Dicing with the Dangerous Lord. Margaret McPheeЧитать онлайн книгу.
met his one last time before moving to Razeby. ‘Lord Razeby.’ And as she passed Linwood she leaned close enough to smell his cologne and whispered softly for his ears alone, ‘Until the next time, my lord.’
She walked past Razeby into the green room, without a backward glance at either man, even though she could feel the weight of both their gazes following her.
And just like that, the matter was begun.
Chapter Two
Venetia’s heart was still thudding too fast as she closed the door behind her and made her way across the room.
What had just happened between her and Linwood was something which, despite all the men she had dealt with, Venetia had never experienced before. Linwood was not what she had expected. Yes, he was most definitely dark and dangerous, but there was something about him. Something both disturbing and fascinating. She quashed the thought in its inception, unwilling to admit even to herself exactly what it was she had felt on looking into Lord Linwood’s eyes. It was too late to change her mind, and even were it not, she had no intention of turning away from this. The first step of the plan had been completed. She and Linwood were introduced. The seed had been sown. It had begun. And the next time it would be easier… now that she knew what she was up against.
‘Are you all right, Venetia?’ Alice whispered by her side, her eyes scanning her face.
Venetia smoothed her expression into its small calm smile, betraying nothing of her thoughts. ‘Of course.’
‘Hawick and Devlin have competition tonight.’ Alice gestured with her eyes to the corner of the room. ‘More admirers.’
Venetia followed her friend’s gaze over to the group of gentlemen waiting there, some holding large bouquets of flowers, others clutching bottles of champagne. Their faces were flushed from too much drink, their eyes arrogant and eager and lustful as they met hers. Men used to using women, men used to holding all the power. Men over whom she now held power of a sort. Walking away was not an option. Not for any actress, least of all for her. She had not lied to Linwood in that respect. Just the thought of him sent ripples of unease spreading through her, like a pebble thrown into a still lake.
As if summoned by her thoughts she saw Linwood and Razeby slip back into the room from the balcony. Linwood’s dark gaze sought hers across the room. She met his eyes and held them for just a second longer than was decent. Her heart missed a beat, stuttered, but no one in the room would have known. She was as poised and confident as ever she was—an act perfected by years of practice and determination.
He drew her the slightest incline of the head in acknowledgement.
And in return she let the hint of a smile play on her lips before deliberately turning her attention to Alice while he still watched.
‘They’re coming over.’ Alice’s focus was fixed on the gentlemen in the corner.
Venetia nodded. This was her job and she was good at it. It paid her well—very well—and let her run her own life. With a single look she could quell a conversation when it had overstepped the mark, and stay a wandering hand. She sparkled and enticed and then enforced her limits with an iron hand and was trying to teach Alice the same.
‘Have a care over Quigley, he is not so harmless as he appears,’ she whispered the warning to her friend. Pushing Linwood from her mind, Venetia turned to face the men and the rest of the night.
It was at Viscount Bullford’s ball two nights later that Linwood saw the enigmatic Venetia Fox again. He watched her in the ballroom, with her almond-shaped eyes, smiling that small seductive smile. There was definitely something fluid and feline in the way she moved. Men watched her with greedy eyes of which she was either unaware or did not care. She appeared relaxed, polished, comfortable in her own skin; seductive, but not in the way he had thought she would be. Not blatant and too readily available. Rather, tantalising but untouchable. The dress she wore was the colour of a glass of red wine held up and viewed before firelight—a deep translucent red that made the darkness of her hair only darker and the whiteness of her skin a shimmering pearl pallor.
He watched her manage Razeby and Monteith, Bullford and Devlin, and even Hawick, flirting with each of them in turn, if it could be called that, for despite the smoulder in her eyes he noticed that she kept each one at arm’s length. Venetia Fox was very much in control of the situation. And although every man in the room was panting after her, she allowed not one of them to touch her as they must have been longing to. No wonder men were willing to bid so highly for her. And then he remembered what she had said of illusion and this flirtatious socialising being a part of her job. It was a dangerous game for any woman to play, but especially for one as beautiful as Venetia Fox.
He watched her because she was fascinating. He watched her because she was the only thing in all of these weeks past that, for the few moments he had been with her, had stopped him thinking of other, darker, things. It was the reason he was here tonight. She was the reason he was here tonight. Not that he had any intention of taking this flirtation any further.
Her gaze met his across the room and held for just that moment too long before she turned it back to the man with whom she was speaking.
He waited until she slipped out onto the balcony before following her. She was standing there, staring out over the moonlit garden when he appeared. He did not say a word, just walked up and leaned on the balustrade’s stone coping just along from her and looked out over the garden.
‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ she said without looking round and he could hear the tease in her voice. ‘People will start to gossip.’
‘Are you afraid of gossip?’
‘On the contrary, you know that I am obliged to court it.’
‘Then you should be glad that I am here.’
‘Should I, indeed?’ She turned her head and looked at him then. There was an edge to the words that made him unsure if she were glad or angry to see him. Her eyes held his and there was a certain coolness in them before it faded. He watched her gaze drop to his hat and gloves he carried in one hand and his cane in the other. She arched a sultry brow as if questioning if he meant to leave.
He set them down on the flat coping surface before him.
She returned her gaze to wander over the darkness of the garden, but not before he saw the small satisfied curve of her lips. They were not the small rosebud lips so sought in women, but full, passionate lips that reminded a man of the erotic pleasures a woman’s mouth could bring.
‘Another refuge?’ he asked.
‘You know all my secrets, Lord Linwood.’
‘Not all.’
‘No, not all,’ she said as she turned to look into his face. He saw something flicker in her eyes, something that was not quite in keeping with the rest of her, something which he could not quite discern. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. ‘And I do have so many.’
‘I am intrigued, Miss Fox.’ It was the truth. She was the most celebrated and coveted actress in all London. Bewitching. Beguiling. Yet cool. Her reputation preceded her. Linwood had never met a woman like her.
‘By my secrets or by me?’
‘Both. But I thought you desired flattery to be confined to the green room.’
She laughed, her eyes silver in the moonlight beneath the dark elegant curve of her brows, her skin pale and perfect as porcelain. ‘I will tell you one of mine if you tell me one of yours.’ Her voice was husky and as alluring as that of a siren. Her gaze held his boldly. The sensual tension tightened as the silence stretched between them.
All around them was darkness, as dense and black as the secrets he carried in his heart, secrets that he would take to his grave rather than spill.
‘Would you really, Miss Fox? Tell me your darkest secret in exchange for mine?’
She