One Good Earl Deserves a Lover
Page 40
“If you even dream of reneging on our wager, I will send God, Bourne, and your father to keep you in check. In that order.”
“I should not be surprised that you believe you have some control over the Almighty,” she retorted.
He looked like he might like to murder someone.
“Cross.” From beyond the curtain, Temple came to her aid.
Rescued. Pippa released the breath she had not known she had been holding.
Cross turned his head but did not move from where he crowded her. “Leave us.”
Temple yanked the curtains back, letting light into the small space. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The lady is not here for you.”
Cross was across the alcove in seconds. “She sure as hell isn’t here for you.”
A jolt of excitement threaded through her at the words. As though he were defending her. As though he were willing to fight for her.
How fascinating. She caught her breath at the way he moved, quick and economical. They were inches from each other now—Cross tall and lean, all corded muscle and tension, Temple a few inches shorter, but wider by half . . . and smirking.
“No. She’s not,” Temple said. “She’s here for something else.”
Cross looked back to her, over his shoulder, grey eyes flashing.
“I only have eleven days,” she said, ready to explain her purpose. Surely he’d understand, she was in a critical situation.
Temple interjected, “Perhaps you’d like to give her escort?”
At the light words, Cross’s eyes went blank, and she had the instant and irrational desire to reach out to him, as though he could bring back his emotion. Not that she wanted to. Emotion was not her goal.
Knowledge was.
But she couldn’t have, anyway, as he had already turned away, pushing past Temple and making his way to his office.
She followed, as though on a lead. “Is that all?”
When he arrived at the door to his office, he turned back to her. “You are not my concern.”
A sharp pulse of something akin to pain threaded through her at the words. She rubbed absently at her chest. “You are correct. I am not.”
He ignored the last. “I will not be your keeper. Indeed, I’ve more important matters at hand.”
He opened the door to his office, not attempting to conceal the woman inside.
The beautiful, raven-haired woman with dark eyes and red lips and a smile that seemed like a scandal in itself. Pippa took a step back, her gaze riveted to the other woman as she replayed the events of the last few minutes in her head—his unshaven jaw and wrinkled shirtsleeves, the way he’d opened the door with irritation, as though the cook had interrupted something very important.
He’d been inside his office with this woman, this woman who smiled as though he were the only man in the world. As though she were the only woman.
As though they were tasked with repopulation.
Pippa swallowed. “I see.”
He smirked. “I’m sure you do.”
She took another step back as he closed the door.
I’ve never seen you treat a woman so,” Sally Tasser said, pulling her legs up beneath her in the large wing chair to allow Cross room to pace.
Cross ignored the words and the pang of guilt that came with them. “Where were we?”
Why was she here? How had she twisted their wager—one afternoon together—into a welcome for her to invade his space anytime she liked?
The prostitute raised raven brows in silent disbelief and consulted her notes. “I’ve thirteen girls, all working on the list.” She paused. “Who is she?”
She is temptation incarnate. Sent to destroy him.
“Can they be trusted?”
And what the hell was she doing with Temple?
“They know you deliver on promises.” Another pause. “At least, promises made to whores.”
He spun to face her. “What does that mean?”
“Only that you’ve never been anything but a gentleman to my women. And yet this afternoon you appear to have gravely mistreated a lady.”
He resisted the truth in the words. “And since when have you had sympathy for aristocrats?”
“Since that one looked as though you’d kicked her dog.”
The reference to Pippa’s dog reminded Cross of their conversation the night prior—of Castleton’s request—of her hesitation to name his hound. Of the way her lips curved around the words as she attempted to explain her reticence.
Of the way the entire conversation made him want to steal her away and convince her that marriage to Castleton was absolutely wrong for her.
He did not tell Sally any of that, of course. Instead he said, “I want the fifty biggest gamers in the hell. No one can be missed.”
The woman leveled him with a frank look. “You’ll get them. When have I ever failed you?”
“Never. But there is always time to begin.”
“What’s he got on you?”
Cross shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
She smiled, small and nearly humorless. “I assume you’ve something to do with the way he’s crowing with pride about marrying his girl off to an earl.”
Cross gave her his darkest look. “I’m not marrying the daughter.”
“So you think. She’ll be here in five days, and when she gets here, he’ll stop at nothing to get you married.” When he did not reply, she added, “You don’t believe it? This is Knight.”
“I am not marrying the girl,” he repeated.
Sally watched him for a long moment before saying, “I shall work the floor that night. If a single deep pocket comes through the door, I’ll slip him an invitation to Pandemonium myself.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Now tell me about the girl.”
