Chapter 17 Derek
Derek
Derek paced the hall outside his private rooms. He’d already gone downstairs and had a quick drink.
He glanced at his pocket watch. Twenty minutes.
How long did it take women to get ready?
Normally, he’d guess hours—having to prep and primp in front of a looking glass while they admired themselves.
But he had a feeling that didn’t apply to Miss Forester.
He doubted she even realized how beautiful she was. If she did, she would weaponize it.
He couldn’t wait to see her in the dress he’d selected.
Not an easy task to procure on such short notice, but enough coin at London’s most sought-after modiste tended to quicken deadlines.
That and Lady Rutledge likely funded the entire establishment with her frequent patronage.
All he’d had to do was mention he was a friend of the Rutledges, and he’d been welcomed with open arms.
The snick of the door echoed in the hall, and he froze.
The maid slid from the room and closed the door behind her. Her eyes glimmered mischievously as she bobbed a curtsy. “She’s ready, milord.” Her lips pursed in a knowing smile, and then she sauntered off.
Derek’s heart drummed against his breastbone.
Anticipation skittered through his veins, fingers shaking slightly as he pushed the door open.
He stepped in and quickly shut the door behind him.
Miss Forester was facing away from him, but he already knew he’d made the right choice.
The black silk clung to her like his hands itched to.
He could see the exact spot her hips curved, where her arse curved. He groaned.
Miss Forester spun—
And he lost all ability to speak. All he could do was gape.
The black silk of her gown was lined with gold piping over the bodice, a gold that matched her mask perfectly.
A bodice that pushed up her small breasts into a mouthwatering display.
A single teardrop pearl hung in the center of the heart-shaped neckline.
Like the modiste was determined to force a man’s gaze to those breasts.
Had he said they were nothing special? Fool.
But it wasn’t just the bodice. A gold ribbon was tied just under her breasts, and from there, the black silk parted to reveal an ivory underskirt.
He swallowed hard and took a steadying breath.
A sheer ivory underskirt. Because he could see a teasing hint of the black stockings Miss Forester wore beneath it.
Legs. For. Days. Legs he needed wrapped around him.
Tonight had been a carefully plotted step in his game with Miss Forester.
He’d needed to see her mind work over the card tables, to see the spark flare in those blue eyes with every calculation.
He could only imagine what would happen when he let her loose on the floor.
He’d be the one to bring her that excitement—harness it, then turn it around until all that thrill was directed at him.
He’d meant to seduce her.
He'd seduced himself instead.
Which he supposed wasn’t a bad thing. But bloody hell, the night was going to be torture until he got her back here later tonight.
A soft pink bloomed beneath the gold, diamond-studded mask that flared over her cheeks like wings.
Another excellent choice. He’d known those stark blue eyes would look stunning surrounded by the intricately swirling gold.
Diamonds studded the bottom edges, curving over her cheeks, sparkling with every subtle shift of her head.
The top was ornately shaped, reminiscent of a crown—fit for a queen.
A line of diamonds trailed from each brow to meet at the ridge of her nose.
The mask didn’t hide her. It transformed her.
It drew the gaze, made it impossible not to see the exquisite beauty she possessed.
“Is it… Do I look presentable?”
He blinked. Fuck. He was an imbecile. He was gawking at her like he wasn’t the notorious rogue he was. Seduce, you idiot.
“No,” he purred, the word nothing but a heated rumble.
Something flashed in those blue eyes. Hurt…more than hurt. It was a shattering.
He was in front of her in the next instant, tilting her chin up to his.
“No, Miss Forester,” he clarified, “presentable is much too inferior a word to describe you. It shouldn’t even be allowed to be uttered in your presence.
You are…” Mysterious. His pulse fluttered in his throat.
Dangerous. His lungs struggled for air. “Otherworldly,” he whispered.
Her plush pink lips parted on a barely there, “Oh.”
He swallowed, gaze glued to those lips. Closer than before. Just a taste. A sample before he brought her downstairs. He leaned in—and kissed a dainty silk-covered finger. Ivory silk that ran up her arms like his tongue wanted to. He nearly groaned.
She pushed him back with that finger, a small smile gracing her lips now. “Nice attempt, Lord Dunmore.”
Her finger dropped, and he licked his lips, lips that were cold, missing something now that her touch was gone. He’d never been so drawn to a woman before. It had to be how excellent she was at evading him. She posed a challenge. And it was thrilling.
He couldn’t wait to see how she fared tonight.
Christ, she made him feel alive. She somehow made it impossible for the shadows hovering around him to creep in too close, to surround him like they usually did.
He hadn’t fallen into that dark place since the moment he’d met her.
Which wasn’t a thought he was going to ruminate too long on.
Miss Forester smoothed her skirts and lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “All right. Show me what you’ve brought me here for.”
Every nerve in his body buzzed, vibrating through him. It was time. The anticipation was strangling him. Ever since he’d witnessed what her mind was capable of—he shifted and tried to get his lust under control. He had to see it again. “Follow me.”
They made their way down the hall toward a set of stairs. “So, as I said before, The Devil’s Eye is a gaming hell.” He glanced at her. “Based on how we met, I take it you are a wagering woman. Do you play cards, Miss Forester?”
Two cerulean pools of blue flicked to his, and she pursed her lips before looking ahead again. “I haven’t had much opportunity to play. But I enjoy Ving-et-Un.”
“Exactly what I was hoping to hear. Tonight, you get to play with my money, love. Every card table is yours for the taking.”
It took him a moment to realize Miss Forester was no longer next to him. He spun around to find her frozen in her tracks a few paces behind him.
Her eyes were wide behind her mask. “I can play? Me. A woman? You’d let me play with your money?”
He cocked his head. “Women frequent The Devil’s Eye, the gaming floor and…other floors. Most anonymously.” He waved a hand over his face, indicating that most women wore masks. “Though not all. And most wager their own money—or their husband’s, I suppose.”
“You’re not afraid I’ll lose your coin?”
A laugh burst from him. Christ, she was adorable.
Something odd and warm flitted through his chest. She might be the first woman he’d met who didn’t want him for his purse or his prick.
The latter was a mite frustrating, but he was enjoying this game of cat—or stoat, he supposed—and mouse.
When he finally took her to bed, it would be that much more exhilarating.
Derek had always been a fan of prolonging pleasure, the taunt, the torture of denied release. Holding that cataclysmic moment back until his partner begged—or he did—his muscles tightened. It was bloody heady. The question was, did he want to do that to her? Or have her hold the power?
“Little mouse, you could lose spectacularly tonight, and I wouldn’t even notice it. But I have a feeling the only person taking a loss tonight will be Mr. Drake.” He pulled out a coin purse and tossed it to her. She instinctively caught it, and he found himself impressed by her once again.
She stared at the brown leather coin purse, chewing her lower lip. Then she looked up. And beamed. Incandescent. Blinding. That smile was like staring straight at the sun. He frowned. “Put that away.”
Her brows lifted above the crown of her mask. “What? My smile?”
“Yes, it’s too big. It’s making me uncomfortable.”
She chuckled and stepped up to him…and then straight past, a bound in her gait. “Take me to the gaming room, Lord Dunmore. I cannot wait!”
A satisfied rumbling purr left his chest. He didn’t doubt for a minute she’d be winning tonight.
His gaze traced the sway of her hips.
He was determined to win too.