Chapter Twenty

Emily picked up a shoe from the floor and flung it at the closed door, but it fell short and he probably did not hear it. She collapsed upon the bed, tears stinging her eyes.

What a fool she had been. He put the blame upon himself, but she knew better. She had deliberately withdrawn from him, deliberately avoided challenging him about his nightly absences, deliberately avoided challenging him in any way at all. Merely hiding herself from him lest he discover the biggest secret of all.

She loved him. She wanted him. And had from the moment she had seen him in the Pump Room at Bath.

She jumped off the bed and paced the room, tripping over her other shoe, picking it up, and throwing it against the wall.

How stupid she had been, so sure of the superiority of her unfailing correct behaviour, so certain he would not wish to pay attention to a drab creature such as herself. She’d had to transform herself into another person in order to have the courage to make love to him.

Now everything was ruined. He’d given her the means of leaving him and perhaps, for his sake, she should do it.

Not what I want, he’d said. What you want.

Lady Widow would have no difficulty telling him exactly what she wanted. Lady Widow would insist on having her way.

But she could not be Lady Widow, no matter how much he thought Lady Widow a part of her. She could not be so bold, so sure of herself.

She picked up the emerald green gown, recalling how well it had flattered her figure and colouring. She threw it across one of the chairs. On the table she spied the silk mask. She reached for it, crumbling it into her fist and striding over to the fire. She threw it at the flames, but it fluttered to the hearthstone as if thrown back to her.

She snatched it up again, suddenly knowing what she wanted. With all her heart, she knew exactly what she wanted.

And she knew exactly how to get it.

Guy had kicked off his shoes and thrown his jacket and waistcoat on a chair. He pulled the knot out of his neckcloth, letting its ends dangle down his shirt.

It would be nonsense to think of sleeping. He rummaged around the room until he found the bottle of brandy he’d brought there the other night when desire and need clawed at him. Sitting at the small table, he poured himself a drink and downed it in one gulp. He poured another.

She’d be a fool to stay with me, he thought, and he thought her anything but a fool.

The branch of candles in his room fluttered. In the doorway connecting their rooms she stood fully dressed, with a paper in her hand. Had she decided to leave him so soon?

She walked towards him. The light revealed her wearing the green dress she’d worn earlier that evening. Though her hair was still loose about her shoulders, she wore Lady Widow’s mask.

In Lady Widow’s voice she said, ‘If you like gaming so much, Lord Keating, perhaps you would fancy another game of piquet. It is what I want. A game of piquet.’

‘Piquet?’ A glimmer of hope kindled inside him. He gave her a slow, careful smile. ‘So sorry, ma’am. I have sworn off gambling.’

She sidled towards him, so close her skirt brushed his knees, and waved the paper at him. It was the banknote. ‘You do not wish to play for money? Very well.’ She let the paper float to the floor.

Every sense in his body came alive, and he had thought never to feel anything again but pain. ‘What stakes do you desire, then?’ he asked, his voice husky.

‘As before,’ she purred. ‘You win a round, I remove one piece of clothing. I win, and you remove a piece of clothing.’

He stood, so close he already felt the warmth of her body. He combed his fingers through her unbound hair, every bit as soft as he expected.

She placed her hands on his chest, the touch of her fingers stealing his breath.

‘One condition,’ he said, brushing her hair off her shoulders and reaching around to the ribbons at back of her head. ‘No masks.’

As the piece of silk fell from her face, her arms encircled his neck.

‘No masks ever again, Emily,’ he whispered, letting his hands run down her back, eager for a lifetime exploring every curve.

She lifted her hand to his face, her caress so soft and full of promise it claimed his heart forever.

‘No masks,’ she said, her lips smiling as they reached to touch his. ‘You may wager on it.’