Luck Is No Lady (22 page)

The table Emma chose to join was occupied by seasoned players, men who took their card games very seriously. Roderick realized after only a few hands that Emma had made her choice quite intentionally. It was evident her level of focus rivaled that of the other players. She quickly gained their respect, and Roderick's as well.

The game was commerce, and Emma was a natural.

It took only a few times of her making it to the final sweep for Roderick to realize this was no beginner's luck. She knew the game well and played with a relentless sort of grace he had never witnessed in anyone else before. She took a measured number of risks and seemed to know exactly when to play it safe.

Whereas he always played with a reckless sort of gut instinct, never knowing what he intended to do until he was doing it, she played in a completely intentional fashion. It appeared as though she could calculate her odds with surprising accuracy and played only to the limit of what lay in her favor.

Her ability to conceal her thoughts and emotions worked undeniably to her benefit as the other players caught on to her prowess and began scrutinizing every aspect of her expression and manner.

But she gave absolutely nothing away. In the same way he had admired on the day of her interview, her every movement was perfectly economical. Every smile was intentional, every comment in direct response to someone else. Her movements were executed strictly out of necessity. She did not fidget or fuss. She had not a single tell Roderick could detect.

She was magnificent.

And then there were those brief moments when she would glance over her bare shoulder at him as he stood as sentry beside her. Then and only then would he catch a glimpse of something bright and thrilling in her gaze. And he wondered if it was the game play or something else that sparked her pleasure.

Those innocent fleeting glances threatened to bring him to his knees. Roderick could not recall another time when he had been so entirely consumed by his attraction to a woman. He stood stiffly behind her, feeling the insistent ache in his loins and the heavy thread of his pulse through his veins. He wanted her so badly, his entire body hurt from the effort it took to resist his need.

His duty tonight was to protect her from such attention. To indulge in his own craving would be the greatest hypocrisy.

Finally, her time at the table wound to an end. As she stood and offered her good-byes to the gentlemen she had practically fleeced, it was all Roderick could do not to rush her along.

Once she slid her arm through his, he began to lead her from the gaming room to the next antechamber.

“Where are we going?”

“I need a drink,” he replied, hearing the tension in his own voice.

She sighed with heavy relief. “I would love some more champagne.”

He realized then, for all the anxiety he had experienced in watching her, she had gone through worse.

He softened his tone. “You do not have to continue. You have won a hefty sum tonight.”

“I cannot leave until I have the full amount. I am still quite short.”

“Emma, I can give you what you need.”

“No.” Her tone was stern. “It is my responsibility. I will not accept a loan from you to pay off another. I must do this myself, or we will be in no better position than before.”

“I did not say I expected repayment.”

She stopped then and turned to face him. Shadows, previously hidden in her gaze, became visible. “You would give me the money? Why?”

“Because you need it.”

“If I did not pay you back, I would feel beholden to you forever.”

He smiled, trying to lighten the weight of her tone. “Would that be so terrible?”

Her gray eyes darkened even more as her gaze dropped to his mouth. He could practically feel her body warming, though they touched nowhere else but where her hand rested on his forearm.

“Not terrible,” she whispered as she lifted her gaze again to his, “devastating.”

A thrill like a lightning strike ran through him from top to toe. He knew exactly what she meant.

“Come, let's get a drink,” he said gently as he took her hand again and led her through to the next room.

The next two hours were more torturous than Roderick could have imagined. He remained faithfully at Emma's side while she continued on a winning streak unlike anything he had ever seen before.

She needed absolutely no help from him when it came to placing her bets or choosing her next game. But he was grateful he had insisted on playing escort as she continued to draw the kind of interest from other men that made Roderick want to smash their faces in.

To alleviate some of the tension riding him, he took a twisted sort of pleasure in casting discouraging—and sometimes downright threatening—looks at any man who appeared inclined toward taking his chances at usurping Roderick's right as escort.

At one point, the crush of people around them shifted, pushing at them from behind. He automatically squared his shoulders around her and placed his hand on the curve of her hip to draw her in to him and protect her from the jostling crowd. When the press eased again, she did not pull away, and he could not bring himself to remove his hand after feeling the warmth of her satin-clad body.

