Bronwyn Scott – Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes: Rake Most Likely to Seduce / Rake Most Likely to Sin (страница 12)

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ Nolan set aside his plate and took the offensive. Part of him was glad to see she was willing to put up a fight. Still, she would find he was not as easily played as all that. ‘You do not get to answer a question with a question and you absolutely do not get to make me the villain in this scenario.’

‘There can be more than one villain,’ she replied coolly.

‘There may be, but they are not me. I was your best choice at that table.’

‘Were you? That’s an arrogant statement.’

‘I did not ravish you. You are still in possession of your virginity,’ Nolan pointed out, enumerating his evidence on his fingers. ‘I doubt the other men at the table would have allowed you to keep it. Secondly, and more importantly, you are still in possession of the choice regarding who to give that particular feminine jewel to. Thirdly, I offered to set you free of the wager.’ He was well aware she had artfully manoeuvred him into defending himself. This was not what he wanted to discuss. He wanted to discuss the count and whatever arrangement she had with that blackguard.

She arched a dark eyebrow over her coffee, unimpressed with his accomplishments. ‘You are a veritable saint.’

‘Does that make you the martyr in this scenario, then? We’re quite the pair, the martyr and the saint.’ In all likelihood they were both liars, hardly candidates for such religious monikers. She wasn’t forced to play the suffering victim. He’d given her the choice and heaven knew he wasn’t anywhere near a saint when it came to her. She’d been stunning in his white shirt when she’d entered the room, the tails skimming the tops of her knees, leaving her long, slim legs bare to his gaze, urging a man to run up their length until they disappeared beneath the fabric and the eye was drawn to the curve of hip visible only to the discerning eye beneath the fine linen, and above that, the slope and swell of her breasts, provocative reminders that every inch of her was naked beneath his shirt.

He had to get this conversation back on track before his mind and body decided he didn’t need to play the gentleman. He could have her, he could seduce a ‘yes’ right out of her, right now, an hour at most and they could both be enjoying that big bed in the other room. But in the long run, that wasn’t what he wanted. There would be no thrill in conning her into sex. He wasn’t sixteen any more, cajoling a lonely widow into bed just to see if he could do it. These days, the more sophisticated thrill was in the choice, in being chosen.

Nolan recrossed his legs and tried a different tack. ‘You are only protecting him with your refusal to answer. I confess to finding that a rather odd strategy to adopt on behalf of someone who sold you against your will.’ Nolan feigned nonchalance and reached for another piece of toast.

‘If I were in your position, I’d be furious. I’d want revenge.’ He looked up from buttering the bread and knew a moment of sweet victory. He had shocked her. She was trying to hide it, but it was there in the stillness of her body. It was funny how people found the truth shocking, their own truths even more so when repeated back to them. ‘Is that why you want to stay? Do you think I will help you with your revenge?’ He took a self-satisfied crunch of his toast. He’d hit the target.

‘It’s not revenge, exactly. I just want what is mine.’ Sweet Heavens, the man was a mind reader. If she’d been a target, he’d have hit the bullseye and she didn’t like it one bit. He would be so much harder to manipulate if he knew what she was up to. She knew now that she’d been naïve last night when she’d thought her luck might be changing. But, no, she’d managed to be won by the only mind-reading card player in Venice, a man who could see right through her, linen shirt and all. And he was looking. He had been since she’d entered the room. He might not have ravished her, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. A smart woman would use that to her advantage. He might be a mind reader, but he was still a man.

‘I couldn’t possibly consider leaving Venice without that which is mine.’ She dropped her eyes at the last moment, a gesture that was demure and well practised from hours in front of the mirror, designed for precisely this sort of situation. She didn’t want this disclosure to be a challenge, she wanted it to be...compelling. She counted silently in her head. One, two, three, four...come on, bite.

‘Why would you leave Venice?’ Nolan said at last.

