To Challenge the Earl of Cravenswood (Wicked Wagers 3) (2 page)

On that thought she heard Sabine whisper under her breath, “At last.”

Amy followed Sabine’s gaze and saw Lord Wolverstone, his brooding presence making the guests part like the Red Sea before Moses, making quick work of the distance between them. He was an extremely handsome man, and not for the first time Amy questioned her decision to decline Marcus’s proposal all those months ago. 

“Ah, my handsome knight hath come!” Sabine gushed.

She looked at the love shining within Sabine’s gaze and knew absolutely she’d done the right thing. Marcus would never have looked at her the way he did when staring at his lovely wife. Like a hungry wolf ready to consume her.

Amy felt a small stab of envy for her friend. Sabine forced her gaze away from her advancing husband to smile and state, “And he is not alone.”

Amy spotted Lord Cravenswood behind Wolverstone, and her heart suddenly began thumping faster in her chest. She tried to swallow her excitement. She’d not known his lordship was attending this evening.

Henry St. Giles, the Earl of Cravenswood, was her neighbor. And more. She’d secretly worshipped Henry for aeons. At fifteen, she had fallen from her horse in Hyde Park and broken her arm. Henry had seen her fall, heard her cry of pain, and had raced over to help. He’d dismounted and gently checked her for injuries, not chastising her tears of pain as her brother had. Then he carefully carried her home upon his white charger. He’d even called on her the next day to ensure she was well.

She watched him move across the room, his fair hair tousled as if he’d just run his hand through it. His fringe flopped over one eye, hiding one half of his most stunning feature—his emerald eyes.  They sparkled like the gemstones they matched and almost blinded the beauty of his face.

The day he’d rescued her, Amy imagined God had made Henry into a likeness of an angel. His face was exquisitely proportioned. Flawless. His nose straight, his cheek-bones defined and his mouth... Gosh, she’d had wicked fantasies about his mouth. 

Fantasies that had moved on to involve other body parts, when a few months later, she’d accidentally spied him stripped to his britches and dunking his head in the trough behind his stables. His chest was honed muscle, with an expansive set of shoulders that tapered to a stomach rippled with definition, and his wet breeches molded well-muscled thighs that disappeared into large hessians.

He was most definitely a rake. Who wouldn’t be with the looks of a Greek god? He was also the most honorable and kind man she’d had the privilege to meet.

From that day forth she’d judged all men against him and found all sadly lacking. 

Unfortunately, as the years passed, Henry had failed to notice that she’d grown up. When he saw her he was polite and teasing, as if she was still a young girl. Couldn’t he see she was a woman?

A hot blooded woman that many fawned over. Why was it she could attract Creeperton, but not a man like St. Giles?

Marcus arrived at his wife’s side and swept her into his arms. “My dance.” It was a possessive command which made Sabine sigh in delight as he led her onto the floor for the waltz.

Creeperton, having seen the men approach, moved determinedly toward Amy. She froze, dreading the thought of having to dance with the man and have his hands...

“Lady Shipton, my dance I believe.” Henry’s words were sweet to her ears.

“I don’t think so, Cravenswood. The lady will dance with me.” Chesterton moved closer and his slimy smile disappeared. For once his true personality showed. Poisonous reptile.

Amy’s hopes dashed. Henry would be the perfect gentleman and step aside. But to her amazement, Henry’s placid features hardened and he moved in front of Amy, blocking Chesterton.

“Are you calling Lady Shipton a liar, Chesterton? She said this dance was mine, is that not so?” He quirked a brow at her.

“Indeed,” Amy answered quickly, her earnestness clear. She expected such scandalous behavior from Chesterton but she’d never seen this side of Lord Cravenswood. Normally he was the epitome of politeness. He never caused a scene, but already heads were straining.   

To defuse the situation, Amy put her hand on Chesterton’s arm. “The night is still young. There will be other dances.” Not if she could help it. 

With a triumphant smile, Henry put her hand on his arm and escorted her onto the floor. Lord Cravenswood cocked an eyebrow, his mouth curving with male amusement. “You looked as if you needed rescuing.”

