Page 3 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)
CHAPTER 2
S o, the chit needed his help. Rochester suppressed the urge to groan and let out a heavy sigh. He turned toward the gardens and leaned his elbows on the cold railing, thoughtfully contemplating his next move. He had a sinking feeling whatever he did next would make or break the fine thread of friendship he held with Evelyn. She was his best friend’s sister, which made everything about her debacle problematic. He also genuinely liked her. Which wasn’t helping.
When Evelyn pleaded with him for help, did she hope he’d make an offer of marriage? Probably. But she had to know he would never do that. What she didn’t know was the reason why. It was no secret that someday he’d need a wife and an heir to secure his title of viscount. Evelyn wouldn’t have been a bad choice. He thought her funny and her personality fresh and lively. It was impossible not to be enchanted by her shining dark-honey hair and sparkling green eyes that danced and laughed at him. Oh, he could easily get used to that. And her mouth. He’d wanted to kiss her since the holiday masquerade where she’d wagered a shilling on a shot of billiards. And then there was the rest of her, irresistibly alluring. She had the full shape of a woman grown. Wicked enough to tempt a saint if she only knew.
If her goal during any particular Season had been matrimony, she’d have won that race long ago. A woman as beautiful as Miss Evelyn Markham did not stay single until the ripe age of twenty-three unless it was her idea.
And now she needed his help.
She had a plan.
An idea.
His hands were sweating already. Even if he were in the market, her father would never have him. Not to mention, he was not in the market . Nor on the market, as it were.
But damn it all if he wasn’t about to recklessly volunteer his help. “I’m not sure what else I can do, but I can try talking to Winn. Perhaps he might speak to your father on your behalf.”
She sidled close, an easy touch away, and patiently waited for him to look at her. “Do you remember the game we played at the Kingsley ball?”
“Two Christmastides ago?” He raised a skeptical brow.
“Do you remember?” she asked with more fervor.
“Draughts?”
“No, not draughts. The game I suggested that first day of the house party.”
Oh, he knew the game. He just ignorantly hoped she was not referring to it. “Remind me,” he said, wiggling his toe in his boot, finding that damn shilling and reminding himself why he’d put it there. Evelyn Markham was like a pebble in his shoe.
She folded her arms and gave a tilt of her head. Her mouth pressed into an annoyed line. “I can’t believe you don’t remember. Are you that old?”
It was just those kinds of comments that he found charming. He chuckled at her daring.
“When we first came together at Lady Clover’s house party. You, Winn, Darrington, Adeline, Clover, and me. The six of us. And I said let’s do something fun.”
“Breaking the rules of the beau monde,” he finished for her. Of course, he remembered. How could he forget? And he could see the wheels turning in her pretty little head. A dangerous hope that somehow would cost him his sanity.
“Yes,” she breathed with relief. “Thank God you remember.”
“Why? Why do you thank God?” He thought he knew but hoped he was wrong.
“Because you can help me.”
This time, her green eyes were not full of fun and games like they had been before but were quite earnestly pleading with him. “Are your friends not available? I know Winn and Adeline aren’t here, but I believe I’ve seen Lady Clover this Season. Why not ask her? Perhaps she’ll have some ideas with merit.” A slight breeze picked up the tempting nectar of blooming honeysuckles and assailed his senses, attacking any wisdom he’d hoped to practice.
“I don’t need that kind of help. And I thought we were friends.”
“Miss Markham, we played draughts one Christmas.”
“And you rescued me from a seedy card game. Or do you not remember that either?”
He did. Evelyn had managed to jeopardize all three girls’ reputations by involving them in a game of brag with a shady, unscrupulous man. There they were, Adeline Priestley making bets at a card table while Lady Clover Dunhurst stood back with her hand pressed to her mouth. And then there was Evelyn, near enough to the table to watch the play. To her credit, she had looked afraid, as if she’d known they were over their heads. He’d quietly grabbed her hand and led her to safety.
