Trevor’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. Why had she kissed him? Unmarried women of society guarded their reputations and persons most diligently. Unless they were seeking a husband.
“I believe you owe me an explanation, Lady Meredith.”
Her eyes flashed, but instead of a scathing retort she gave him a smile filled with irony. “The kiss we shared was part of a wager. A wager you have now lost.”
Her tone had him tensing while her confidence made him even more edgy. “I can assure you, Lady Meredith, I make countless wagers each day. You must be more specific if I am to recall a particular one.”
She looked on the verge of shouting, but somehow managed to resist the urge to scream at him. “Last week, while dining out with my brothers, you declared, most vehemently, that a spinster harbors no passion in her soul. My brothers disagreed with this notion, suggesting the opposite. The challenge was put forth to find a spinster who would kiss a rake, of her own volition, with passion and ardor.”
“You are the spinster?” he asked in an incredulous tone.
“I am. And you are the rake.” Even in the glittering light, he could see the spark of satisfaction in her eyes. “So the challenge has been met. You, sir, have lost the wager.”
Her words might have angered him. Or made him cry foul, for it felt very much like he had been well and truly fooled. Despite her age, she was hardly the type of female he had in mind when he spoke of spinsters.
Even by his rather lax standards, her behavior had been highly improper and exceedingly daring. Yet the marquess wisely swallowed that observation and instead offered another.
“I must correct your assumption, Lady Meredith. I might have lost some coin and, if I recall clearly, an incomparable pair of matched bays. However, after kissing you, I strongly contend I am the true winner of this wager.”
On the opposite end of town, the moonless night provided a cloak of anonymity for the man who waited in the shadows of a tavern. There was little chance of being recognized by anyone on the street, for he seldom frequented this rather seedy, rundown area of London, yet caution was needed.
The man had entered this establishment two nights prior, in search of a pretty barmaid. He had found precisely the type of woman he was looking for—buxom, fresh-faced, and young enough to be missing the tired eyes and downtrodden spirits shared by so many others in her profession.
He had given her a handsome tip and a friendly smile, knowing she would remember him. He had hoped to see her later that evening, but the tavernkeeper, a barrel-chested man with large hands and a cynical attitude, had taken notice of him. Knowing it was foolish to tempt fate, the man had left, frustrated and angry.
For two long days he had thought of little else but this woman, and tonight he had been driven to return. To finish his task.
In the distance he heard the toll of the watchman’s bell. Two clangs. Good. The tavern would be closing soon. Another ten minutes passed, and then the lights were gradually extinguished inside the building. A few moments later the front door opened and a woman emerged. His woman.
The man blew out his breath. His luck was holding. The young barmaid was alone. Head down, she jumped across a large puddle, then hurried across the street.
The man stepped out of the shadows, directly into her path. The young woman gasped with fright and held her arm up in a protective gesture. Then slowly her expression changed from one of fear to relief.
“Oh, ’tis only you, sir. You gave me a grand fright, that’s for sure.”
“I apologize.” He bowed gracefully, and she tittered with delight. Women of the lower classes, he had discovered, were easily led to ruin by displaying simple manners and common courtesies toward them. “May I see you home?”
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I live with me Mum and brothers and sisters,” she answered. “I’m sure at least one of ’um is waiting up for me to get home.”
“I only wish to walk with you,” he said gently. “If you have no objections.”
He could see the indecision clearly in her face, so he gave her a brief smile. It had the desired effect. She smiled back, then nodded in agreement.
“Thank you, sir, for your kind offer. ’Tis nearly twenty blocks to our flat. I shall be glad of the com-pansy.”
They walked for several blocks in silence. He did not offer her his arm, fearing to touch her too soon. It was the right decision, for of her own initiative she left a respectable distance between them as she walked. He knew she was shy of him, for she spoke only briefly when answering his many questions and initiated no conversation.
He found her reticent nature charming, her natural shyness exhilarating. Forward, aggressive women had always angered him.
As they walked, he became dimly aware of the passage of time. Soon, it must happen soon. Eagerly, his eyes scanned ahead, watching for the perfect spot, the perfect moment. When it came, he was ready.
He stumbled on a piece of uneven cobblestone, pretending to lose his balance. The young woman stopped immediately and offered her arm to him in assistance. With a wicked smile of satisfaction, he grasped her arm, righted himself, and then yanked her into the small alley between two tall buildings.
“No, please,” she cried, as he jammed her against the wall with his body. She pushed against his chest with the heels of her hands, struggling to get away from him. But he was too strong.
He caught her flaying arms, swiftly tying the wrists together with a silken cord he had brought specifically for this purpose. She gave a choked cry as he shoved a scarf in her mouth, muffling her screams.
Slowly, almost reverently, he placed his hands around her neck. He leaned his full weight against her, waiting for the fright to fill her eyes, followed quickly by dread and fear. She did not disappoint him.
