Rake's Guide to Pleasure. (4 page)

Several women stood among the young men. Hart squinted, leaning closer to the glass, feeling more than foolish as he pressed his forehead to the shock of icy cold. The three women were bundled against the wind, hidden beneath layers of wool and fur. Still, one was obviously too short and he caught a glimpse of pale blond hair peeking from beneath another's blue cloak. But the third. . . ? It could be her.

The whole group stood angled away from him, facing a large pond at the edge of the soggy gardens. Across the frozen length, a smaller group had gathered, the men nudging one another, occasionally stepping forward to test the ice with taps and stomps.

Even as Hart watched, that third woman turned her head to laugh and roll her eyes and Hart straightened with a start. It
was
Lady
Denmore
, her face bright against the hood of a simple black cloak.

"Hm." Hart pulled a watch from his pocket and measured his plan for escape against the impulse to say a pretty farewell to Emma. She'd thrown off her hood by the time he looked back to her, and the sun set her hair shining like an autumn leaf.

A quick farewell then . . . if he could catch her. She'd already set off for the far side of the pond. The men on the other side looked pleased with her approach. Hart turned and headed toward the entry, hunting for the footman who'd taken his coat the evening before.

"Lady
Denmore
!"

Emma laughed at the severity of the handsome young man's posture. Mr. Jones nudged him, earning a hot look in return.

"Mr.
Cantry
, you really
musn't
regard me as a matron come to interrupt your play. I daresay you're my elder by two or three years, aren't you?"

"Oh, I suppose." His muddy green eyes dipped to sweep over her, as if he could see beyond the cloak to the blue dress beneath, and under that even, to her bare skin. His eyes brightened. "Yes, of course." The smile he offered this time held more than a hint of interest.

"Do you think this pond frozen enough to walk on?"

"I do."
Cantry
threw a scornful smirk over his shoulder. "These cowards here won't set foot on it."

"Really? It looks quite solid to me."

"But look, Lady
Denmore
, how dark it is in the center?" Jones insisted.

"Oh, surely only the depth of the water makes it so. Don't you think, Mr.
Cantry
?"

"I do."

Emma dimpled up at the blond man, tying him to her with a smile. "What do you say we show these men their mistake? A race perhaps?"

"A race?"

She grinned. The last gentleman—older than the others, if she wasn't mistaken—smothered a laugh behind a cough, his eyes sparkling at her, aware of her game. Emma nodded in recognition.

"My brother,"
Cantry
mumbled, "Viscount Lancaster."

"Viscount. An honor."

"My pleasure, madam, I assure you." And it was, she could see by the way his gaze fell to her mouth. Men were such easy creatures.

"Well, let us teach this lord a lesson in assurance, shall we, Mr.
Cantry
?"

"Indeed," the younger brother growled.

"And a wager to make things interesting? The last to touch the other side of the pond forfeits . .. hmm. Shall we say fifty pounds?"

"Ah . . . Lady
Denmore
, surely you don't mean I should race against
you"?
A lady?"

"Well, your pride is safe, sir, as I issued the challenge. Unless, of course, you fear I'll best you."

Cantry
couldn't stifle a laugh at the idea.

"And you'd be doing a good deed by entertaining me."

"True." He was warming to the race. She watched his smile spread to wickedness. "Of course,
I
couldn't accept your money. But if you were to offer a token instead . . ."

"Ah. A kiss in lieu of fifty pounds?" She cast her eyes down for a moment, trying to look demure. "A kiss. All right. You have a bet, Mr.
Cantry
. A kiss if you win. Fifty pounds if I do."

Oh, the young man was pleased with his chances, though his brother, clearly the smarter of the two, stood shaking his head at Gantry's gullibility. Jones looked simply dismayed.

"It isn't safe," he protested.

"True," Viscount Lancaster agreed, smile fading.

"Nonsense, gentlemen. I am a country lass, after all, and well acquainted with such dangers. This pond is no more than four feet deep in the middle. Fear not." She picked her way down the sloping bank before they could protest further, and looked up in surprise when a strong hand clasped her elbow. "Thank you, Lord Lancaster. Would you take my cloak?"

"Certainly." He leaned close to untie the knot, speaking softly near her ear. "Perhaps this is not such a grand idea. I hear you enjoy a good wager, but when the ice breaks . . ."

"
Pah
." Emma let him sweep the cloak from her shoulders and tried not to shiver in the cold. She was saved from his concern by the appearance of his brother, flush-faced and already gloating.

"Lady
Denmore
, shall
I
give you a handicap? Say ten feet?"

"Hardly, Mr.
Cantry
."

Jones was convinced to start the race and they were off. Emma's half boots slid well across the ice, but Gantry's stride gave him the immediate advantage. The large group near the house began booing him, drawing a laugh from Emma despite her breathless pursuit.

Cantry
had crossed nearly a third of the pond before he began to slow. Even fifteen feet behind him, Emma could hear the ominous groan of the ice. She slid faster.

"Wait," he called, barely moving now, his mouth an O of alarm when she shot past him. He'd stopped, afraid to go farther. A sharp crack sounded beneath her. Emma slowed, sliding carefully now, edging closer to the bank as she approached the midpoint of the pond, trying to keep her weight even on each foot.

