. “You’re worse than a rake; you are an absolute scoundrel. You could stop yourself, and I, who am preparing for a lifetime of chastity, could not. Don’t you see?”
“I do,” Phillip said after a moment. “You want me to leave.”
“Yes and no,” Angela said. Phillip restrained himself from groaning and rolling his eyes. Women. Couldn’t they make up their minds? Say what they mean?
“Angela,” he said patiently, “I can’t do both.”
“I have been here for six years, and I had thought myself cured of desire. But I know now that it was only because there was nothing here to tempt me. And then you arrived,” she said, pausing to allow a bittersweet smile to form on her lips.
“You want me to stay here, tempting you, so you can refuse me,” Phillip supplied. She didn’t answer, just lowered her head. “That strikes me as quite unfair,” he said, “or at the very least, torment for me.”
He turned to look at her then. And all he saw was the way she had looked below him yesterday: soft, curved, luscious, wanting. Something stirred inside him. He knew very well the desire she spoke of. A deliciously wicked idea occurred to him.
“As you pointed out the other day, my club membership has likely expired. Since I have nothing to do and nowhere to go, I shall stay and help you overcome your desire.”
That captured her attention. She turned to look at him, wide-eyed, with lips slightly parted in surprise. “What are you going to do?” she wondered aloud, looking terrified and yet curious, too.
Phillip leaned in to her, allowing his cheek to caress hers as he whispered into her ear, “I’m going to tempt you, Angela.”
“You are a very wicked man,” she whispered back.
Or a bloody stupid man,
Phillip thought to himself. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was dangerous, for he was intoxicated by the scent of her. He became light-headed, as blood abandoned his brain for another part of his anatomy. He was about to take back his offer when she spoke.
Phillip thought to himself. His heart was pounding, and his breathing was dangerous, for he was intoxicated by the scent of her. He became light-headed, as blood abandoned his brain for another part of his anatomy. He was about to take back his offer when she spoke.
“Very well. I accept. And you shouldn’t be walking so much just yet. We should get you back to bed.”
Phillip groaned quietly and lowered his head. “I need a moment first.”
It was only for the noble purpose of assisting Angela on her spiritual journey that Phillip allowed her to wrap her arm around his waist to help him walk. For the same reason, he placed his arm around her, resting his hand just below her breast. She softened, and then straightened her spine. Phillip slid his hand down her side, leaving it to rest on her hip.
“You are a scoundrel.”
“I never denied it.”
In this completely torturous half embrace, they walked down the aisle. They exited the chapel and began the long walk back to his room. No one had put much thought into decorating the place. The hallways were long and winding, with stone floors to match the walls. Small, randomly placed windows provided some light, as did the occasional sconce.
“I’m not feeling tempted,” Angela said. Phillip wasn’t sure if she was glad of the fact or prompting him to take some liberty with her. He decided to pursue the latter.
“We could pause here in this dark corner,” he said, leaning against one wall, and pulling her close to him. He loosed his grip on her, so she was free to walk away. But no, she stayed.
“And then what?” she whispered, leaning against him.
Phillip took a moment to rest his cheek on the top of her head before he answered. She leaned back slightly to look up at him. He could kiss her now, if he wanted. But for the first time he thought of the consequences: she might hate him more or hate him less. But something would change, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. “Nothing,” he said, smiling devilishly at her. “My leg was tired. I just needed to rest for a moment.”
“Scoundrel.”
“Or perhaps not,” he said with a lift of his brow. Angela merely scowled in response.
They continued on in silence up a short flight of stairs, down another long corridor, before taking a left, then a right, then pausing at another flight of stairs.
“By now you must be regretting your decision to visit me in the chapel,” Angela said. Phillip couldn’t help but lean against her a little more, thankful she was there, as he eyed the stairs. It was not so much the prospect of physical pain that gave him pause but what was waiting for him at the top of the stairs: nothing. He’d get into bed because of his damned injury, and Angela would leave to attend to other chores, and he would sit there, bored out of his mind. The only thing he had interest in thinking about was how to tempt Angela, but he feared he would end up more tempted and tormented than she.
“I just need to sit here for a moment,” he said, lowering himself to sit on one of the steps. She did not join him.
“You really shouldn’t have gone walking so far just yet,” Angela scolded, standing before him with her arms akimbo.
“It was worth it.” He looked up at her. Her hands resting on her hips drew his attention there. He allowed his gaze to travel higher, to linger on the place where her dress clung to the swells of her breasts. The woman was all curves, he noticed. Phillip looked up to her face and noticed the curves continued: the soft, round cheeks; the plump lips; the curling eyelashes; the arched brows. The expression on her face revealed that she was concerned, presumably for him. Phillip could not recall anyone ever looking at him in such a way: caring. About him. Even though he didn’t really deserve it. That look, to him, felt like a glass of cold water after months in the desert.
He could get used to having someone care for him, he thought. Especially if that someone was Angela. Wanting such an impossibility was stupid. It was terrifying. It was time to change the subject.
“That is a really awful dress,” he said, hoping she would scowl or glare at him instead. Anything other than a look of care and concern. But she just smiled.
“I know,” she said. “I miss silk and satin because this itches horribly.”
“You could take it off,” Phillip suggested, smiling because he made her scowl.
