The Earl's Wager (7 page)

She meant to keep her eyes averted, but her gaze shifted involuntarily to his face.

He was staring at her, assessing her, and she couldn’t look away. The green of his eyes reminded her of the moss along the riverbanks at her home, in Virginia. In the fall, the color perfectly matched his eyes. It was uncanny.

“Miss Duvall, you are staring,” he said.

“I know. It’s just that the color of your—it reminded me of… Oh, never mind.”

“You might try being a little less bold in how you hold your gaze. Decorum, as it were. At the dinner party we’ll attend, you should look a little more demure.”

She nodded, then fisted her hands at her sides. Of course what commonalities they might share would ultimately be crushed because she wasn’t behaving properly. She was no simpering English Miss who wouldn’t be allowed an opinion of her own.

She knew better than to think Grandleigh had a heart and might care about her interests. He was a tutor to her, a tutor she shouldn’t need to keep for long. He was nothing more than that.

Chapter Six

Will had a lot of work to do in three days’ time if Miss Duvall was going to be ready for Lady Laurel’s gathering—a country party would be the best way to practice before he took her to London. The house party would have card games, some dances, dinner, but nothing too formal, nothing to overwhelm her.

He waited for her in the drawing room and tried to keep focused on the task at hand—he’d agreed with Oliver to make a good match for Georgia, and he would…

Since when had he started thinking of her as Georgia instead of Miss Duvall? Perhaps it was because of their carriage ride and their talk about his stable expansion. He truly respected the knowledgeable information she’d given him, although he hadn’t shown his appreciation. Instead, he’d pointed out the improvements she needed to make in her manners. He’d purposefully changed the topic, because her blue eyes staring at him had been so damned distracting, and he simply couldn’t lose his focus. He had a job to do.

Before she came downstairs, he’d instructed the housekeeper to arrange a table with chairs in the drawing room and had brought cards so he could assess her knowledge of games. With such a long list, he needed to prioritize. While she wasn’t required to play, it would be helpful if she knew at least one game.

Georgia entered the drawing room with a loose, easy stride, wearing a day dress of pale pink. His gaze did not stray from the smooth lines hugging her slender waist, and his stomach pinched as though reminding himself he should be evaluating the dress, not the woman, and certainly not her feminine curves.

The dress was a far cry better from the too-tight one she’d worn previously. He’d made a note to speak with Mrs. Marchant about her dinner-party dresses, but perhaps he should make sure some day frocks were made for her as well.

“Good morning, Miss Duvall. I trust you slept well after our busy day of travel. A trip to London can be tiring.”

“I’ve been awake since five o’clock this morning. I’ve just returned from the stables helping Harland with a training run. So no, I’m not tired, at least not from the trip to London.”

He gave her a curt nod. It was unseemly that Oliver allowed her to be involved in training racehorses, but she wasn’t his ward, and it wasn’t his place to say anything. His lessons would certainly be easier if her pursuits were more in line with needlepoint or embroidery, but Oliver had given him fair warning about his cousin. “Very well. Shall we commence with your lessons for today?”

“And what lessons might those be?” Her lips pursed. He swore her somewhat polite tone held an edge of mockery. And oddly, while her accent had irritated him at first, it now intrigued him. He wasn’t sure when he’d altered his opinion.

“We should make sure you know a few card games, in case you’d like to play. Lady Laurel always has a drawing room set up for such frivolities. I had Mrs. Carston arrange a table and food for us.”

“Card games require food?”

“At the party, I’m sure they will have wine, cheese, bread, and fruit at the sideboard, so I’ve tried to recreate what we might encounter.”

“It appears you’ve thought of everything,” she said with a wave of her hand, before stifling a yawn. “I suppose we should get on with it then.”

He came alongside her and asked, “What card games do you play?”

“I’ve played a little bit of piquet, loo, and whist.”

“Well then, we shall have fun, won’t we?” He realized he sounded entirely too eager, but truthfully he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since their trip to London and the meal they’d shared prior to that. He convinced himself that she was constantly on his mind because she was his student who still needed a vast amount of tutoring and he didn’t want to disappoint Marsdale, but deep in the marrow of his bones, he knew there was something more to it.

A tiny bit of a smile lit the corners of her face. “Certainly,” she replied smoothly. “I suppose we could have fun.”

As he’d instructed, Mrs. Carston had set up a table with four chairs. “I believe Lady Laurel enjoys whist, so I thought a table for four would be a good place to start.”