Now, he calmly straightened and turned to face her. “I remember it all, believe me. You should have never been in that game room.”
“Who are you, Mr. Rochester? My father? Or my friend?”
“I believe your willfulness to cause trouble demands a father, but I confess to being your friend even though you think me old enough to be the former.”
She rolled her eyes. “Then you’ll help?” She sounded a bit exasperated.
He pulled a loose lock of her dark-blonde hair, in utter disrespect of her neatly coiled coiffure, and watched it slide like silk through his fingers. “What’s your plan, Goose?”
“Breaking a few more rules.”
He pinched the place between his eyes, waffling.
“You promised. Besides, it might be fun.”
“Or dangerous. Which rules, and how will it help?”
She absently slipped the errant curl behind her ear. Her hands were a marvel of animation while she explained. “Once the contract is signed, I cannot break it without consequence. I have a considerable dowry, and I can’t imagine the young baron backing down just because his bride is only marginally interested in marrying him. And truth be told, I’m not at all interested.”
“I can see that,” he said unnecessarily.
“If he cries off first, then he’ll save face, my father won’t be fined, and I can go about as I always have. As if nothing has happened.”
“Why not invite him for tea and conversation? That ought to do it,” he said tongue in cheek.
“I could spill a scalding pot of steeped tea leaves in his lap.”
Rochester grimaced and mentally shook off the need to guard his groin with his hands.
“No good?”
He shook his head. “No imagination.”
“In that case, breaking the rules is the only option left. If I’m caught in a slightly compromising situation, perhaps the baron’s embarrassment would cause him to cry off before the betrothal can be agreed upon.”
“I’m certain there is no such thing as slightly compromised. But I’m dying to know what you’re planning even if it goes against all wisdom and good judgment.” He folded his arms.
“Well, I could put a hand on your arm like this.” She rubbed silk-covered fingers over his forearm and turned a coy smile on him. “And you can kiss me.”
“No. Absolutely not.” And as he said no, his heart palpitated at the mere idea of kissing those ripe, sweet lips until they were red and bruised with passion. His gaze fell to her mouth.
“You’re thinking about it.” She tugged on his arm.
“If I say Gaz, what immediately comes to mind? A chicken? The last opera you attended?”
“No. My dogs,” she said as if he were a numskull.
“Exactly. An Irish setter scrabbling across the tiled floor with silly ears flapping wildly.”
“Gaz is our beloved family dog. What else am I to think?”
“You have made my point, sweet. Thank you.”
Her hands went to her hips, and he could see the telltale sign of a foot tapping under the hem of her royal-blue gown.
He continued, “When you say kiss, am I to envision a duck? No. I am a man, and your lips are the closest image available. So, where am I to look? What am I to think?”
“Does it not matter that they’re my lips?”
“It certainly doesn’t hurt.” He shot her a dissecting glance, then grinned. “But I refuse to be your bait.”
Her lips puckered, and he kicked himself for not taking the prize she offered, which reminded him of the shilling in his shoe.
“Then I’ll find someone who is willing.”
She couldn’t be serious, and he couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re a goose, Evelyn.”
“If you aren’t going to help, then my name is Miss Markham.” To her credit, her expression did not waver. Her arms were tightly crossed against her chest like a dare. Unfortunately for him, the singular detail he saw was the daring cut of her gown.
“The only thing you’re liable to bring about is a ruined reputation, and your father will sign that contract before your simple baron has a chance to see the broadsheets.” He lost all humor. A dull throb pulsated in his cheek as he ground his teeth, waiting for a return of her good sense. Meanwhile, something akin to jealousy inserted itself under his skin with a raw, chafing irritation. “Might I suggest a dress that complements your eyes? The royal blue is pretty, love, but it won’t smoke out the imbeciles who will take you up on your offer.”
“You’re an idiot, Rochester.”
“Is that a challenge?”
She arched a brow.