Authors: Maya Rodale

The Rogue and the Rival (11 page)

BOOK: The Rogue and the Rival

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“Fine. Yes. Whoever loses must confess to a sin or a secret.”

“And the person who wins gets to ask the question,” Phillip added.

“I fear this shall not be fair to me. You have more experience than I do.”

“Yes,” he answered, “but I also have bad luck.” With that, he gave the cards one last shuffle before dealing them out. Angela looked at the cards in her hand and saw a four and a three.

“I’ll take another,” she said. He dealt her a king. She decided to play it safe. Seventeen was close enough to twenty-one for her.

“Show.” Phillip set down eighteen. He had won.

“So much for beginner’s luck,” she grumbled. “What is your question for me?”

He regarded her for a moment, undoubtedly pondering his options, before he spoke. In that moment, she grew nervous. Surely, he would ask her about being ruined, and she wasn’t sure how she would answer.

“How old are you?”

“That’s all?” she asked, and he nodded. “I am three and twenty years old.”

“You’re quite young,” he said and then dealt another hand. They each drew another card from the deck, presenting three cards each. His totaled nineteen this time, hers, twenty. She knew then why he had paused for a moment before asking his question. There were so many she wanted to ask, it was hard to decide which one to ask first. And there were so many delicate questions, but she didn’t want to ask about something very painful, lest the game be over before it had begun.

“Do you have a mistress?”

“At the moment, no.”

“No one you left behind in Paris?”

“That’s another question. But the answer is no.” He dealt again. She lost the next round. Phillip asked her a question she expected.

“Who was he?”

“Lord Lucas Frost.” She said the name aloud for the first time in six years. She braced herself for a wave of regret or nostalgia or something to come over her, and felt nothing. A lock of Phillip’s hair had fallen across his forehead, into his eyes, squinting slightly as he tried to place the name, and she wanted to brush it back. But she didn’t.

“I don’t know him,” he said finally.

“And I wish I never had,” she answered.

Phillip dealt again. Angela did not need to draw another card. Phillip did, and he lost.

“Have you ever been in love?” she asked.

“No,” he answered quickly and surely.

“Really?” she asked skeptically. “Not even once?”

“Angela, do I seem like the sort of man who falls victim to love? I’m selfish and self-absorbed. I’ve been called heartless by more than one woman.”

“You do seem like a man who leaves a trail of broken hearts in your wake. One of them could have been your own, though.”

“Well, it hasn’t happened,” he said plainly.

“Yet,” Angela added as he dealt another round.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he said, this time looking intently into her eyes for a second. “Mine aren’t. Would you like another card?”

“Please.”

She lost that round.

“I thought you had back luck,” she grumbled.

“I do. Apparently, yours is worse,” Phillip said, grinning. “Since we’re speaking about love, were you in love with him?” There was, of course, no need to specify which “him” Phillip was asking about.

“I’m not sure I know anymore,” she answered truthfully. “When I think back, what is most vivid to me is the horrible aftermath. But I must have loved him to have lost my head so completely. I must have been so high to have fallen so low.”

“Or it could just be an excuse. A justification. People are always using love to justify extreme or foolish actions. Hell, that’s the one excuse I haven’t used.”

“Maybe it would be a justification. I’m not sure I know. But I do know that the whole world seemed like a brighter, better place when he was around. All he had to do was smile at me, and I would forget my own name. He was that . . . intoxicating. My heart beat faster every time he was near. And maybe I didn’t even see him. I recall standing in a ball, and without turning around, I just knew he was there behind me because my heart thudded and my knees became weak. I was just so blinded by the reaction he inspired in me that I didn’t think to question his intentions. He made me feel so very alive, until he made me wish I was dead.” Angela felt ashamed to have spoken so much. And appalled that all those words had just fallen out of her mouth, and she couldn’t stop them. But she was sad, too, because as she spoke of those feelings, she missed them with an intensity she did not expect.

“What were his intentions?” Phillip asked with a lift of his brow.

“You’ll have to win another round for the answer to that one,” she said. And then he did win another round and asked that question again. And she answered.

“He was visiting the neighborhood. He stayed for a few months and neglected to mention that he was betrothed. The friend that he was staying with didn’t even know. The families had arranged it when he was quite young, and it was not a well-known fact. But there was no way for him to get out of it, at least not without severe consequences. It didn’t stop him from allowing me to believe that he was unspoken for, that we might wed. So he didn’t love me enough, if he even did at all.”

“He might have,” Phillip said. “But men in our station . . . You did mention he was a lord?”

“Yes. Viscount Frost.”

“Men in our position are raised to put the title, the estate, and the legacy first. It’s beaten into us, sometimes even literally. We are not ourselves; we are just the next in line to carry on the tradition, and we sure as hell better not be the last in the line.”

“Did your father beat you?”

“No. He didn’t care enough,” Phillip said, sounding as if he didn’t care, either. His gaze was focused upon the cards in his hand that he had recently dealt. They showed their cards, and Angela won.

“Did you really ruin all those women?” she asked. She had assumed the rumors were true at first, until he had asked her if she always “took gossip for gospel” and until she had gotten to know him better. But then she had wondered about the truth, and she wondered if she even wanted to know it. But she couldn’t help but ask, now that she had the perfect opportunity.

“Define ‘ruin,’ ” Phillip said evasively, and her heart sank a little.