“Oh? Will Arabella and Oliver be joining us?”

He’d stopped to see her upon his arrival and was pleased his sister seemed in good health, albeit bored, which didn’t surprise him. “No. Arabella is resting, but we can pretend, can we not?”

“Yes. Or we could play piquet, since there’s just two of us?”

“Is that what you’d prefer?”

“It makes more sense to play a two-person game, since there are only two of us to play.”

“I agree, but the point I’m trying to make is that we should prepare you for the party, where they will most likely be playing whist or loo.”

“I understand your point perfectly, my lord.” She rounded the table and took a seat.

Will sat across from her and shuffled the cards.

“And will we be having more eating lessons as well?” she asked.

“I think you should be taking this a bit more seriously, Miss Duvall. I am only trying to help.”

“Yes,” she bit off. “Yes, I know you are. I don’t mean to be cross.” She glanced across the table’s surface. “Why don’t you wear gloves?”

“I find them cumbersome.”

“But that isn’t keeping with tradition, is it?”

“No, but some rules are meant to be broken.” Keeping his gaze downcast, he continued shuffling the cards and resisted the urge to look up—he could only imagine the smirk on her face at his revelation.

“The Earl of Grandleigh, a rule breaker. Who would have ever thought?” she quipped.

“But for the purposes of our lessons, there will be no breaking of the rules.” He gave a curt nod and cut the cards. “You may go first.”

She chuckled. “Oh, no. Because if we are playing by the rules, the person who draws the highest card gets to choose the dealer.”

“Touché.” Will drew the highest card and chose to deal. “Tell me more about your home in America. I fear there isn’t much I know except I’m guessing you don’t have as many rules to follow.”

She sorted her cards and selected which ones to discard. “I miss the freedoms I had there. I didn’t require a lady’s maid to accompany me everywhere I went, although I did have one to help me dress. I didn’t have to be home for tea at a particular time of day. I lived in a relaxed atmosphere on a farm. I thought I’d be there forever.”

“Autumn Ridge is similar to a farm, is it not?”

“Oh, yes, I like it here very much. I can’t imagine living in London, and I hope Oliver never requires me to live in their townhouse. I want to stay here—it reminds me more of home.”

Will looked into the blue depths of her eyes. And when she returned his gaze, something seemed to lock into place. He wanted to remedy the glimpse of loneliness he saw there.

Truly that must be all he was feeling, just a touch of sympathy for her plight.

Miss Duvall dealt him three cards. Will noticed the way she surveyed her cards then bit down on her bottom lip. Her bright eyes widened with excitement. A mistake to reveal her hand.

“Do you have good cards?” he mused. “I tend to think you do.”

Her eyes widened more. “I couldn’t say if I have good cards or not. Besides, it’s all a comparison, isn’t it? I might think I have good cards, but in comparison to yours, maybe they aren’t.”

He liked the enthusiasm she displayed. She studied her cards, discarded, and drew some more, all the while seeming content. She made her move, then looked up at him with calm expectation.

Will considered himself a very skilled card player—he was clever, thoughtful, even ruthless, and brought a lot of skill to the table.

She was better.

The smooth line of her forehead crinkled in thought, then her eyebrows raised in silent assessment. Piquet took some strategy, and he realized quite quickly that she was more than she appeared. Clearly, there was a reason she wanted to play this particular game, and he’d willingly walked into her trap.

“It’s your turn, my lord.”

“You’ve played piquet.” He realized that her thoughts ran deep, and he wanted to know exactly what she was thinking, surprisingly not just in cards, but in many things.

“Well of course I have. I wouldn’t have suggested playing otherwise.” Her pert lips turned upward at the edges.

“You failed to mention what a good strategist you are.”

She shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

No, he certainly did not. He’d assumed he’d coax her along, explain the game, and show her how resourceful and skilled he was, but he’d jumped to the wrong conclusions about her. “Who taught you to play?”

She studied her cards. He could almost see her mind clicking along with an intense precision. “My mother.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Your mother was British.”

“She wanted me to know things about her homeland, and besides, I love playing cards.” Her voice sounded so genuine and true.

He swallowed hard, understanding that he’d become a bit of a cynic in regards to the marriage mart. He’d made far-reaching assumptions about many women who were looking for a husband. In fact, he’d made too many suppositions about Georgia, and he vowed to stop. Certainly, he hadn’t expected her to know anything about building stables or playing cards, not to mention horse racing.

