Hot Silk (28 page)

Lord Beecham continued to study him. “I have no desire to fuck her. In truth, I would much rather play with you.”

“Why?” Peter was beyond politeness now.

“Because I have heard you have the luck of the devil at piquet and I would like to see if I can beat you.” He shrugged. “Of course, if you are too tired…”

Helene clapped her hands. “Peter, you must win Lord Beecham for me.” She blew a kiss at Lord Beecham. “If Peter succeeds in beating you, I’ll expect to see you in my bed tonight.”

To Peter’s surprise, Lord Beecham didn’t look as delighted as Helene might have expected. Perhaps he too had heard the rumors about what she did to her lovers. Peter thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a gold coin.

“I’ll play for you, Helene. Lord Beecham looks as if he might benefit from your erotic tuition.”

He hid a smile. Perhaps he could keep Helene happy and make it another condition of winning that Lord Beecham promised never to approach him again.

Helene beckoned to a footman, who brought over a new pack of cards. Lord Beecham broke the seal and started to sort out the pack.

“I must go and circulate, but please let me know what happens.” Helene kissed Peter’s cheek and left him facing his adversary. “I will also make certain that your friends don’t bother you again, Lord Beecham.”

Peter hoped she had seen the promise of retribution in his eyes. Her hasty departure indicated that she had. Lord Beecham glanced after her.

“She is a fascinating woman.”

“She is indeed.”

Lord Beecham shuffled the pack, his attention fixed on the play of the cards through his long fingers. “Have you bedded her?”

“I haven’t had that pleasure.”

“I hear she is a demanding bed partner.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “As I said, I wouldn’t know. But I’m sure you will soon have your answers, if you survive the night, that is.”

Lord Beecham stared at him, a challenge in his dark eyes. “You are so certain you will win then?”

“I very rarely lose.”

“But if you lose, will you take my place in Madame’s bed?”

“No. You will have to think of something else to claim as your prize.” Peter held up a sovereign and tossed the coin in the air. “Call.”

Lord Beecham called heads and won, which gave him the slight advantage and the right to deal. Peter accepted the cards he was dealt and settled back to review his hand.

By the time the first hand was played out, he discovered that Lord Beecham was an extremely capable and intelligent opponent. Not as good as he was, but certainly no amateur.

As they continued to play, their end of the salon emptied and the footman doused most of the candles, leaving them in a narrow pool of light. Brandy appeared at Peter’s elbow, and he worked his way steadily through the bottle. A clock chimed three in the hallway and he groaned. He had to be at his desk at eight sharp for an important meeting.

His remaining cards blurred in front of his eyes. What the hell was he doing? And why had it seemed so important to beat this particular man? His attention drifted to the silent, intent figure opposite him. Lord Beecham had discarded his coat and cravat and played his cards with the desperate skill and attention of a man risking his entire fortune. Was he really so anxious to avoid Helene’s bed?

“It is your turn, Mr. Howard.”

Jolted from his thoughts, Peter threw out a card at random. He couldn’t miss the flash of triumph on his opponent’s face.

“Mr. Howard, I believe I have beaten you.”

As Lord Beecham tallied the points, Peter resisted a childish desire to grab the parchment and check the numbers himself. He knew it had to be close but still couldn’t quite grasp that he had lost.

There was no sign of Madame Helene. Peter suspected she had found another willing lover and already retired to her suite. He pushed his blond hair back from his face.

“Perhaps I should’ve asked you exactly what you wanted from me before we started the game.”

For the first time since they started playing, Lord Beecham smiled. “It’s quite simple. I want more of your time.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“There is another proposition I wish to discuss with you in private. I require an hour of your time tomorrow night and your guarantee that you will hear me out.”

Peter stood up and gestured at the deserted salon. “We are alone. Tell me now and have done with it.”

Lord Beecham remained sprawled in his chair, his long muscled legs stretched out in front of him. He tilted his head back until he could see Peter’s face. His smile was slow and satisfied.

“I would prefer to talk to you tomorrow when we are both sober.”

Peter nodded abruptly. Despite his concerns he was too tired to argue. “I’ll be here at ten.”