Her chin came up at the finality in his voice. “I am willing to pay it... but I would be a fool to involve myself in something I didn’t understand. Why can’t you go to Colemore as yourself? What is the scheme?”
“The less you know, the better.”
Of course, that didn’t appease Gwendolyn Lanscarr. “I doubt that, Mr. Steele. And if you wish me to keep your true identity hidden from the Marquess and Marchioness of Middlebury, I believe I’m owed an explanation.”
“You wouldn’t betray me.”
“Is that a chance you wish to take?”
“I shall find another cardplayer,” he said.
“By next week?” She shook her head. “That isn’t possible, not now that someone as stubborn as Lady Orpington has given me her approval. Besides,” she continued as if her hand was being forced, “I can send a letter to Colemore. Let them know you are planning some sort of subterfuge—”
Beck’s temper ignited. “Don’t test me, Miss Lanscarr.” Why was he always attracted to the wrong woman?
“Then you must explain yourself. I have a right to know why you are impersonating someone else.” She spoke reasonably, and that made her words all the more infuriating.
And it didn’t help that he actually did need her. Desire was one thing. Being in a position where he had no other recourse was another.
In truth, he’d brought in several partners for Lady Orpington. They had been mostly men and with minor titles, the sort Lady Orpington hadthought she wanted. But Beck had known Gwendolyn would be the one. She had the talent for cards and the aristocratic bearing to fit in with the Middlebury set. She would make Lady Orpington look good. More important, she would deflect attention from himself and his purpose at Colemore.
“I’m attempting to protect you,” he said tightly.
“So you keep telling me.”
Very well, he would give her the truth.Allof it. He would make her retreat in distaste, and then he’d never have to worry about her being infatuated with him.
“I am the bastard son of the Marquess of Middlebury. My mother is some nameless whore.” He paused, giving her a moment to react, expecting her to recoil in delicate horror. But he’d misjudged her—once again.
Instead, she plunged into questions. “Does the marquess know you are his son? Is that why you are pretending to be someone else?”
“He knows of me, but he doesn’t know me.Wehave never met.”
“This seems a strange way to introduce yourself.”
“I’m not introducing myself. I don’t want him to know my true identity.” She didn’t need to know about Olin Winstead’s attack, a sign that someone at Colemore would go to great lengths to stop him. As for her safety, he would protect her.
She changed the subject. “You speak well for a whore’s son,” she observed as if it was important to their conversation.
“I’m not uneducated.”
“How did you become educated?”
He made an impatient sound. “Middlebury paid for my schooling and purchased my commission.”
“All that money and he doesn’t know who you are.”
“He doesn’t wish to. There, curiosity satisfied?”
“Not completely. You were in the military? Of course. That explains much about you. No wonder you do not enjoy being challenged.”
“Does any man?”
“Does any person?”
His frustration overcame his command of the situation. “Gwendolyn, you try my patience.”
“I find you somewhat challenging as well,” she replied without heat, and then there was a quick smile. “I also like the way you say my given name. You linger on the first syllable.”