He wanted to know more about her, he couldn’t deny it, especially on those subjects that excited her. Her eyes glowed with enthusiasm when she talked about things she enjoyed. He’d thought of her as merely a project—a means to get his own quality racehorse, but she’d become more to him, someone he might like to call a friend. Only his sister had been a comrade to him, otherwise no other woman had filled a place of friendship in his life. “I wanted to mention how much I appreciated your insight into the addition I’m having built at Black Pine Hall. I hadn’t thought of some aspects of the design until we talked yesterday.”

After discarding, she glanced up. Smiling, her eyes glimmered with light and acumen. “You’re very welcome.”

Her clear blue gaze locked with his, and he couldn’t look away. He could get lost in those eyes. She tipped her head to the side and said, “It’s your turn.”

He looked down at his cards in disgust. “You’ve beaten me quite soundly,” he replied smoothly.

She laughed, and he delighted in the sound of it.

“Are you hungry? Should we break for cheese and fruit?” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “That way I can lick the wounds your card-playing prowess has inflicted upon my person.”

“You exaggerate, my lord,” she replied coyly, but then nodded. “Let’s eat. I’m famished.”

He inwardly smiled. Georgia’s expressions and emotions were so visible on her face. She didn’t hide anything. The left side of her mouth tilted up the tiniest amount when she was thinking. Despite himself, he looked for this small thing. She strode purposefully to the sideboard and filled a small plate with food then plopped a grape into her mouth. Eyes flared, she spun around and, after chewing, said, “I’m supposed to wait until we’re sitting down to eat, aren’t I?”

“Yes, but it’s all right.” Stacking the cards and setting them to the side, he waited for her to sit before he sat beside her.

“Where has my taskmaster gone? Aren’t you supposed to make sure I’m to do everything properly for the party?” She lifted a square of cheese and put it in her mouth.

He should correct her—tell her to use her fork for the cheese, but instead he just watched her. A touch of envy struck him.

Her simplicity, her honesty, her willingness to follow the rules even though she clearly didn’t want to was invigorating. She remained true to herself even in the confining environment called England. “Yes, well, maybe I’m not such a good tutor after all.”

“Of course you are. I’ve purposely goaded you, but you haven’t lost your temper with me once.” She blinked several times before biting down on another piece of cheese.

A pang of something hard hit him in the chest. The way her lips moved as she chewed stirred something in him. He couldn’t divert his gaze. That smart mouth of hers was so sweet, so plump and rosy. He’d begun to comment on his temper—that he’d been unable to control it many times—but due to the pure sensuality she exuded as she relished her food, he couldn’t breathe.

Finally, he cleared his throat and answered hoarsely, “Yes, you should wait until you are at the table, and everyone is seated, before you take your first bite.”

“I forgot,” she murmured, scrunched up her shoulders, then proceeded to put another grape in her mouth.

The punch to his rib cage he recognized not as sympathy, like he’d previously believed, but something more. Something much more. Overheated, he suddenly needed to remove his waistcoat. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck.

She dropped another grape on her tongue. “My lord, are you all right?” she asked between chews. “I’m afraid your face looks red. Should I call a doctor?”

“No!” He pulled at his cravat. “Yes, I’m—I’m fine. Just a little warm.”

“All right. If you’re sure.” Raising a delicate eyebrow, she chewed her grape and then her cheese.

“I’m sure.” He observed her mouth—no, actually he scrutinized it. He began to imagine how her lips might feel against his, how supple her skin would be—what would be her taste? Right now, she’d taste like grapes and cheese. Would she kiss him chastely or with passion?

Would the tiny crease on her forehead disappear or get deeper when he kissed her?

“My lord, are you sure you’re all right?” she inquired again, leaning across the table between them. His eyes dipped down to her cleavage, the view too easy to catch. He couldn’t resist.

“I should leave,” he blurted. Panic rose within him. This isn’t the way things were supposed to be. He was the teacher; she was the pupil. The instructor didn’t feel
desire
for the student. This was completely wrong.

He departed toward the drawing room’s exit.

“Wait,” she called out. “Aren’t we supposed to finish eating and play another card game?”

He was acting like a complete imbecile. He stopped and spun around. “I apologize. I just remembered something I have to take care of. Forgive me.”