Bronwyn Scott - London's Most Wanted Rake

‘Your partner has led the ten of hearts, Mrs White has followed with the jack,’ Seymour supplied helpfully with a touch of the patronising in his tone.

Alina kept her tongue in check. There were things she’d like to say to that tone, but demure was the watchword for tonight. If last night had been more dramatic, tonight was about showing a slightly softer side to the comtesse. Seymour might be more open to the tragic, exposed French comtesse. Goodness knew he had a penchant for helpless women.

Channing kicked her again under the table. This time it had nothing to do with wool-gathering. He knew she was out of hearts and wanted her to trump the trick so she could lead back with a spade that played to his voided suit. Alina would have sluffed a club just to be irritating if she thought he wouldn’t risk another kick. Her shin was likely to be black and blue tomorrow if he kept it up and she was already sore from her fall in the stream. But Channing was competitive and she was, too. If she had to choose between giving in to Channing or losing to Seymour, she’d choose the former. Alina tossed down the trump.

* * *

‘That gives us the second game,’ Channing declared an hour later, setting down the pencil beside the score pad. They’d won the first game, too, although it had been close. Mrs White and Seymour had played well, or perhaps, Alina thought, she and Channing had played well enough to give the illusion of closeness. Around them, other games were breaking up and people were beginning to mill about the room, waiting for the evening tea cart.

Alina rose and smoothed the aquamarine folds of her skirts. ‘I thought I might take a stroll before tea. I’ve wanted a moment to admire the painting on the far wall.’ She gave Seymour a hopeful glance and played with her pearls, drawing the eye to her discreetly displayed expanse of bosom.

‘Might I accompany you?’ Seymour predictably offered.

‘I would like nothing better.’ Alina smiled coyly through her lie. There were a million things she’d like better, starting with seeing him deported for his crimes, both those he’d committed and the ones he’d meant to commit. How many young women had there been before he’d tried to marry her sister?

‘Are you enjoying the house party, comtesse?’ Seymour began with the usual small talk as they strolled the perimeter of the room. Others had followed suit, perhaps exploring potential new relationships formed at the picnic that afternoon.

‘Yes, very much. It’s a blessing to be away from town for a while.’ Alina sighed. ‘There’s so much business to take care of and I often fear I haven’t the head for it. What do I know of rents and crops? I know fashion and parties.’ She forced herself to brighten. ‘But those are my troubles, not yours. I should not burden you with them. It’s just that I didn’t think being alone would be so difficult.’ She let her words drop off, infused with a reflective tone while she waited to see if he would bite.

‘My dear comtesse, I know we are but new acquaintances. Still, I would offer my services. I cannot bear to see a lady in distress. I have some knowledge of land matters. If I could help, I would be glad to do so.’

Alina smiled softly as if she couldn’t believe her good luck. ‘I would be grateful. Your offer is most generous.’

The tea cart arrived shortly after that and Alina made sure to mingle carefully, not spending any more time in Seymour’s company although he was certainly willing to continue their association. It would be best to leave him wanting more. There was no need to appear too clingy, too desperate. Even snakes like Seymour appreciated a small show of strength. It served to make the appeal for assistance all the more sincere—here was a woman who didn’t ask for help often, but she’d asked him. He would be feeling quite assured. She was careful also to avoid Channing. No good would come of being too closely associated with him. It would make Seymour wonder why she’d simply not asked Channing for help, why seek out a stranger when Mr Deveril was prepared to dance attendance on her?

Channing was among the first wave of guests to head upstairs. She waited and exited with the last so that Seymour could clearly see she was unattached. Not that such visual evidence meant anything at house parties when one dissected the logic of it. Everyone knew there would be several furtive journeys in the dark to various bedrooms not one’s own before the sun rose.

Alina opened the door to her bedchamber and stifled a scream. She would not give Channing the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled her. The arrogant man hadn’t even bothered to be furtive. He’d come up and directly helped himself to her bed. There he lay, hands behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles and looking entirely too comfortable. She boiled to take him down a notch. ‘I think the rule is that you’re supposed to wait until the house settles for the night.’

Alina set down the lamp on the dressing table and crossed her arms. For all her bravado, she was startled to see him. After his lecture at the stream about the need to protect her reputation, this seemed to do the opposite. ‘Did anyone see you come in?’ She had just put the next step of her plan in motion and it depended on convincing Seymour she was alone.

‘Of course not,’ Channing scoffed at her worries, arrogant in his own way.

‘What are you doing here? I’m sure there’s nothing that can’t keep until morning.’ Alina unfastened her pearls. ‘Unless it is an apology for kicking me all night.’

Channing snorted. ‘I kicked you twice and you deserved it. You were flirting with Seymour. Which raised a burning question in my mind. I don’t think I could sleep without an answer.’

‘If I tell you, will you go away?’

Channing shrugged. ‘Maybe. This bed is pretty comfortable, though.’ He paused and fixed her with his gaze, the humour fading. ‘Why is it you insist on seeking out men you don’t like?’

There was a great riposte in that, but this was not the time for teasing. ‘What makes you so certain I don’t like Seymour?’ Alina slowly pulled the pins from her hair, gathering her thoughts. It was easier to think when she was doing something. There was less time for her brain to be distracted by the sight of Channing lying on her bed.

‘You wanted to eat him alive at cards tonight, not exactly an attitude that matched the soft colours, and innocent pearls.’ Ah, Channing had noticed. He was far too perceptive. ‘Whatever “business” you have with Seymour, I’m starting to think it’s not friendly.’ And now he was meddling, too, just as she’d feared.

She shook down her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders. Channing shifted on the bed. He was in a poor position to hide any effects of her toilette. Well, good, let him be the uncomfortable one for a change. ‘Are you going to come over and help me with my gown?’ She made a show of reaching for the impossible back fastenings.

Channing rose from the bed and came to her, standing close enough to smell, close enough to kiss. She thought she had him, aroused and distracted. Even in dark evening clothes, the former was evident. But apparently she hadn’t succeeded with the latter because his answer surprised her. ‘No. I am not going to help with that gown. We both know what will happen if I do. It won’t stop there.’ His words were a whisper between them, part anger, part a seduction of his own. ‘I don’t want you like this, Alina. I’m not a game. I will not be used.’

Alina would not retreat. Her arms went about his neck, her lips kissed his throat. ‘I thought you said those two weeks in France were the best of your life,’ she whispered.

‘They were, which is why I refuse to tarnish them with something like this,’ Channing growled, setting her away from him. ‘Not all men are like your husband, Alina. Not everyone can be manipulated with sexual favours, nor does everyone expect to be.’