Page 62 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
“Well, one of the girls who works at The Golden Ball—that new gaming hell in St. James’s—told me a player by the name of Christopher Blake put up a large blue gemstone as collateral in a card game last week.”
Daisy raised her brows. “You think it’s the one taken from Rundell, Bridge and Rundell?”
Tess gave an elegant shrug. “There can’t be many stones of that size knocking around London. It’s been several years since the theft. The culprit probably thinks enough time has passed for the jewel to resurface without arousing suspicion.”
“Did this Blake lose the jewel?”
“No. He won a purebred Arabian stallion from Lord Kidner, and kept hold of the gem. Kitty said he’s an excellent player, even in his cups.”
“Harry could win the jewel from Blake,” Ellie said firmly.
“My thoughts exactly. If his skill at cards is as good as you say, then he has the best chance of anyone of beating him. And if Blake’s ‘luck’ is down to the fact that he cheats, then Harry should be able to recognize it—and counter it with a few tricks of his own.”
Daisy nodded. “If the jewel is the one taken from Rundell, then we’ll get a reward for its safe return. And if itisn’t, we can sell it to Rundell, or another jeweler, for a tidy profit.”
“Agreed.” Ellie smiled. “I’ll tell Harry those are our terms for taking his case.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Ellie glanced sideways at Harry. She’d told him to meet her at Harriet Winthrop’s party, and the sight of him, looking so effortlessly elegant in formal eveningwear, made her stomach flip. “So you agree?”
His lips curved as he glanced down at her. “To ‘acquiring’ the gem? Of course. It’s a small price to pay for reclaiming my identity.”
Ellie couldn’t argue with that. She’d never really considered what it must be like to not have the security of a name, but she imagined it might be quite disconcerting.
“And besides,” he continued silkily, “I couldn’t possibly refuse such a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
The tone of his words suggested he wasn’t merely talking about work, and Ellie tried not to blush. Working with him would be a lot easier if he wasn’t so attractive. And if she didn’t know exactly what lay beneath those beautiful clothes of his.
Her face heated at the memory of his skin sliding against hers, the look on his face when he’d joined his body with hers. Even now, more unsure of his identity than she’d ever been, she wanted him.
His insistence that he was the Lost Earl seemed so genuine that it was becoming increasingly difficult to believe him a charlatan, but rule number seven could still be applied to Harry himself.
If it looks too good to be true, it probably is.She would be foolish to get her hopes up.
But it was hard to be formal when they’d been so intimate. A new, reckless part of her wanted to drag him into the nearest storage room or broom closet and kiss him senseless, exactly as they’d done at Willingham’s. She wanted to beg him to make good on his promise to make love to her up against the wall, but that would only complicate matters. They had a job to do.
“You look very lovely tonight.”
She accepted the compliment with a smile. She was wearing a dress she’d borrowed from Tess, a lovely lavender-blue. It was another of Madame Lefèvre’s creations, and although it was nowhere near as revealing as the emerald-green silk she’d worn to Willingham’s, it was still different enough from the dresses she usually wore to have made her the subject of numerous admiring male glances.
Gentlemen who’d never paid her any attention before were suddenly looking her way, and instead of ducking into a corner to hide, she found herself lifting her chin and smiling back at them.
Was her increased confidence because she was no longer a virgin? Had the experience imbued her with some kind of magical feminine power?
Certainly, she looked at every man now with new eyes, trying to imagine what they’d look like beneath their clothes, or wondering what making love to them would be like.
Unfortunately, most of those musings led to a repulsedshudder. None of them could compete with the memory of Harry.
Curse him.
“I see your cousin is here,” Harry said softly, breaking into her thoughts. He sent a charming smile toward a pair of elderly matrons, who’d passed by on at least two previous occasions. Ellie recognized them as Prudence and Constance Davies, great-aunts of her old schoolfriend Carys Davies, now Carys Montgomery. The two were inveterate gossips. Heaven only knew what rumors they would be cooking up, seeing her talking so intensely with Harry.
“Edward? Yes.”
“He seems like a nice chap.”
“Heisa nice chap. In fact, he’s everything I admire in a gentleman. He’s selfless, kind, honorable—”