“I should not be surprised that you believe you have some control over the Almighty,” she retorted.
He looked like he might like to murder someone.
“Cross.” From beyond the curtain, Temple came to her aid.
Rescued. Pippa released the breath she had not known she had been holding.
Cross turned his head but did not move from where he crowded her. “Leave us.”
Temple yanked the curtains back, letting light into the small space. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The lady is not here for you.”
Cross was across the alcove in seconds. “She sure as hell isn’t here for you.”
A jolt of excitement threaded through her at the words. As though he were defending her. As though he were willing to fight for her.
How fascinating. She caught her breath at the way he moved, quick and economical. They were inches from each other now—Cross tall and lean, all corded muscle and tension, Temple a few inches shorter, but wider by half . . . and smirking.
“No. She’s not,” Temple said. “She’s here for something else.”
Cross looked back to her, over his shoulder, grey eyes flashing.
“I only have eleven days,” she said, ready to explain her purpose. Surely he’d understand, she was in a critical situation.
Temple interjected, “Perhaps you’d like to give her escort?”
At the light words, Cross’s eyes went blank, and she had the instant and irrational desire to reach out to him, as though he could bring back his emotion. Not that she wanted to. Emotion was not her goal.
Knowledge was.
But she couldn’t have, anyway, as he had already turned away, pushing past Temple and making his way to his office.
She followed, as though on a lead. “Is that all?”
When he arrived at the door to his office, he turned back to her. “You are not my concern.”
A sharp pulse of something akin to pain threaded through her at the words. She rubbed absently at her chest. “You are correct. I am not.”
He ignored the last. “I will not be your keeper. Indeed, I’ve more important matters at hand.”
He opened the door to his office, not attempting to conceal the woman inside.
The beautiful, raven-haired woman with dark eyes and red lips and a smile that seemed like a scandal in itself. Pippa took a step back, her gaze riveted to the other woman as she replayed the events of the last few minutes in her head—his unshaven jaw and wrinkled shirtsleeves, the way he’d opened the door with irritation, as though the cook had interrupted something very important.
He’d been inside his office with this woman, this woman who smiled as though he were the only man in the world. As though she were the only woman.
As though they were tasked with repopulation.
Pippa swallowed. “I see.”
He smirked. “I’m sure you do.”
She took another step back as he closed the door.
I’ve never seen you treat a woman so,” Sally Tasser said, pulling her legs up beneath her in the large wing chair to allow Cross room to pace.
Cross ignored the words and the pang of guilt that came with them. “Where were we?”
Why was she here? How had she twisted their wager—one afternoon together—into a welcome for her to invade his space anytime she liked?
The prostitute raised raven brows in silent disbelief and consulted her notes. “I’ve thirteen girls, all working on the list.” She paused. “Who is she?”
She is temptation incarnate. Sent to destroy him.
“Can they be trusted?”
And what the hell was she doing with Temple?
“They know you deliver on promises.” Another pause. “At least, promises made to whores.”
He spun to face her. “What does that mean?”
“Only that you’ve never been anything but a gentleman to my women. And yet this afternoon you appear to have gravely mistreated a lady.”
He resisted the truth in the words. “And since when have you had sympathy for aristocrats?”
“Since that one looked as though you’d kicked her dog.”
The reference to Pippa’s dog reminded Cross of their conversation the night prior—of Castleton’s request—of her hesitation to name his hound. Of the way her lips curved around the words as she attempted to explain her reticence.
Of the way the entire conversation made him want to steal her away and convince her that marriage to Castleton was absolutely wrong for her.
He did not tell Sally any of that, of course. Instead he said, “I want the fifty biggest gamers in the hell. No one can be missed.”
The woman leveled him with a frank look. “You’ll get them. When have I ever failed you?”
“Never. But there is always time to begin.”
“What’s he got on you?”
Cross shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
She smiled, small and nearly humorless. “I assume you’ve something to do with the way he’s crowing with pride about marrying his girl off to an earl.”
Cross gave her his darkest look. “I’m not marrying the daughter.”
“So you think. She’ll be here in five days, and when she gets here, he’ll stop at nothing to get you married.” When he did not reply, she added, “You don’t believe it? This is Knight.”
“I am not marrying the girl,” he repeated.
Sally watched him for a long moment before saying, “I shall work the floor that night. If a single deep pocket comes through the door, I’ll slip him an invitation to Pandemonium myself.” She inclined her head toward the door. “Now tell me about the girl.”