Emma hit twenty-one yet again, and a shout went up around them. She glanced at Roderick, her eyes shining with triumph and a secret sort of challenge.

A warning bell went off in his head and he narrowed his gaze.

Something in her expression had him wondering. It was there in the way her mouth fought against curling up at the corners and her lashes swept low across her gaze when she turned back to the table.

Could she be cheating?

He angled his attention over her shoulder, keeping a vigilant eye on the cards being dealt, observing Emma and the other players.

If she was counting cards, she was exceptionally good at it. He noted no disproportionate concentration in her features, no hesitation in her calls. Her play was as smooth and efficient as he had come to expect over the last few hours. Yet, he couldn't shake the sense that she was claiming some unfair advantage.

She won again, and Roderick allowed a smile to curve his lips.

His vingt-et-un dealer was as good as they came. If the man couldn't detect anything untoward in Emma's luck, Roderick wasn't going to interfere.

As she gathered her winnings, he suddenly felt her stiffen. Her focus was directed intently on the crowd to their left. Even before he turned to look, Roderick heard a wheezing bellow of laughter and knew what distressed her.

Lord Marwood was making his way through the crush to the table, his peacock-feather-patterned waistcoat leading the way over his rotund belly. If any of the gentlemen present tonight managed to recognize Emma despite her mask, it would be this man.

She had obviously considered the same thing. He felt the panic roll through her body as she tried to angle herself away from Marwood's line of sight.

But the seasoned skirt-chaser had a sort of sixth sense as he reached the table and leaned forward to catch Roderick's eye.

“Who is the lovely lady there, Bentley? I heard you have got a prize you are not sharing tonight.” His slurred words were followed by more breathy guffaws.

“Marwood,” Roderick answered smoothly, “there are more than enough prizes to win this evening, I assure you.”

Roderick kept his hand at Emma's hip as she turned in place, putting her back to Marwood. It brought her more fully into the circle of his embrace. As she lifted her chin to meet his eyes, he was claimed by an unexpected flash of possession. He tightened his arm more securely around her waist and drew her in to his chest.

Desire leaped through his blood when he saw her lips part on a swiftly drawn breath.

“Shall we move along?” He had to swallow hard when he saw her eyes darken with mysterious feminine shadows.

“A wonderful idea,” she replied in a low whisper.

Roderick turned them both from the table as Marwood called out again, “Bentley, you cannot keep such delicious morsels to yourself. It is only polite to share with your guests.”

Ignoring the man's comment altogether, Roderick caught the attention of one of Mrs. Beaumont's girls and issued a subtle gesture toward the drunken lord. She gave a short nod then widened her mouth into a generous smile as she swept gracefully toward Marwood.

Roderick asked, “Where to next?”

“Anywhere I can remove this mask would be heavenly. I think I have had enough gambling for tonight.”

“Would you like to go upstairs?”

“That sounds perfect,” she replied with a smile.

He led her from the gaming room through the small door in the corner that led up to the balcony. Once through the door, they ascended a narrow spiral staircase. Neither of them spoke while they made their way to the business level of the club, but the entire way, Roderick maintained some sort of physical contact: his hand at her back, a light touch at her elbow. He couldn't help himself. The need to connect with her, to feel her, was as necessary as breathing.

The walk up to his sitting room was infinitely more torturous than anything he had experienced in the gaming room. Then, at least, there had been the distraction of the crowd and their focus on the games. But as they continued on to his private apartments, the dim lighting of the upper floors cast everything in an intimate glow. As they progressed farther from the public rooms below, the noise of the party eased to a steady hum that was easily overcome by the tantalizing sound of her satin skirts sliding against her legs and the thud of his pulse in his ears.

By the time they reached his sitting room, he fully acknowledged the stupidity in suggesting they come here. To distract himself from the need threatening from within, he strode straight to the liquor service to pour her a glass of sherry.

“Goodness, what a night.” She sighed from behind him.

“Did you accomplish what you set out to do?” he asked.