Cantry
must have shifted or dared to take another step, for a flurry of small pops crackled through the air. Even she was startled by it, glancing back to be sure he hadn't plunged through the ice. But he stood safe—stranded, but safe—and his eyes widened at her smile.

"Don't go any farther," he called as she turned away and inched ahead.

"You're far larger than I, Mr.
Cantry
. I do believe it will hold my weight."

She'd passed the center of the pond now and relief loosened her limbs, but her next step proved her hope false, for the ice caved beneath her boot and sucked her leg into freezing water. The force of the fall pitched her forward, her other knee smashing to the ice with a muffled thud. Shouts floated to her ears.

A writhing, stretching ache enveloped her foot and calf. When they grew numb, the pain twisted its way to her knee, then up to throb mercilessly in her hip. Emma bit back the curses that flew to her lips and tried to smile toward the nearest shout. It was Lord Lancaster, standing a dozen feet away, shoes sunk in the soggy snow that lined the bank.

"Stay there, Lord Lancaster. The ice won't hold you and if you rescue me you'll forfeit my win."

"Damn the stupid bet," he muttered but didn't approach. He could not; the pond would never support him.

"I'm fine," she lied and shifted her weight to her gloved hands to try to pull her nerveless leg free.

"What is going on here!"

That voice stilled her attempts and whipped her head up in alarm. The Duke of
Somerhart
approached the pond, his striking face hardened by a frown. Emma glared.

"Bloody hell," she whispered and yanked with all her might. Her leg scraped free, but the sudden pull spilled her to the ice, slapping her face against the slick wet. "Hell, hell, hell."

Ice creaked and shifted beneath her like some beast she'd woken from slumber. She couldn't see
Somerhart
now, but she heard his vicious curse to her right and assumed he'd joined Lancaster.

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" he growled, as if he had some right to scold. Emma's anger gave her the will to rise to her hands and knees.

"Hold still. I'm coming out."

"No!" she shouted, piercing him with a glare, trying to ignore the way her heart lurched at his tall form. "I'll not forfeit my prize."

Somerhart
muttered something that widened even Lancaster's eyes.

"I concede the win,"
Cantry
cried from behind her.

The duke stepped onto the ice.

Emma inched forward, moving toward the solid white of firm ice that loomed ahead. A crack and a splash told her that the duke's foot had already breached the surface. She tried not to smirk at his growl.

"I may be a woman, gentlemen, but I do have some sense of honor. I won't concede now when I knew the ice was too thin to hold Mr.
Cantry
." She'd reached a thicker patch and pushed to her feet, hoping her sparking, tingling leg would hold her. A new pain joined the ache, sharper and more distracting. Emma took a tentative step. Then another. Within two minutes she'd reached the far bank and the gawking crowd that gathered there.

Several hands clapped her on the back in congratulations, though the two young matrons stood apart, mouths flat with disapproval.
Let them disapprove,
Emma told herself.
You are fifty pounds richer. A
sudden hush alerted her to the approach of the other men and gave her time to fix a smile to her mouth.

"Your Grace," she murmured when he loomed into view. "Are you injured?"

"I am well, thank you."

"Lady
Denmore
," Lancaster interrupted, "your cloak." "I wouldn't have expected you to encourage this, Lancaster."

The viscount swept the cloak over her shoulders, offering Emma a hidden grimace at
Somerhart's
chiding. She held back a nervous giggle when his twinkling brown eyes caught hers. "I wouldn't use the word 'encouraged.' The lady seemed determined."

"Determined,"
Somerhart
growled. "Determined to make a fool of herself for a few quid."

Emma froze, her eyes locking with the duke's when Lancaster moved away. The murmur of the crowd died out as all heads turned toward
Somerhart
.

Blood rushed to Emma's face, but she forced her mouth into a laughing smile. He blinked and seemed to remember himself, for his face flushed too.

"And where are my winnings, gentlemen?"

Cantry
rushed forward to thrust the coins into her hand. "I admire your bravery, madam," he offered with a pretty bow, though his lips were stretched thin with embarrassment.

Emma forced her neck to bend in an easy nod, then turned her shoulders slightly, angling away from
Somerhart
and his glinting blue eyes. "A fine bit of entertainment and noon has not yet struck. I thank you, Mr.
Cantry
, for accepting my silly proposal. A pleasure to have met you, Lord Lancaster."

Somerhart
stepped close, his fingers wrapping around her elbow. "Let me escort you inside."

Emma gritted her teeth and felt her mask of gaiety slip. She couldn't help the sneer that stiffened her mouth when she looked at his hand, dark against her pale sleeve. His grip loosened in response, fell away. A murmur swept over the group.

"Viscount? I do believe my skirts are somewhat soggy. Will you see me to the hall?"

"I'd be honored," Lancaster drawled and gave her his arm.

Hart watched Lady
Denmore
walk away from him for the second time in as many days. The first time, of course, her hand hadn't been locked in a cozy clasp around Viscount Lancaster's arm. And Hart hadn't just insulted her in front of a large group of her peers.