“Lord Saltwood,” she intoned quietly, her voice slightly husky, as if she might be whispering risqué endearments in the privacy of a candlelit boudoir, “I’ve been expecting you. Do you prefer a public airing of our differences, or would you care to retire to my apartments for our chat?”
She was…magnificent. Gideon could think of no other description. Taller than most women, slim almost to the point of thinness, yet subtly curved. Hair the color of flame against the severity of her high-necked black gown, skin the color of finest ivory. The eyes, mocking, the mouth, full and wide…and knowing. No sane man could look at her without imagining his fingers tangling in that mass of warm curls tumbling around her shoulders, sinking himself deep between her thighs, plunging into the promised fire as she wrapped long legs up high around him.
Which, of course, would be total madness.
Gideon’s eyes widened fractionally, just enough to dislodge the glass, and he deftly caught it by its ribbon and replaced it in his pocket. “You’ve the advantage of me, madam. you are—?”
“Exactly who you think I am, my lord,” she returned, her wide smile frosting only slightly about the edges. “And now that you and your glowering face have served to quite ruin what had promised to be a profitable evening, you will please follow me.”
She turned sharply, the scent of sweet lavender tickling his nostrils as her fiery mane, seeming much too heavy for her slim neck, swung about as if in a belated attempt to catch up with her. Her modest gown, a stiff, unyielding taffeta so in contrast to the riot of tumbling curls, rustled as she walked.
“Here now, where do you think you’re—?”
She raised her hand to the faintly rotund, gray-haired man who had stepped out from behind the faro table, his eyes on the earl as if measuring his chances of knocking him down. Though he clearly found them miniscule, he straightened his shoulders, no doubt prepared to give his best if asked. “Simply carry on, Richard, if you please. I’m fine.”
“Yes, you do that, Richard,” Gideon drawled as he and the woman easily made their way through the throng of patrons who had all stepped back to afford them a pathway. He was painfully aware he somehow had been put in the ignoble position of potential despoiler of virgins, which was above everything ludicrous. “Your employer’s virtue is safe with me.”
A young man, looking fresh from the country and obviously a fellow with more hair than wit, dared to chuckle at this remark. “There’s virtue here? Stap me, I wouldn’t have come if it was virtue I was looking for.”
“Stubble it, Figgins,” the man next to him warned, saving Gideon the trouble of having to turn back and waste a dark stare on the impudent puppy. “Don’t you know who that is? The fella’s a Redgrave, for God’s sakes. He spits bigger’n you.”
Gideon suppressed a smile. He hadn’t heard that one before. But how convenient that his reputation preceded him; it made life so much easier.
He stepped forward as he realized the woman had stopped in front of a baize door, clearly waiting on him to open it for her. Liked to play at the lady, it would seem, straight down to the prim black gown and the erect nature of her posture. Pity for her that her hair and eyes and mouth—and that voice—hadn’t been informed of this preferred pretense.
“Oh, please, allow me,” he drawled sarcastically, bowing her ahead of him as he depressed the latch, before following her up a long, steep flight of stairs surprisingly located just on the other side of the door. The stairs were between two walls and just well lit enough for him to be able to enjoy the sway of her bottom as she climbed ahead of him, holding up her stiff skirts, affording him a tantalizing glimpse of slim ankles, as well. Ah, and a hint of calf. Lovely.
The woman was contradiction after contradiction. Buttoned nearly to her chin, yet her slippers were silver-heeled black satin. He could imagine himself kissing them from her feet and then rolling down her hose, just so far, because he enjoyed the feel of silk-encased legs on his back… .
He was forced to hold the banister as she stopped, extracting a key from a pocket in her gown and slipping it into the lock. He’d wondered about that, the easy access to the staircase, and how many times in the course of an evening this route might be traveled by patrons and the women.
As if to assure him, she stepped inside the apartments, motioning for him to close the door behind him as she said, “No one is allowed here. We won’t be disturbed. Would you care for wine, or would you rather simply be on with it?”
“That’s direct, in any case. Be on with what, madam? I had thought I was calling at a private residence, the object conversation. Seeing the nature of this house, the possibilities have become almost limitless. Not that I’m not tempted.”
She lit a taper and gracefully moved about the room, lighting candles. “You flatter yourself, my lord, and insult me. I’m not in such dire need of funds. We turn cards here, nothing else.”
Gideon sat himself down on a nearby chair, deciding she could remain standing if she so wished, but he was going to make himself comfortable. Redgraves always made themselves comfortable; and the more comfortable they looked, the more on guard any sane person in their midst became. “You might explain that to—Mildred, was it?” he suggested amicably.
He did his best not to blink as she toed off the silver-heeled shoes and kicked them beneath a table as if happy to be rid of them. “I cannot presume to control the world, my lord, only the small portion of it beneath this roof. Mildred and the others make their own arrangements as to what they do outside this establishment.”
“That’s…civilized. So, a gaming hell, but no brothel. A fine line between disreputable and despicable. Am I to perhaps applaud?”
She looked at him, long and hard, and then reached up both hands and deftly twisted the heavy mass of curls into a knot atop her head before walking over to a small drinks table holding a single decanter of wine. “I don’t particularly care what you do, my lord,” she said as she poured some of the light amber liquid into a single glass before turning to face him. “As long as you relinquish guardianship of my brother to me.”
“Oh, yes, Miss Collier, the demand presented to me via your solicitor. I can readily see the eminent sense in that. Clearly a fit place for the boy.”
“The name is Linden, my lord. Mrs. Linden. I’m a widow.”
Gideon could not suppress his smile this time. “Of course you are. How very proper. My apologies.”
“You can take your apologies, my lord, and stuff them in your…ear,” she said, and then turned her back to him as she lifted the glass to her lips. She didn’t sip; she drank. He could see that her hand trembled slightly as she lowered the empty glass to the tabletop. The wine was for courage, clearly. He almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
But then she turned back to him, her eyes shining in the light of the candles. “We’ve begun badly, haven’t we? Are you certain you don’t care for a glass of wine?”
“A lady shouldn’t drink alone, I suppose. Very well.” Gideon got to his feet and availed himself of the decanter. The wine, when he tasted it, was unexpectedly good, when he’d assumed it would be cheap and bitter. “Do you have a first name, madam?”
The question seemed to surprise her. “Why would you—Yes. Yes, I do. Jessica.”
