And Clare had only a few more wins to go. A bit more money to stash away before she would feel safe enough to implement her plan. As soon as she had the amount she desired, she intended to leave England,and her unforgiving mother, far behind.
Yes, normally, Clare came here to gamble. But tonight, she had another purpose in mind. A much more scandalous and no doubt much more pleasurable one. She’d given it a lot of thought over the last few days since seeing Trentham again at dinner. And she’d come to one conclusion: tonight she would have him.
After all, if thetoninsisted on branding her a fallen woman, why shouldn’t she enjoy the fall?
And if she was going to risk everything again for a night of pleasure, there was only one man who had ever made her burn before he had even touched her.
Ashford Drake.
Of course, this could never be anything more. Marriage was unthinkable, and even an ongoing affair was too great a risk. She had too much to lose—most of all, her heart.
But pleasure? One night of pure, unforgettable pleasure?
That was entirely within reach. And the more she considered it, the more she craved it.
She’d only ever had Marsden’s sweating, pawing grunts to go by. That was no memory to carry for a lifetime. But Ash… Ash would be different. She knew it instinctively. She could tell by the way he touched her, by the control in his kiss, the barely leashed lust in his smoldering eyes when he looked at her. He would make it good for her. Of that, she had no doubt. She was in for a treat tonight. And she wasgreatlylooking forward to it.
She placed her bet—a careless flick of the wrist, sapphire-gloved fingers tossing a single golden chip onto the red twenty-one.
Then she felt him.
The presence at her back—heat, awareness, a pull so visceral it stole her breath.
Her lips curved into a half-smile.
“Are you stalking me, my lord?” she murmured without turning.
A deep chuckle, low and rich as sin.
“I had a suspicion you might be up to something interesting,” Ash drawled. “Imagine my surprise to find you here.”
She turned then, catching sight of him. Of course, they had planned to meet here tonight, but it was more entertaining to act as if it was merely a chance encounter. Like the rest of the patrons, they both wore masks, allowing them to slip into the illusion of being someone else, if only for a little while.
She let her gaze travel over him with deliberate appreciation.
Damn.
The Marquess of Trentham was already a dangerously handsome man, but here—in all black, his broad shoulders framed by the dark cut of his evening coat, his mask obscuring just enough of his features to make him look even more wicked than usual—he was devastating.
His eyes, stormy and knowing, watched her from behind his mask, the silver-gray catching the candlelight as he tilted his head in amused assessment.
He was every bit the rake and the predator, and tonight, she wanted to be hunted.
“Tell me,” he continued smoothly, allowing his gaze to dip obviously to herdécolletage, “do you always dress like a sapphire gemstone come to life when you gamble, or is this just for me?”
Clare let a slow smile curl her lips. “I suppose that depends.”
“On?”
“Whether you like it.”
His gaze darkened. “You already know the answer to that.”
A thrill shot through her, low and deep. She pressed her thighs together, already aching for him.
The croupier called the spin, the ball rattling against the wheel, and they both turned to watch.
Clare’s number hit.
