My Lady's Dare. Gayle Wilson

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      In the end, the margin was very narrow, only a few points separating the totals, but Bonnet had won the first hand.

      “I believe your luck may indeed have changed,” Dare said. He was smiling. Of course, the Frenchman’s victory in this hand had not been so great that it could not be overcome on the next.

      “I think you’re right, my lord,” Bonnet said.

      His eyes found Elizabeth’s face. She schooled her features to indifference, but in truth, she knew she should be glad the Frenchman was winning. Life would be far easier for her if he were in a better mood.

      Judging by his attire and by the deference with which Bonnet had treated him, the Earl of Dare could afford to lose. He could bear this loss, and if he did, then she might not have to bear the brunt of the Frenchman’s anger.

      As the game unfolded, however, the lead went back and forth, the narrow margin that separated the two opponents making it impossible to predict a final victory for one or the other. It was full day now, and several of the gentlemen had indicated by the impatience of their postures, if by nothing else, that it was past time to leave. Everyone was reluctant, however, to cause any loss of concentration by the players at this critical juncture. And then suddenly, as so often happened with the fickle cards, it was over.

      “My hand,” the Earl of Dare said again. “The game as well, I believe. An unfortunate discard brought you down, I’m afraid, Monsieur Bonnet. But then, knowing what to discard and when to do so is often tricky.”

      Bonnet’s eyes rose to Elizabeth, and believing he wanted verification of the nobleman’s calculation, she gave it.

      “The earl’s hand by thirty points. And the game,” she said.

      “It seems the lady has indeed brought you good fortune, my lord,” Bonnet said.

      Elizabeth was surprised by the equanimity with which the gambler was dealing with his loss. She had expected rage. She knew that what he had told the earl was the truth. Everything Bonnet had was tied up in this house. And now…

      “I wish you well of her,” the Frenchman added.

      The phrase reverberated strangely in Elizabeth’s consciousness. It made no sense in the context of his congratulations. Why would he wish Dare “well of her”?

      “And good riddance,” the gambler added softly in French, his eyes meeting hers. And then his tone changed, as did his language. “Gentlemen,” he said, speaking to his guests in English, “it has, as always, been a pleasure to entertain you. I hope you will all return tomorrow night. Since the earl has been so kind as to leave me my house, play will resume then. And I especially look forward to the opportunity of another encounter with you, my Lord Dare.”

      The earl had risen. He gathered the notes that lay scattered across the table and stacked them together before he shoved the thick wad into the pocket of his coat.

      “The pleasure was mine,” Dare said. “And as for a return engagement…” His eyes found Elizabeth’s face. “Anything is possible, of course, but I believe I’ve won already the best your house has to offer.”

      “I wish you joy of her, my lord. Be warned. She’s headstrong and occasionally needs a firm hand.”

      “Indeed?” Dare said, his eyes still on her face. “Such as the one you applied?” he asked softly.

      Slowly realization began to dawn for Elizabeth. They were talking about her as if…

      The Earl of Dare presented his arm. She stared at him, her mind racing. “Madam?” he said.

      “What does this mean?” she asked, breathless with anxiety.

      “I have won you. I trust you have no objections.”

      “Won me?” she repeated. “I’m not a thing that might be won, my lord.”

      “It was my understanding from Monsieur Bonnet that you are. And as a result of that understanding, I have just…won you.”

      “No,” she said softly, appealing to the Frenchman. “Tell him, Henri, that he is—”

      “A long-standing rule of the house, my dear,” the Frenchman interrupted. “Whatever a gentleman wishes to wager is allowed—if the value is deemed appropriate. Apparently the earl believed your value to be…appropriate.”

      “You wagered me?” she asked, her voice incredulous.

      “You were the stake Lord Dare required.”

      “But surely you can’t mean…” she began, and then her voice faltered, the words dying away. She didn’t understand what Bonnet was up to, but she knew him well enough by now to know there was more to this than appeared on the surface. And the less she said that might endanger his plans the better it would be for her.

      “Come, Mrs. Carstairs. I’m not usually considered to be such an ogre as all this,” Dare said lazily.

      His eyes again examined the place where Bonnet had struck her. By now, she supposed her cheek would have begun to discolor. Her mouth was very sore where the flesh had cut against her teeth.

      Then the earl’s eyes fastened once more on hers. In them was a question. He believed he was offering her escape. A way to leave Bonnet’s cruelty behind. And he was naturally curious as to why she wasn’t more eager to accept it.

      “The unknown is always more frightening than the known, my lord,” she said very softly, “no matter how…unpleasant the known may be.”

      “Frightening?” he repeated, his beautifully shaped lips tilting at the corners. “I’m quite sure that I have never before been considered frightening. And I promise I shall endeavor to make your stay with me at least as pleasant as your ‘service’ has been here.”

      It was the same word Bonnet had used at the beginning of the evening. Her service. Never before had the gambler made that offer, and when he had done so tonight, her fury had almost escaped her control. In her situation, she could never afford to let that happen.

      “I’m sure the earl will treat you with every consideration, my dear,” Bonnet said. “I wish you well.”

      And with those words, it seemed she would have to be content, her own questions unanswered. At least for tonight.

      Dare was still looking at her. She turned her head, and he smiled at her again, his blue eyes full of curiosity. Perhaps even kindness.

      Elizabeth Carstairs, however, no longer believed in kindness. Or in men who acted from altruistic motives. She knew very well what had prompted the Earl of Dare to demand that Bonnet make her his stake tonight. Therefore, she knew exactly what to expect from him. And she also knew there was nothing she could do except acquiesce. Not if this was what Bonnet wanted.

      “Come, Mrs. Carstairs,” the earl said again.

      The smile was gone, and although the words were soft, they were obviously a command. And so she placed her hand on the Earl of Dare’s arm, and this time, despite her dread, she was pleased to find that, through an enormous act of will, it did not tremble.

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