“I certainly will,” she answered to his surprise. “Just not when you are around.”
“I’m supposed to be tempting you. Not the other way around.”
“I wasn’t trying to tempt you,” she protested.
“But you do, Angela. You do.”
They made it back to his chamber without any other incidents. Phillip couldn’t help but sigh when he returned to his bed. It was a sigh of relief at having the weight off of his leg, but also one of disappointment.
“What is it now?” Angela asked.
“I’m bored,” he said. Just looking around his chamber bored him. There was little there by way of distraction: stone walls, stone floors, a few pieces of furniture, a carving of Christ on the cross above his bed. The view from the window consisted of little more than fields.
“You could sleep,” she suggested.
“I’m not tired.”
“Would you like a book?”
“Have you got anything to read here other than the Bible?”
“It would do you good to read some scripture.”
“Exactly. So I would prefer something else.”
“I’ll see what is lying about,” Angela said and then she paused in the doorway before leaving. “Is there anything else you’d like?”
“Yes, actually,” Phillip replied, an idea forming in his mind. “A deck of cards.”
Angela returned after supper with some old newspapers, which was the only reading material she could find that was not the Bible. Of course, she couldn’t resist bringing a copy of the Good Book to him as well. She also managed to procure a deck of cards.
He showed no interest in the other things, but she could swear his face lit up when he saw the deck. Phillip took them immediately, sliding them out of the case. He shuffled them, sifting them through his fingers, smiling, presumably, at the pleasure of them in his hands.
“It’s just a deck of cards,” she said, lighting a few more candles in the candelabra on the bedside table.
“No, it’s more,” he answered, taking one card out at random. “Ace of diamonds. I played this card to win a horse, Rags to Riches, from Lord Wexford, and then I entered her in Ascot and won six thousand pounds. God, she was a magnificent animal. I then lost the horse that night to Lord Pommeroy in a game because of the four of clubs,” Phillip said, setting that card out of the deck.
Phillip drew another card at random. Angela saw it was the nine of hearts. “Ah, this one caused me to lose my hunting box up in Scotland.”
“You lost a house?”
“It was practically in Scotland,” Phillip said with a shrug. “What a Frenchman wants with it, I know not. But he has it now, unless he lost it to someone else.” He drew another card. “Jack of hearts. Won me Lord Vincent’s entire store of wine and brandy. That’s long gone, of course. I could have sold it for a fortune.”
“But you drank it,” Angela said bluntly.
“I had some help.”
“Of course.”
“The two of diamonds,” Phillip said with an impassive expression as he set the card down before him. “Had I not cheated, I would have drawn this card, and have won thousands of pounds and Viscount Althorp’s boat.”
“But you lost.”
“Oh no, I won anyway. But then I got caught because of this card, the jack of spades.”
“Was he the one who shot you? You mentioned that one scar was from a duel over a game of cards.”
“He challenged me, yes. But I shot myself.”
“You did what?”
“I was drunk out of my mind. Hadn’t slept. It had been raining. I tripped and fell on my pistol.”
“Oh.”
“Rather shameful, I know. Fled to Paris once I recovered. That wasn’t so bad, because they had card games there, too.” Phillip began to shuffle the cards as he spoke. “But my inheritance was gone at that point. No, I didn’t lose it. It went to my brother instead of me. To keep playing I had to borrow money from, well, doesn’t matter who. Badly in debt, I kept wagering, trying to win it back. It was this card,” he removed the two of hearts, “that was dealt to me. I won exactly enough to settle my debt.”
“You didn’t pay your creditors, and they came after you,” Angela supplied.
“Yes. And now my debt is settled. And I haven’t a penny to my name.”
“Your life is in those cards,” Angela said, looking down at the bed where Phillip had set out the selection of cards with stories. He gathered them all up. There was a snap and a whoosh as Phillip shuffled the full deck.
“Pathetic as that may be, I suppose it’s true. Should we keep the tradition going?”
“What do you mean?”
“Sit down,” Phillip said, motioning for her to sit at the foot of the bed, which she did. “We’re going to play.”
“But I don’t know how.”
“I’ll explain the game to you. Playing is the easy part; it’s winning that is a bit of a challenge.” Phillip then explained the objective and rules of vingt-et-un, the easiest game he knew. They engaged in a few practice games first.
“We have to wager something,” Phillip said, shuffling the deck once more in preparation to deal.
“You have no money,” Angela pointed out, “And I haven’t, either.”
“Good point,” Phillip conceded. “We could wager articles of clothing.”
“We absolutely cannot.”
“Yes, I suppose that would be unfair to you, as you have already seen me naked.”
“That’s not why, and you know it,” Angela said, adjusting her position at the foot of the bed. “Besides, gambling is a sin.”
“Is it?” he remarked idly. “There are so many, I can’t seem to keep track of them.”
“It is,” Angela repeated firmly.
“But confessions are not sins, am I correct?” he asked, and she eyed him warily, wondering as to his point.
“One confesses sins, so no, they are not bad,” she had to agree.
“And trading is not a sin?” he queried.
“No,” she answered honestly.
“So what if we traded confessions, depending upon who wins or loses the game?”
“Well, don’t you have a gift for twisted logic?”
“So is that a yes? Say yes, Angela.” And then he grinned at her, and she couldn’t say no.
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