“You’re not stopping, surely,” Lady Letitia said, her breath coming in short little pants.
His penetrating cerulean gaze remained focused on Regina as he responded, “We agreed to one passage.”
“It can’t have been an entire passage, but merely a paragraph.”
He shifted his eyes to Lady Letitia and winked. “It’s best to always be kept wanting.”
Wanting and needing. He’d carried her to the brink countless times, left her to hover there until she thought she would die, and then he’d restored life to her with a cataclysm that never failed to leave her astonished and grateful nature so rewarded wickedness with such astounding pleasure.
Lady Letitia looked on the verge of weeping, before straightening her shoulders and announcing succinctly, with conviction, “I believe it is indeed a woman’s memoir—and she loves him still.”
“She never claimed to love him,” Knightly said.
“A woman can easily forget a man she does not love.” Then a knowing gleam was reflected in her eyes. “Do you recognize the meeting, Lord Knightly? Are you, in fact, Lord K?”
He laughed low, darkly, sending a shiver up Regina’s spine. “When we met during your coming-out ball, did I make you forget every man you’ve ever known, Lady Letitia?”
“That’s hardly an answer, my lord. Although I suppose in the one bit you read, clues are sadly lacking. It could be any ball. Any lady. Any gent. However, I am more determined than ever to get my hands on a copy.”
“Then I shall guard this one with my life.”
Their conversation irritated Regina, but she refused to analyze the reasons behind her annoyance. She no longer had any interest at all in Knightly—except to beat him at this game and rid him of his coins. She sighed mightily with impatience. “May we cease with the flirting now and play?” She didn’t wait for a response, but simply flipped a token into the center of the table. Thank the Lord, the others quickly followed suit and the dealer was soon distributing the cards.
But all the while, aware of Knightly studying her, she prayed she was not as easy to read as the tome.
It had been a mistake to come to this table. He’d known it would be. It seemed an eternity had passed since he’d been this close to Regina. Not since that morning in the church when he’d broken her heart. He should have kept his distance, honored the vow he’d made not to inflict his presence upon her.
But King and Bishop had departed for home, taking their lovely wives with them, women with whom they were no doubt at this very moment making mad, passionate love. Rook and Lawrence had decided to leave the club in search of a lady’s favor elsewhere.
Alone, Knight had begun riffling through the pages of the damned book, his gaze settling on a passage here or there, each bringing forth memories involving Regina he’d tenaciously tamped down.
Then deciding to leave, heading for the door, he’d spotted her at the table in the far corner. Not for the first time. As a matter of fact, knowing she might be there, he’d deliberately glanced in this direction, a punishment, a reminder of what he might have had if the truth of him had remained unknown. In the past, he’d taken a few seconds to bask in the sight of her before carrying on. Tonight, he’d only wanted to be nearer.
Her blond hair was artfully pinned up with a few strands left to dangle along her neck, to tease a man into wanting to replace those soft curls with his warm lips, knowing the silkiness that would greet him. He also knew the scent of gardenia would be waiting just behind her ear. On her wrists. And in the narrow valley between her breasts. Her emerald gown left her alabaster shoulders bared. They were no doubt dusted with some sort of powder because he couldn’t detect the three tiny freckles that had taunted him far too often, that he had kissed, envying the sun because it had kissed her there first.
He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful she was. To do so would be like forgetting the wonder of a midnight sky, the majesty of the vast blue ocean, or the prettiness of a butterfly. Even when they weren’t within one’s field of vision, it was easy to bring the images of them forth in one’s mind because at some point the sight of them had inhabited the soul.
Regina Leyland had long ago become part of him. Not carrying through on his promise to marry her had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, because he’d known it would ravage her—and she’d not deserved the devastating blow he’d been forced to deliver. He had struggled to find a way to soften the impact, but the destruction of a dream offers no easy solutions. He imagined the severing off of a limb would have brought each of them less pain and torment. He’d tried to replace her hurt with anger, hoping she’d be determined to carry on with her life, to show him that he didn’t really matter at all. She would find another to bring her joy and happiness. And she had. Traveling the Continent, scandalously sampling the men of each country if gossip was to be believed. Her father’s failing health had finally brought her home.
Oddly, while he’d gone to the front of the church and announced that she had come to her senses and realized he wouldn’t make a fitting husband—his reputation for enjoying the ladies was no secret—his esteem among the nobility had risen. He’d avoided being shackled to a lass of cloudy blue blood. Someone illegitimate, who would taint his own bloodlines. He’d been slapped on the back, bought drinks he’d not drunk, offered daughters’ hands he’d not accepted. Invitations to social gatherings had increased and he’d been sought after with an unbridled yet baffling diligence.
While she’d been left to suffer the brunt of the embarrassment and shame.
He’d thought it would fall to him, that he’d be ostracized for being proven unworthy. Instead, he’d been venerated.
However, he’d recently heard rumors she had an admirer and might soon be taking another trip to the altar, one that wouldn’t end in heartbreak, but the happily-ever-after she so deserved.
Selfish bastard that he was, Knight had wanted to be near her one more time. Wanted to defend the indefensible, explain the inexplainable. Hence there he was, sitting across from her while she concentrated on her cards as though they had the power to solve all the problems of the world . . . or perhaps to cause his demise.
“I’ve heard Viscount Chidding has begun calling upon you,” he said, laconically, striving to keep his true interest from inhabiting his tone.
Without taking her eyes from her cards, she set two down in front of the dealer, who promptly issued her replacements before moving on to Lady Letitia. “I imagine you hear a good many things.”
“He’s in debt.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re not bothered by his circumstance?”
Slowly she lifted her gaze until it clashed with his. “I’ve learned, my lord, there are far worse failings to be found in a man.”
Her tone had a sharp edge to it, one that was out of place coming from her tempting mouth. He did not look away, or argue the point, but took the cut as his due. Perhaps he’d been wrong to steer clear of her, to deny her opportunities to put him in his place and enjoy her small victories.
“My lord?” the dealer prodded.
Forcing himself to break the hold of her gaze, Knight glanced over the table, noting two of the players had folded. His hand was atrocious, and he should follow suit, but he wasn’t yet ready to admit defeat. He cast off three cards, hoping for a miracle. Although years earlier he’d learned hope was not a strategy, and it proved true this time.