“What is going—” Gwendolyn started as if she could contain herself no longer, but Beck held up a gloved hand. She must still wait.
Gwendolyn sat back, a small line furrowing her brow, her pressed lips a sign of impatience—and then she wet them. The sight of the tip of her tongue caught and held him.
Dear God, she had no idea of her impact upon men, and it made her all the more enticing—
“I am not who you believe I am,” he said abruptly, the opening to his planned speech warning her not to expect anything from him, especially if it involved her heart.
Before he could launch into his planned admonishments, she interrupted him with mock dismay. “Oh, are you telling me youaren’tMr. Curran?”
“Miss Lanscarr,” he said in warning.
“Mr. Steele,” she replied in the same formidable tone.
“I’m attempting a serious discussion.”
“As am I. You wish to be Mr. Curran. Very well. Yes, Mr. Curran? What do you need to tell me? Oh, you aren’t the man I believe you to be? Well, that makes sense, because I know you as Mr. Steele. Does Lady Orpington know?”
“Of course she does,” he snapped. “She hired me to find you. And she knows I’m not her nephew.”
“And in return for you finding her a whist partner she likes, she owes you a favor. You asked that she pretend you are her nephew. I’m correct, aren’t I? I’m assuming you are doing this to go to Colemore. Why? What is your game?”
His intention had been to inform her that he wasnotsomeone she should focus her hopes on. He wasnotheroic. He didn’t deserve her longing looks or wetting her lips in that innocently seductive way of hers. He was not a man like Jem who wanted a wife, a hearth, and a cluster of children.
Unfortunately, Gwendolyn had seized control of the conversation. She was also justified in asking questions. He would do the same in her position. At his silence, Gwendolyn waved a hand as if to wake him up. “What is the ploy? The scheme? What are we about to do?”
“You act as if I want you to help rob the Post—”
“Do you?” she asked, her eyes lighting up as if she would be game, God help him.
With great deliberateness, he said, “Miss Lanscarr, curb your imagination.Youwill be a guest at Colemore. You will be Lady Orpington’s whist partner. You play cards and nothing else.”
“Do you want me to win?”
“Lady Orpington does.”
She considered that a moment and then pressed, “But what do you want me to do?”
To let me kiss you. To fall into my arms and let me make love to you.
He could have smacked himself in the head for his errant thoughts. They had just popped up without encouragement... Well, the tilt of her head as she’d looked up at him under dark lashes had encouraged them, and her asking him what he wanted her to do. Such an innocent question... that every male part of him had come to life upon hearing it.
“Is something the matter, Mr. Steele? You seem unsettled. How may I help?”
Another question, with a lewd undertone—except to her. She was looking at him as if she was a green recruit and this was the first day of training. And that made him feel even more awkward. He hid behind sternness.
“By playing cards,” he responded. “That isallI ask of you.” He said the last as a reminder to himself. Especially since the rolling of the coach over London’s cobbled streets brought her knee repeatedly in contact with his knee. It was not intentional, but then, it apparently didn’t needto be for him to hear the double entendre in her replies.
She sat forward, the peak of her bonnet almost brushing the roof of the coach. “Then ask more of me,” she said.
And there was another one. Did she realize what she was saying? The very male part of Beck roared to life with desire. Instead, he shifted his weight, moving his knee as far as he could from bumping hers, and masked his reaction.
Gwendolyn frowned as if she thought him behaving strangely, and that only added insult to all of it. She, apparently, was not affected by his presence, while he hadn’t been so rattled since he’d first discovered there was a difference between men and women. His intended lecture about not expecting anything other than a working relationship now seemed egotistical on his part.Hewas the one having the problem. Gwendolyn Lanscarr seemed unbothered by his close proximity. To the devil with all of this. He started to reach up and tap on the roof, a signal to the driver to take Gwendolyn home—but she grabbed his arm, pulling it down.
Her boldness and the contact surprised him. Even through the layers of his jacket sleeve and shirt, sparks shot through him.
“You cannot return me home yet,” she informed him. “I will not partner with Lady Orpington until I know what is happening. There is more to this than a whist game.”
The sparks died. Few challenged Beck. He did not like it. His equilibrium returned. “You owe me a favor, Miss Lanscarr.”
