She had to admit that he had the skill of a seasoned lover. But since those days were behind her, there was nothing he could do to change her mind, because once she returned to that path, it left the door open to men like Sir Isaacson in believing that she was fair game. It had been the same with her previous paramours and it wasn’t likely to change. While times were changing and industry was starting to become further acknowledged, the oldest profession among women was still going strong.
“Are you going to make a play?”
Constance cursed her further woolgathering and quickly set down a card, praying that it was the one she’d meant to discard. The game progressed uneventfully for a time, but then, she refused to meet his gaze. She didn’t want to be drawn further into his intrigue—nor tempt herself in the process.
It wasn’t until she was about to finish the game with another win, that Mr. Blackmore spoke up again. “I propose a wager.”
She finally lifted her gaze and the heat she saw in his dark eyes curled her toes in her slippers. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”
He tilted his head to the side. “Are you saying that you won’t humor an injured man?”
She rolled her eyes. “Very well,” she replied tolerantly. “What are the stakes?”
His expression never wavered from her face. “A kiss, if I win.”
Her brows lifted. “Are you sure that’s wise?”
“It’s just a kiss,” he countered smoothly. “No harm ever came from such a tame request.”
Just a kiss, indeed. In her experience, that was how it always began.
She stared at him. He certainly didn’t seem too injured if he was making requests like that, even if she knew that he was. However, since she didn’t think that he could possibly beat her at this point, as she had nearly won already, she agreed, “What if I win?”
He waved a hand. “Name your terms, and I will abide by them.”
She thought for a moment, tapping her finger against her lips as she did so. She noticed that his gaze never wavered from the action and she resisted the urge to smile. Two can play at this game. “If I win, I shall insist that you don’t try to rush your recovery. You certainly don’t want to suffer a setback.” She clasped her hands before her. “Do we have an agreement?”
His mouth quirked upward at the corner, and then he said, “We do.”
Excitement coursed through Constance’s veins, because in a few short minutes, she would be able to declare victory. But when she was about to crow about her winnings, he played his last trick, which was a trump card to beat anything that she had.
“How can that be—?” And then, coming to the only conclusion that she could imagine, she glared at him. “You cheated!”
He crossed his arms. “I did no such thing. I can’t help it if fortune was in my favor this round.”
Frustrated, Constance got to her feet, as there was no way she would believe that he hadn’t won by underhanded means. She certainly wasn’t going to admit that she’d been careless and hadn’t paid the attention to the game that she should have.
She gathered the cards and markers and put them back where they belonged, but when she would have reached for the lap desk to put it away, he grasped her wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough that she had to remain. “I wish to claim my prize.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“But I won. That was the agreement—”
“The only thing you did was prove that you are a cheat and a liar, and I have had my fill of those kind of people.”
Instantly, his eyes darkened, all teasing gone, and she knew she’d dared to overstep. “If that’s true,” he said slowly, “then I’m surprised that you allowed a man of such unsavory character into this house to stay with you.” He released her. “You should have just let me die in that filthy alleyway with the rest of the rats and disease-ridden vermin of London.”
Constance allowed her conscience to berate her, because truly, she had lashed out unnecessarily. And all over a kiss.
Because that was what she was truly afraid of.
She gathered herself. “Fine. You won. I will not say that I don’t honor my obligations.”
He snorted. “How kind of you to fulfill your duty on my behalf.”
“This was all your idea.” She tossed her head. “I was just trying to entertain a sick man so that he would stay in bed, because believe it or not, I don’t want to witness your death.”
He leaned his head back, exposing more of his delicious neck with a day’s growth of stubble, along with his tantalizing Adam’s apple. “And why should you even care one way or another, Mrs. Hartford?” he taunted softly. “You have no loyalties to me. In truth, I should think you would be glad to see my demise so that I could bother you no longer.”