That was the wrong bite. She wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he be curious the way a normal man was curious? Anyone else would have asked what the count had that was hers, which was precisely the question she wanted him to ask. Only in retrospect did she see how she’d overplayed her hand. She should have said nothing about leaving Venice. It gave away too much, it invited too many questions, questions Nolan Gray was well on his way to asking and she didn’t want to answer.

She speared him with a disdainful look that said the answer was obvious. ‘I can’t possibly stay in a city where everyone knows my guardian wagered me in a card game.’

‘Where will you go? Do you have plans?’ he asked, calmly unfazed by her attempt cut him down to size. He was trying to test her truth and her resolve, wondering how much of this was made up. He folded his hands over the flat of his stomach with long slender fingers that gave his gestures a touch of elegance. Those hands had undressed her last night, those fingers had worked the buttons of her gown. They’d been competent and swift, reminders that he knew his way around a woman.

She infused her tone with a touch of hidden despair. ‘I don’t know where I’ll go. I can hardly think of such things before I have my resources to hand.’ She tried again to lure him into asking the question she wanted. She wanted him to offer, wanted his assistance to be his idea. Men worked better that way and she had no intentions of owing any man anything ever again. She wasn’t going to beg him to help her—then she would owe him. There would be a debt between them.

‘I could loan you the funds, gift them to you, if that would help,’ Nolan offered. He was so very eager to get rid of her. That was interesting in itself. She needed to remember that. Last night he’d offered her freedom and now he was offering her money. Therein lay her leverage. She could bargain with her absence. She would leave as soon as she had what she needed. He would quickly see that his help would expedite that.

Outwardly, she opted for genteel chagrin. ‘I am not asking you for money!’ She flung an arm towards the bedroom. ‘I have enough pearls on that ruined gown in there to see me on my way and then some.’ And that pride went before her fall. She could almost hear proverbial fabric ripping as she metaphorically tripped. Nolan wasted no time calling her out.

‘Yes, you most certainly do, not to mention the necklace and earbobs. A resourceful woman could turn those into a comfortable living if she were frugal.’ A wide smile took his face, mischief lit his silver eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking quite satisfied with himself. ‘It seems we’ve established you could indeed leave Venice tonight, despite your earlier claim to the contrary. Now, why don’t you tell me what your father has that you so desperately need?’

‘He is not my father.’ If she had to give up some truth, it might as well be this one. ‘He’s my stepfather and not a very good one. That’s the sort of man who would sell his daughter’s virginity to cover a bet.’ The same sort of man who would propose to his stepdaughter and then threaten her when she refused such an unholy alliance. But she was not about to tell Nolan Gray that. She didn’t have to. No doubt he already surmised there was more to it than the count’s random whim to wager her. Cataclysmic events didn’t happen in isolation. They occurred as end results of a sequence of events that led up to them.

An honest shadow of sadness passed through his eyes. ‘I am sorry.’ For a moment, they were no longer embattled opponents; she trying to hold on to her secrets, he trying to pry them loose. They were allies of a sort and in that moment. She sensed his compassion transcending their agendas, as if he knew what it had meant to live with the count. The compassion was there, just as it had been when he’d dragged her out of the canal, helped her out of her gown, saw to her bath, asking nothing for himself in exchange, not even that to which he was entitled on the base of the wager.

Those three words, I am sorry, were more compelling than any argument he could have made, and, oh, how they tempted her to spill every last secret. Which of course was what he wanted. Logic waved its red flag. That’s what he wanted you to believe last night, just as he wants that now. He is using it to sneak past your defences. Trust like love was a very dangerous thing to give.

‘I won’t send you back,’ he said in even tones that matched the firm set of his jaw. There was a steel in him that had not been there before and it did things to her stomach she couldn’t blame on the brandy. ‘But perhaps I won’t have to. Perhaps he will come looking for you?’ He asked it casually, but she was not fooled. There was a feral tension uncoiling in him. ‘Tell me, Gianna, is the count dangerous?’