“A woman could get use to being rescued by you.” At his astonished frown she added, “I remember you rescuing me when I came off my horse in Hyde Park. I’m not surprised you can’t remember. I’ve grown up a tad since then.” Maybe she could make him realize she was no longer a silly young girl but a woman with desires...desires that made her nights restless. Her dreams usually involved various scenarios of her and Henry dancing in each other’s arms until dawn.

For a moment he seemed startled. His eyes skimmed over her front, lingering momentarily on her breasts, and back up to her face.
Now you notice
. With a scandalous smile on her lips she stepped into Henry’s arms, moving a bit closer than was truly respectable.

Henry hid his shock well. He merely placed her hand in his, slid his other hand to her waist and moved her slightly backward before sweeping her into the dance.

“I had forgotten that incident. It was a few years ago now. I assume the arm healed properly.”

“All my limbs are in working order, my lord.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, given Marcus tells me Sabine is playing the matchmaker. You’re husband hunting? It pays to have a full set of limbs when courting.”

She nodded. “I value Lady Wolverstone’s input. Rather her than my father’s choice.” Her smile died. “My father wishes to see me wed and is more concerned with haste than the fiancé. I'd rather the choice was mine.”

“Yet you don’t appear to be enjoying yourself tonight. Has Lord Chesterton anything to do with that?” 

“He is rather persistent, regardless of my feelings.”

“Would you like me to tell him to bugger off?”

“Henry!” She couldn’t help the shocked cry. She gathered herself together and tried to remain composed. “I’m perfectly capable of handling Creeperton”-

Henry burst into laughter and every head in the room turned their way. “Never have I heard a more apt name.”

Heat flooded Amy’s face. She hadn’t meant to say the name out loud. “My apologies. That was inexcusable.”

 “No need. The name fits the man perfectly. In fact, I may well steal the name for my own use.”

Amy watched the earl roll the name over his tongue and his face lit with general amusement at her faux pas. It was humiliating. Here she was trying to get him to see her as a sophisticated woman, and she was behaving like a gauche school girl.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“That would not be very gentlemanly.”

Amy noted that was not an answer, merely an observation. She saw Henry’s gaze fixated on Creeperton. “You don’t like the Viscount?”

Henry looked into her eyes but he remained tight-lipped. Finally he said, “Let’s just say he took something from me, and I’m concerned at how he is treating his new possession.” 

“I hope it’s nothing too valuable.”

He did not answer her, merely twirled her around the floor, a look of consternation flashing across his face. “It is of no concern. Let’s not talk about Creeperton, but instead enjoy the dance.”

“You dance very well, my lord. Who taught you?”

“My sisters. They needed someone to practize with. I was more than happy to oblige as it got me out of Latin.”

“My brother would not be seen dead dancing with me.”

“He’s older than you. I was younger than them and had little choice in the matter.”

“But at least once you grew up you had choices. I seem to have fewer choices as I grow older,” she muttered more to herself.

Something over her shoulder had garnered his attention and he did not reply. So much for demonstrating her maturity and womanhood. He even found her conversation lacking. Anger sizzled and she couldn’t help herself. “At least Chesterton gives me his undivided attention.”

“I do beg your pardon. I was watching Chesterton take his leave. He won’t bother you again this evening,” he said, slowing as the music floated to a halt.

“Oh,” Amy replied, reluctantly retrieving her hand from his. She was pleased to note that his other hand lingered on her waist. “Thank you for the dance, my lord.”

Henry released her and escorted her back to Sabine. Marcus smiled at the pair as if husband and wife had just exchanged a private secret.

Henry bowed over her hand and said, “If you excuse me, ladies. Cards beckon. Wolverstone.”

Before anyone could reply, Henry pivoted and made his way back across the crowded ballroom. It took him longer to reach the card room because, without Marcus by his side, every mama with a marriageable daughter stopped him and tried to draw him into conversation.

Amy’s only consolation was that he didn’t appear to be enamored of any woman here. He seemed desperate to seek the safety of the card room.

Sabine tapped her arm, “Amy, Lord Henley was asking after your father.”

