Unexpected anger surged. She was standing here, naked nips to the breeze, and he was acting like this was a mundane occurrence that happened every night of the week. Mayhap it was, for him, but not for her. Oh, why wouldn’t he put her out of her misery and just bloody well get on with what they both knew he was here for?
What a confounding world that had closed its dark and seedy doors behind her. The same world that had treated Eva like a dishrag to be used and discarded. Again, memory beckoned . . .
“You’re very like your sister, except—”
Montfort hesitated there, not out of discretion or consideration, but to draw out the moment. To toy with her.
“—Not as high spirited, and—”
Another pause, another dramatic tick of the clock.
“—Not as prone to vice.”
How Isabel’s palm had itched to slap Montfort’s condescending face in that moment, but, like thenot as high-spiritedsister she was, she’d kept it by her side. It wouldn’t do to anger the man who held the key to her family’s safety, even if he was the same one who had endangered it in the first place.
Family was everything.
Just now, she slid onto a white velvet chair opposite the too-handsome wolf and patted the deck of cards before her. She was dealer. “What is your game, my lord?”
His long fingers gave crimson baize an impatient tap. “French vingt-et-un.”
“French?” Vingt-et-un was the sort of game that involved more luck than skill. And a French version? She had no idea.
He gave his head a subtle nod, the shadow of a smile a cold glint in his eyes. “French.” He reached inside his coat pocket, pulled a small black enameled box from its depths, and set it on the table. “Do you have your counters?”
“Of course.” Isabel pulled open a small drawer and removed the velvet-lined box containing a set of heart-shaped, mother-of-pearl counters.
The man uncrossed his legs and shifted forward to shrug off his evening coat. From there, he proceeded to remove his cuff studs and began rolling his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, one precise fold over another, before resting bare forearms on the table. They were lightly dusted with fine, dark hair and tensile and strong as tempered steel, like the rest of him, no doubt.
She used the opportunity to really take him in. Tall, dark, and aristocratic—yes—wolfish, too. But here, with nothing more than a few feet of card table between them, his stark, hard-edged beauty foregrounded itself. Impenetrable, deep brown eyes set beneath black slashes of eyebrows. A mop of loose black curls that would have made Lord Byron green with envy. Cheekbones, nose, chin, jaw chiseled from smooth marble. Silvery scar running along the edge of his sharp right cheekbone as if to illustrate its perfect line.
He was the most forbiddingly handsome man to ever walk the earth.
“You can cover yourself,” he said, off-hand.
Isabel’s hands froze mid-shuffle as sudden awareness ribboned through her. Somehow, she’d forgotten the fact that she sat opposite this wolf of a man with her breasts bared. “Is ityourpleasure that I cover myself?”
“If you don’t mind.”
Her mouth nearly fell open. She recovered enough to say, “Your pleasure is mine,” as she reached for the discarded shawl. She inhaled the scream of frustration clamoring for release. The trajectory of this night had been predictable and easy.Dreadful, but predictable and easy. This man wasn’t playing his part.
“And you can stop with theyour pleasure is minenonsense.”
She almost said it again to spite him. It was something the real Isabel would do. Instead, she nodded her assent. The very last person she should be tonight was herself.
“And remove the veil. It’s a bit much.”
Without another word, she unpinned and discarded the garment.
At his leisure, he took in her features, one by one, as if committing them to memory. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.
“Rather young, aren’t you?”
Somehow, she felt more exposed now than she had with her breasts bared. “This establishment houses younger.”
The muscles of his jaw clenched and worked. She’d unsettled him, possibly angered him.Good.One should feel disturbed and angry in a place like this.
“Shall we get on with this?” he asked.