She laughed softly, and her reply held a hint of amazement. “I did. And then some, if I calculated correctly.”

“I am sure you did,” Roderick replied as he turned around.

The breath was violently sucked from his lungs.

She stood in front of the fireplace, where a low-banked fire warmed the room. Her hands were lifted to her hair as she worked to free the ties of the mask from her coiffure. Roderick was ensnared by the picture she made in the stunning turquoise-colored gown. The satin draped in tantalizing folds over her hips and smoothed up over her rib cage to her breasts, which swelled delightfully over the edge of her low bodice as she lifted her arms to her task.

She glanced aside at him and smiled when she noticed him staring.

He hardened in response.

“Would you mind lending me a hand with this? I seem to have gotten the ties tangled.”

It was a terrible idea. He should refuse emphatically. To put his hands on her now, with lust riding so high in his blood, was a sure step toward disaster.

But the look in her eyes—innocently beseeching—twisted his best intentions into a mass of knots. He leveled his uneven breath and lied to himself.

He could handle this.

He hesitated so long, Emma started to believe he would refuse.

“Of course,” he finally replied. The husky note in his voice warmed the air between them.

He approached her slowly, keeping his gaze focused on her face until he handed her the glass of sherry and stepped around behind her.

Raising the glass to her lips, she tried to calm the rioting sensations that would not release her from their grip. She felt stirred up and unsettled and empty. As though there was something vital she was leaving undone.

The night could not have gone any better. She had won more than enough to pay off Mr. Hale and intended to make sure he had the money in his hands first thing in the morning. The Chadwicks would finally be free of the ominous debt.

Emma prayed there would never be cause for her to gamble like that ever again.

There had been stretches of time during the evening when she forgot what she was playing for. The bright euphoria of winning crowded out all other considerations. Each win had increased the seductive nature of the game, and every loss only made her strive to restore her good fortune. There were several frightening moments when she felt herself wanting to risk it all, throw everything on the table. Even when she knew she had won enough to pay off Hale, she had been nearly desperate to keep going.

The entire experience had been intense and had taught her something vital about herself: she was not immune to the lure that had led her father so far from his responsibilities.

As Roderick gently tugged at the strips of black silk twisted through her hair, she acknowledged that his presence at her side tonight had been the one thing tethering her to reality. Not thoughts of her sisters or recollections of her father's descent. It had been Roderick's steady, protective, and familiar presence that had held her back from completely losing herself in the game play. Sometimes it would be a faint hint of his scent or the sound of his warm laughter that kept her ever aware of his position at her side. Other times, it was the brush of his hand against her back or a brief intimate glance.

Even now, in the relative silence of his private quarters, her senses sought him out as they stood before the low-burning fire. The whispering sound of his movements singed her nerves as he worked the mask free with only the slightest tugs on her scalp. His familiar scent caused a tightening in her belly and increased the jittering discontent in her soul.

She closed her eyes.

Just as when she had stood with him behind the curtain so long ago, something about being with him allowed all else to fade away. The worry, the responsibility, the need to control slid off into the ether, and all that was left was what resided at Emma's core.

For every second she remained passive and unmoving, as her outward tension slid away, her internal disquiet increased exponentially. Without the other distractions, it was like an emptiness that grew from her very center outward.

No. Not an emptiness.

It was longing.

For him.

Along with the realization of what she was feeling came a wave of physical craving. At the same moment the mask slid from around her face and her hair tumbled down from its coiffure, she was suddenly overcome with the desire to express what she felt inside. She set her wineglass on the table beside her before turning in place to face Roderick.

What she saw in his eyes caused a rippling fire to flare in her belly and spread through her limbs.

“Roderick.”

Though his name had come out in a husky whisper, she knew he'd heard her. But he didn't respond. His face remained unmoving, his expression almost stern.

He lifted his hands to comb his fingers through her hair from her scalp down to the ends.

Her head fell back and she lifted her hands to either side of his taut waist, holding herself still and quiet as he finished his task. Over and over he slid his fingers along the curve of her scalp, from her temples to her nape. Then he drew his fingers down through the tangles until he had her hair spreading in silken waves down her back. The direction of his focus intently followed the path of his hands.

