Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes. Bronwyn Scott

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      A knock sounded at the door, and Gianna moved to answer it, favouring him with a chance to watch the grey silk move over her curves. Apparently, the session with Signora Montefiori had gone well.

      The facchini stepped in with trays and laid the rest of the table with quick efficiency. Covers were removed, a second round of champagne was poured, bread was sliced in advance. Gianna dismissed the porters and stepped towards the table, holding a hand out to him in invitation, her voice husky. ‘Will you come and dine with me?’ She might as well have said, Come to bed with me.

      Her eyes were on him. He felt his body start to fire with arousal. Direct eye contact with a woman who knew her own mind had always turned him on. Tonight was proving to be no exception. She was all Eve with the apple, tempting him to believe in the mirage she’d created—this elegant domesticity mixed with sophisticated intimacy. He found her intoxicating, this beautiful woman in grey, who had so effortlessly taken charge of the setting. It conjured up thoughts of other settings in which she might take charge; what would it be like to take such a woman to bed? Would she take charge of her own pleasure? Would she take charge of his? It was certainly probable. His cock recalled the feel of her hand on him and his body raced at the prospect of such possibility.

      He joined her at the table, holding out a chair for her, thankful for the shadows that disguised his response to the fantasy she’d created. ‘Everything looks delicious.’ The compliment was designed to encompass more than the food, although everything on the table was in fact his favourites—the trota al burro, the thin strands of angel-hair pasta, the careful geometric piles of white polenta and at the centre of it all was the bowl of steaming go risotto.

      Of course, the kitchen had all of his favourites on file. All one had to do was ask the kitchen what Signor Gray liked to eat. He was known throughout the markets of Venice for his love of Venetian seafood. It wasn’t the resourcefulness that touched him, it was her thoughtfulness. She’d gone to the trouble of asking. If she even guessed how compelling he found that little courtesy, he’d be entirely vulnerable despite his rather healthy layer of cynicism. Oh, it would be very prudent indeed to expedite their association as quickly as possible if this was her effect on him. Randy, well-fed men didn’t always think with their brains. He was on the verge of becoming both, a very dangerous fate considering he lived by his wits.

      ‘More champagne?’ She poured him the rest of the bottle and then opened another. ‘You have fallen in love with our seafood, it would seem. The lagoon is a fisherman’s paradise. But the risotto dish is hardly rich man’s fare.’

      ‘Perhaps that’s why I like it.’ Nolan sat back in his chair, letting his food settle. ‘Or perhaps it’s the risk in it that appeals to me. I’m a gambler by trade, I thrive on it. Once, on Burano, I saw someone make the go risotto. I saw the chefs carefully prepare the go fish so that they didn’t ruin the broth, I saw the risotto flipped in the air for aeration. There were so many variables needed to make perfection.’

      He watched her take in his words, unravel their meaning. Her hand stilled on the stem of her flute. Did she know she did that? Whenever she felt caught, her body stilled while she gathered her mental resources. It was her tell. Everyone had them. Some just hid them better than others. He pitched his voice low, caressing each word deliberately. ‘One false move, one missed step, and the dish becomes disaster.’

      Her hand came up and played with the pearl drop that lay just below her throat. Nolan’s hand itched to take its place. Perhaps she’d made the gesture on purpose to distract him, to redirect his thoughts. He could almost feel the pearl in his hand. It would be warm from the heat of her body. It would be a natural progression of movement to draw a finger down the column of her throat to the shadow between her breasts. As lovely as this interlude was, he needed to end it before he was entirely at her mercy.

      ‘Is that what we’re doing tonight, Gianna? Making perfection? If so, a man has to wonder why?’

      Everything had been going perfectly until now. She’d known from the outset Nolan would have to be massaged into compliance, but she’d not guessed it would be over this. These—the dinner, the dress, the direct looks—were all designed to ensure his compliance, not to rouse his suspicions. They were supposed to help her avoid suspicion and now, her efforts had accomplished the very opposite of her intentions.

      She’d left nothing to chance: not the foods for dinner, not the temperature of the champagne, nor any aspect of her appearance seen or unseen from the elegant fall of the grey evening gown Signora Monte­fiori had left to the silky undergarments beneath, compliments of an unclaimed wedding trousseau. And it still wasn’t enough.

      Nolan leaned across the table, his eyes on her, dark and serious, his sharp mind already a step ahead of her. ‘Is this about the count, Gianna? If so, it’s wasted effort. I’ve already pledged my assistance.’ He paused. ‘Unless there is something you haven’t told me? Does this have to do with the item we need to retrieve?’

      The truth was her only option. This was not a question she could answer with a pretty dress or champagne or silky undergarments. ‘Retrieving it will be a delicate task, one that will require some stealth...’ Gianna began, watching Nolan raise an eyebrow. At least he hadn’t thrown her out for what she implied.

      ‘Is there any chance in this discussion that you have substituted the words “retrieving” and “stealth” for “stealing”?’ Nolan swallowed the last of his champagne, giving every appearance of a man who was making usual conversation over dinner.

      ‘No.’ She was on definite ground here. ‘It is mine, legally.’ More legally in four weeks, but it had been willed to her and that made it hers no matter what her age. ‘But the count will be reluctant to give it up.’ The count’s reluctance stemmed from a different reason than hers. He wanted the item for its overtly displayed contents and what money they could bring. She wanted it for what it hid, for what it protected. Those secrets were still safe. The count would not have proposed otherwise—there would have been no reason to.

      ‘May I infer that we will not be able to simply ask him for it?’ Nolan pushed back from the table to give himself room to cross one long leg over another. ‘We will have to take it? Will the sight of my knife be suitable enough force for him to concede the object?’

      Gianna set her jaw. He knew very well it wouldn’t be. There were just two of them. They could not lay siege in broad daylight to the count’s palazzo simply by walking in. His footmen, all burly, highly trained brutes, would evict them in short order, or at least evict Nolan. They might not let her go. The thought of being trapped in that house again made her shudder. ‘It is important that he not know we have it.’ The longer her ‘retrieval’ of the item went unnoticed the better. She would not hesitate to use it as leverage later. But without it, she would have nothing to bargain with.

      ‘You’re asking me to burgle the count’s house?’ Nolan’s tone registered a certain amount of incredulity.

      ‘I’m not asking you to do it alone,’ Gianna answered swiftly. ‘I’ll be there with you.’ She’d meant it as encouragement, but, yes, she was asking him to break into the count’s house. ‘I have a plan.’ As if that made it better. She rose from the table. ‘We need to go tonight, while the count is out. His staff will have the evening off.’

      Nolan’s hand closed about her wrist, the steel of his voice matching the steel of his grip, his answer firm. ‘No.’

      For the first time, Gianna began to panic. He couldn’t refuse. He simply couldn’t. She’d not allowed herself to contemplate what to do if he said no. She’d been so sure. Everything hinged СКАЧАТЬ