She forced her eyes away from Henry’s departing figure, fine figure, and resolved that soon, very soon, she would make him see what was before his eyes–her. 

And only her.

Chapter Two

Henry was completely sloshed. Drunk to be precise. An inebriated state he sought far too often of late. He should have gone directly home after Lady Skye’s ball, but watching his best friend Marcus leave with his beautiful wife on his arm made him long for company. He did not wish to go home to an empty house and a lonely bed.

He blinked, trying to focus on the activities going on around him. The room at Mrs. Whites was stifling. He bloody well shouldn’t have let George Ashford talk him into accompanying him to the high-class brothel, and he definitely shouldn’t have drunk half a bottle of brandy on top of the alcohol he’d already consumed this evening. 

He gripped the arms of his chair, rested his head on the back, and closed his eyes, fighting the rising nausea. He didn’t miss the irony that bile was the only thing rising. Not even the brief sight of voluptuous beauties cavorting naked on the stage in front of him could make his flaccid member twitch.

He didn’t understand this sexual lethargy. Up until eighteen months ago, just before Millicent left, he’d had a ferocious appetite. Yet it seemed losing Millicent had destroyed his enjoyment for sins of the flesh as surely as she’d bruised his heart and his ego. His father had warned him that men should never fall in love with their mistresses. It never ended well. 

His
arrangement
with Millie ended very well. For her. She simply left him a note telling him she’d found someone else. 

Henry St. Giles clenched his stomach to hold off the rollicking nausea. He should be over her by now. He was an earl, for goodness sake, and Millie a mere courtesan. If anyone did the leaving, it should have been him.

Anger at himself burned bright, making him struggle to sit up. He should leave the establishment now. He had to admire Mrs. White’s cleverness, for her pleasure house was a mockery of the oldest gentlemen’s club in England. Now men didn’t have to lie to their wives when they left for a night of sin; they simply said they were going to White’s. 

Therein lay the problem. He didn’t have a wife, or family, or a proper home. If he did, he’d certainly not leave them for this establishment. 

True, he owned houses, but an empty house was not a home. He’d not had a home growing up. He’d had a house full of people he was related to, yet even with siblings and parents and servants, he’d still felt alone.

Bloody hell, he was in a sorry state. His chest clenched in what he knew was dark-green and vicious envy. Harlow and Marcus. He wondered if he’d ever find the joy, happiness, and love they had found with their soul mates. 

If he were honest with himself, Millie was not his soul mate. She had left him for another and it had hurt at first, but looking back it was merely his pride that had been wounded. It was not Millie he craved, but rather the thought of love, the idea of finding his soul mate drove him.

What he felt for Millie was gratitude. She’d been there for him when his brother died, and he was thrown into the role as head of the Cravenswood family. A role he had never expected or wanted. 

He was grateful for her support. He’d needed someone and she had stayed long enough to help ease him into the earldom.

Now he had no one. No close family, siblings or wife. Loneliness seeped into his bones like a smothering cold fog. Loneliness which would not be appeased by marrying his brother’s fiancé. Hilda was most definitely not his soul mate.

Tonight he’d hoped the ball, and then the brothel would banish his troubles with mindless, meaningless pleasure. But even that had been denied him. So he’d drunk himself into oblivion. Again.

A body, warm, soft, and virtually naked, slid onto his lap. A feminine hand trailed down his chest, caressing its way to his groin, while the other lifted his hand and placed it on her naked breast. 

“Perhaps a private show of our own would keep you awake, my lord?”

Her hand found his member and with expert fingers she coaxed a response. Finally, a twitch of life.

She slid off him to her knees and he felt her unbutton the placket of his trousers. Henry closed his mind to everything but what the woman was doing to him. He let his lids close and in the darkness he pictured Millicent, her dark curls cascading over her creamy bare shoulders, her hands caressing up his thighs, her tongue running up the length of him before her hot, talented mouth enveloped his straining member...

His body tensed as forgotten, yet glorious sensations grew within him, then he made the mistake of opening his eyes and he glimpsed the blonde head bobbing between his thighs. 

His erection withered and died. The blonde’s head rose. He looked into her face and she met his eyes, confusion scored her pretty features.