Page 23 of A Stranger’s Gamble

Sophie peered through the opening at a dimly lit flight of stairs that descended into the cellar. She gathered her skirts in one hand and began down the stairs, with Adam close behind.

Halfway down, she wrinkled her nose at the smell of oysters and damp earth. The music and drone of people talking and laughing grew louder. She stepped from the last stair onto the dirt floor and glanced around. Men and women chatted around a long table that ran down the center of the room. Brass candlesticks, platters of oysters, and mugs of porter lay scattered over its rough-hewn surface. Several musicians sat in the corner and played a lively tune.

Adam lightly touched her back, guiding her forward. She took her seat on a simple chair near the far end of the table, and Adam sat to her right. A woman dressed in a dark blue gown took the set next to her.

A woman with long blonde hair swept into a soft chignon darted over to join them. “Adam? Why, Adam, it is you,” she said in a loud voice. “It’s been far too long.”

“Ah, Ann.” Adam stood and swept a low bow. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” He stepped aside. “Beatrice, this is Ann.”

Sophie began to dip into a curtsey, but Adam smoothly captured her arm and lifted her up. “There is no rank here, my dear. Such is the beauty of the oyster cellars.”

Ann’s laughter sounded like the tinkling of silver bells. “Indeed, here we may be as rude as we wish. Have you tried the Whiskered Pandores, Beatrice?” Ann scooped up one of the oysters still in its shell from the table and offered it to Sophie. “Edinburgh’s finest.”

Sophie accepted the shell and tipped it to her mouth. The oyster slipped between her lips, and she bit into it. Salt and a taste of the sea burst across her tongue. She swallowed then looked up at Adam in surprise.

“It is delicious,” she said.

He stared down at her with eyes that glittered in the candlelight.

Is something wrong?” She nearly had to shout the words to be heard over the din, yet her voice still managed to sound breathy.

He shook his head. “Not a thing.”

The musicians struck up a Scottish reel. Sophie glanced at the musicians, then turned to Adam. “Oh, we must dance.”

“We must?” he repeated in mock seriousness.

Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Indeed.”

He closed his hand over hers, warm and oddly comforting, and he tugged her to her feet and toward the dancefloor. They reached the other dancers, and Adam swung her into his arms and stepped into the music as if a highborn gentleman.

Sophie startled at the hard body pressed so intimately close to hers. She’d danced reels, but a gentleman always held a lady at a respectable distance. How many times had she told Beatrice that she was no lady?

Watch what you ask for, a voice whispered. You might just get it.

Air whipped across her face, and her dress flared when Adam turned them in a tight twirl that made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and threw her head back. When Adam brought the turn to a halt and backed her up several paces, she opened her eyes to find him watching her as he executed another quick turn.

He skillfully dodged another couple, then pressed his mouth to her ear. “Does this evening live up to your expectations?”

She shivered at the warmth of his mouth against the sensitive flesh of her ear and nodded. “Even more so than I expected.”

And the night had only just begun.

He whirled her close again. This time, she clung to him, for it felt as if they were twirling so fast, she would fly out of his arms. He tightened his hold on her, and she became aware of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her heart thundered. Here, at the oyster cellars, it mattered not if they danced more than two dances together—or if a man held a woman scandalously close. Did that mean no one would be aware of the warmth that spread through her? The music ended, and Adam slid his arm around her waist and led her back to their seats. Oysters were laid out before them, along with porter. Sophie ate and drank until she thought she would burst.

When Adam finally escorted her back to their table after their third dance, he asked if she thought it might be time to return home. In the dim recesses of her mind, she knew she’d danced the night away, but she didn’t care.

Sophie shook her head. “Nae. I have never had so grand a time. Why would I want to leave?”

He smiled, clearly pleased with her answer. They sat down and, for the third time that night, a man stopped beside Sophie and asked her to dance. As Adam had the previous two times, he met the man’s gaze with the lift of one brow, sending him away without another word. A thrill raced through Sophie. She had ever had a man act so possessively toward her. This truly was the most thrilling night of her life.

A tall, dark and very elegant woman—a lady, Sophie felt certain—halted where they sat, and faced Adam, her back to Sophie as she bent to whisper something in his ear. Sophie froze in lifting her glass of porter to her mouth. There was no mistaking the woman’s slight toward Sophie. Had Adam been wrong when he said the partygoers left their titles at the door? They may have left their titles at the door, but the ladies wore fine gowns that bespoke of their place in society.

Embarrassment washed over Sophie. Her modest dress must have given her away as someone of the lower class. Oh, how she wished she had worn her fine sky-blue muslin. That dress would have put the rude woman in her place. Guilt stabbed. Since when had she cared about society? And when had she forgotten that it mattered not what dress she wore. She would always be the daughter of a man in trade.

The woman straightened and sauntered away without so much as a glance in Sophie’s direction. How did a common man like Adam know such a fine lady? The answer came before the thought had fully formed. He was a handsome man—the most dashing man at the party. Handsome men were always in demand, no matter their class.

“Beatrice.”