Since he seemed determined to avoid meeting her gaze, she took the opportunity to study his features, looking for a clue to what he might be thinking. He had accused her of hiding behind layers of self-protection, but he was just as enigmatic—though not in everything. In some ways, he was more forthcoming and honest than anyone she had ever known. But when it came to certain aspects of himself, he was decidedly reluctant to allow her access.

When he did finally shift his attention to meet her gaze, the blue of his eyes shimmered with light and shadow, revealing depths of color she had not noticed before.

“Thank you,” she said, needing to fill the silence, “for tonight.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “I had nothing to do with your success tonight. You would have done just as well, or better, without me.”

As he spoke, his fingertips brushed the delicate skin at her nape before smoothing across the surface of her bare shoulders.

The simple caress sent shivers of anticipation down her spine, and she took a step closer to him. Not close enough to press her breasts to his chest or feel the strength of his thighs against hers…but close enough for his breath to puff warmly across her cheek.

He slowed the movement of his hands, as if in indecision.

“I cheated.” She hadn't intended to confess, but felt it suddenly necessary to have the fact out of the way.

“I know,” he answered quietly.

“Not the entire time,” she insisted in a soft murmur, “but…there was a point…”

A slow smile spread across his lips, and something buried deep in her core gave a delightful twist.

“Why didn't you stop me?”

“You needed the money for your sisters. Now you have it.”

“You see…” She was having a hard time stringing thoughts together as he shifted his hands from her shoulders to smooth them down the length of her back. “There
is
cause to thank you.”

“No, you deserve it. And more.” His voice thickened. “You know that, don't you? That you should have so much more?”

His hands reached the upper curve of her buttocks and stopped there. Emma looked up into his eyes and felt all the longing of her soul coalesce into a hard knot just below her sternum. The ache of it threatened to overwhelm her, but not nearly as much as what she was starting to detect in his face.

He was trying so hard to keep from showing anything in his expression that the tension in his features revealed far more than he realized.

“What more should I have, Roderick?”

She stepped in to him and wrapped her arms around him, finally pressing herself to his chest, loving how the deliberate contact made her nipples peak and her belly tighten. Especially when she felt the evidence of his arousal between them.

His jaw clenched and his eyelids lowered. The smile had long left his lips and the tension in his mouth sent a ripple of fear through her.

He held himself stiff and hard. Resistant.

She moved her hands up his back. The muscles along his spine bunched as she made her way up to his shoulders, rising up on her toes as she did. But before she could reach her lips to his, he turned away, releasing his arms from around her waist and stepping out of her reach.

“The hour is late,” he said as he crossed the room to look out the window. “You should go home.”

Emma stood where he had left her, staring at his broad back silhouetted against the light of London shining through the window.

Should she walk away? Go home and resume her life as the spinster sister—ever responsible, selfless, dutiful. Pathetic, lonely, and dull.

Could she?

After knowing what if felt like to test her limits?

She had arrived at the club tonight desperate, frightened, and uncertain. She had been filled with worry over her sisters, their father's debt, whether or not she would leave there more destitute than when she arrived. Terrified that in stepping into the role necessary for saving them, she might damn herself with the discovery that she was just like her father.

And now she stood here with a man who, simply by his presence, reminded her she existed for herself as well. She did not want to be a martyr. She wanted excitement. Happiness. Love.

She would never have known it if she hadn't met him, but a part of her feared going the rest of her life never having those things. And she wanted to know—right now, tonight—if she could have them with him.

She licked her lips, searching for words to aid her in that moment. All she managed was his name in a breathy whisper.

He looked over his shoulder, and she was startled to see anger there.

“Why are you still here, Emma? Go home.”

His anger helped to dispel some of her fear. She was better at working for what she wanted than begging for it.

“Why should I?” she challenged. “Do I not deserve to experience what other women feel?”

He pushed his hand through his hair and looked back out the window as if he wished he could use it to escape. “Of course you do. Just not with me.”