“Were their marriage prospects destroyed because of a liaison with you?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that, Angela?” His voice was low, warning her.

“I do,” she said. Now she was quite sure.

“Yes, I did ruin four women.” Was that a stab of disappointment she felt? Had she dared to hope that it had been gossip? And what did it matter what she felt, anyway?

“Why didn’t you stop at just one?” It wasn’t her turn to ask another question, but she did, and to her surprise, he answered.

“Honestly? Because there was nothing stopping me.”

“But what about honor? Integrity? Or compassion at the very least?” she asked, aghast that those things had not crossed his mind.

“I told you, I am selfish. I am shallow. I was going to inherit one of the oldest and most powerful titles in England. No one was going to cross me.” It was most likely the truth, and not very comforting at all.

“Deal the cards, because I have another question,” Angela said coldly. He did, and her cards totaled nineteen. The spirit of gambling took over her. She wanted her prize, an answer to her question. So she played recklessly and drew another card, a king, which put her over twenty-one. She had lost. Phillip set down eighteen. She could have won.

“Why have you not taken your orders yet?” he asked. That question caught her off guard.

“I . . . I . . . don’t know,” she stammered, picking up the cards to hand back to him. Their fingers brushed, and she quickly pulled her hand away.

“I’m pretty sure you know, Angela.”

“It’s a big commitment. I want to be absolutely certain first,” she answered, folding her hands in her lap.

“It took you a few months to commit, in a manner of speaking, to being a man’s wife. That, too, is a lifelong obligation. And yet you have been here for years . . .”

Angela made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were so dark, so intense, that it felt like he was looking past her and into her head or her heart. It unnerved her, and she spoke without thinking. “Because I want to marry. I want a husband I love and children and a home,” she said, unable to keep her voice from rising in pitch, let alone stopping. “I am sure of it, and have always been sure of it. I don’t want to take my orders. I just need time to accept my fate.” She pressed her hand over her mouth. She had not meant to say those things. Certainly not aloud. Those were her secret thoughts, her secret wishes. They were supposed to stay secret and unspoken until they went away.

And to confess them to him of all the people in the world! He was sure to think her a fool for wanting that. He was sure to assume that she hinted that he should marry her. That was preposterous, of course. He was not the marrying kind, and she was not so deluded as to think he might change.

Phillip did not say anything. He dealt another round. This one, she was sure, he allowed her to win. For when it came time to reveal their cards, he showed the two of hearts and the two of diamonds, and she showed a jack and an ace. A perfect twenty-one.

“Why did you stop? Yesterday, and today, too, you could have kissed me and you did not. Why did you stop? And do not lie and tell me you have discovered honor, integrity, compassion, or any other noble emotion.”

“Do you ever get tired of seeing yourself as nothing more than a girl that made a mistake once?” he asked casually.

“It’s not my turn to answer a question,” she replied, because that question was not one that she cared to contemplate, let alone dare to answer.

He shrugged, as if to say he already knew the answer, even if she didn’t say it, and that he didn’t give a damn if she answered or not.

“Well, maybe I’m tired of living up to my reputation,” he said, leaning back onto the pillows. “Maybe I’m tired of meeting everyone’s low expectations of me. Or maybe I haven’t a damned clue as to why I stopped. But you didn’t want me to stop.”

“It’s not my turn to answer a question,” she replied. Again.

“It wasn’t a question, Angela.”

And then Phillip sat up and leaned forward. Her spine went rigid. He placed one fingertip on the soft spot beneath her chin. And with one finger he drew her into him.

And there it was again, like before with Lucas: the quickening of her pulse. She became light-headed. And then the new feelings: a constant humming within her and smoldering heat radiating from her stomach. Angela closed her eyes.

Lucas had made her feel alive. Phillip made her feel immortal. Time, space, and everything else ceased to matter.

His lips were nearly upon hers. So close that she could feel his lips part.

But he didn’t kiss her.

Phillip leaned in a little more, brushing his stubbled cheek against hers. She arched her back and let her head fall back. Lightly, his lips traced over her skin—along her neck, down to the edge of her dress, and back up again.

Still he didn’t kiss her.

He whispered something instead. “Perhaps I stopped because I knew you would hate me if I kissed you.”

She didn’t answer. Phillip placed his hand on the nape of her neck, holding her still, as he whispered more to her: “But I wonder if it’s better that you hate me.”

“I already hate you,” she said softly.

“If I kissed you, I might make you like me. That could be far worse.”

“Yes.” Angela wasn’t sure if that was an agreement or a plea.

“Or, maybe,” Phillip whispered again, “you would only end up hating yourself.”

“What do you care?” she asked. He didn’t answer, and she felt him pull away from her. Angela opened her eyes. And then she just knew. “You do care.”

He shrugged as if to say, “No, I don’t. I couldn’t care less.”

Liar.
She scowled at him. But he didn’t see, because he refused to meet her gaze.

“You do care,” she repeated. “You care what I might think of you. And you care how you might make me feel about myself. And you’ve been sitting here all evening telling me you are shallow, selfish, self-absorbed, and generally unfeeling. And—”

“Angela . . .” His voice was a warning for her to stop. He leaned forward again.

“You are a liar. But you do care.”

His face was inches from hers now. “I don’t care at all,” he said.

And then he did kiss her.

Chapter 6