Emma lifted her chin. “I feel far more during five minutes with you than I have in my entire life before meeting you. And I do not want it to stop.”

She walked toward him then, noticing how much effort he exuded in keeping his back to her.

“Roderick.” His name came out softer than she intended. She tried again, inserting as much command into her voice as she could manage. “Roderick, won't you look at me?”

He turned around then. His gaze slid hotly down her body, then lifted to her face again. The torture she saw in his eyes emboldened her.

“Dammit, Emma. What do you think you are doing?”

She tipped her chin. “Exactly what I want to be doing. What are you doing?” The challenge was evident in her tone.

His jaw tightened. “You cannot push me like this and expect me not to react.”

She spread her hands in offering. “I want you to react, Roderick. I
need
you to.” A sort of choked laugh escaped her throat. “I have never thrown myself at a man before, but if you do not yet see how desperate I am for you to do
something
, then clearly, I am not doing it right.”

He closed his eyes and a sound similar to a growl and a groan combined rumbled from his throat. Then he opened his eyes again, and she noted the stark gleam of desire that had taken over his gaze. The sight of it twisted her insides.

“You do everything right, Emma,” he answered in a tortured whisper.

A thrill ran through her as she stepped toward him. Two steps brought her directly in front of him. One more brought her so close she had to tip her head back to look into his face. Though his gaze revealed a craving as deep as her own, resistance still resided in the tension claiming his entire frame.

But she was determined.

“Do not tell me to leave again, Roderick. I won't go.”

He seemed to struggle to find words. His hands fisted and flexed at his sides.

His eyes, as they looked into hers, were dark and shadowed with emotions she couldn't fully identify. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I am tired of playing it safe. All my life I have been a dutiful daughter and sister and failed to see how I neglected myself.” She laid her hand on his chest. He inhaled sharply at her touch, but otherwise did not move. “I cannot pretend anymore that I don't feel what I feel when I am with you.”

Her last words drifted on a whisper filled with all the longing in her soul.

He did not reply, and she stood waiting, listening to the shift in his breath.

Then he reached for her.

He gripped her shoulders in his large hands and drew her to him, until her breasts came flush with his chest and her legs bumped against his muscled thighs. Her head fell back as she readied for his kiss.

He held her there a moment, looking into her eyes. Their breathing grew heavier. Her gaze dropped to the masculine lines of his lips. An intense craving for the touch of his mouth claimed her as she waited for him to take what she offered.

His voice when he spoke was laden with raw sensuality. “You want to give yourself to me, then you give it all. If we do this…I will not hold back. It is all or nothing, sweetheart.”

Emma's mouth went dry and her legs trembled beneath her.

She drew a slow breath and put everything she was feeling into her gaze as she replied. “For tonight, all or nothing.”

His eyes flashed with an unholy light, and her stomach flipped.

He slid his hands up the sides of her neck and drove his fingers into her hair to brace the base of her skull as the wide pad of his thumb brushed over her lips. Lightly at first, then more insistently he pressed against her bottom lip, until her lips parted on a light puff of breath.

Then he claimed her mouth in a kiss instantly possessive and darkly passionate. His tongue swept past her teeth to twine with hers. The velvet texture and rich taste of him made her insides clench with longing. She pressed against him, trying to get closer, needing to feel more of him somehow.

The kiss was fierce but over too quickly.

He pulled back, his eyes blazing with the need consuming them both. Dropping his hands to his sides, he took an unsteady step back.

Fear that he had changed his mind raced through her. She could not allow it.

With her eyes locked on his, she lifted her hands to his cravat.

He stood stock-still as she unwound the neckcloth from its intricate folds and drew it from around his neck to drop it on the floor. Then she reached for his coat. Grasping the lapels, she peeled it back over his shoulders until she could tug it down his arms. That too fell to the floor. His waistcoat was the next to be removed.

Her breath was shallow as she loosened his shirt to expose the muscled expanse of his chest beneath. She couldn't resist placing her palms flat against the warm surface of his bare skin, sliding her fingertips over the hard curves and angles as she shoved the shirt aside.