Candice Hern by Lady Be Bad Page B

not in fact checked her own Bible. She had not known the truth. Had she been so confident? Poor self-righteous little prig. She was in for a set-down.
    "Read it," he repeated. "Proverbs sixteen, verse eighteen."
    "I have done so." She did not look up or open her eyes.
    "Aloud, if you please."
    She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and read: "'Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.'"
    He grinned broadly. "I believe I have won our wager, Mrs. Marlowe. Wouldn't you agree? I have come to collect my winnings."
    He stepped toward her, and she backed away, putting both hands in front of her, palms out, in a halting gesture. "No!"
    Rochdale arched an eyebrow. "You will not honor your bargain, ma'am? A good Christian woman like you, defaulting on a promise? Tsk , tsk , Mrs. Marlowe. You shock me."
    She waved her hands at him, still backing away toward the door. "No, no. I ... I will honor my promise. You were right about the verse."
    She muttered something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like Damn you . He chuckled. The bishop's widow was piqued into blasphemy. He reached for her again. "Then you must allow me to have my prize."
    "No, not now." She was trying her damnedest to remain cool and aloof, but Rochdale saw the agitation beneath the calm. "I have guests. I cannot ... cannot be kissing you now and return to them looking ..."
    "Like you'd been kissed?"
    "Yes! You unnerve me, Lord Rochdale, as I'm sure you know. I will settle our wager, since I am honor-bound to do so, but not now, please. It is a meeting of the trustees of the Benevolent Widows Fund and I must get back to them. We have much to do to prepare for our ball next week. It is the final charity ball of the season, our most important event. You must excuse me, my lord. I must go."
    Aha. The other charity widows were there. Rochdale had learned, quite by accident, about a little pact among those ladies. His friend Cazenove had been in his cups one night, furious with Marianne Nesbitt for refusing his initial marriage proposal. The fellow became so foxed he probably had no idea he had let so many secrets drop. The most intriguing one involved a conversation he'd overheard at Ossing Park that indicated the charity widows had more on their minds than fund-raising. It seemed the ladies were determined not to re-marry, and instead had set out to find the best lovers in town, and then to share every private detail with one another.
    Cazenove had been livid that he was to be a pleasure toy and not a husband. Eventually, however, Marianne had relented and they were now married. Lady Somerfield had singled out Thayne, who had not been thrilled to learn the truth from Rochdale, to discover he'd been used and his sexual technique discussed with the other widows. Lady Gosforth was toying with Eustace Tolliver, and Rochdale had no inclination to warn the man, whom he did not like. And Wilhelmina, who used to toss around her favors with abandon before she became a duchess, had grown more circumspect, and more selective, and seemed to be angling after Ingleby.
    And then there was Grace Marlowe. Rochdale was certain she had not taken a lover — yet — but her association with the other woman meant she'd at least listened to tales of their sexual games. Perhaps she was even titillated by them. Enough so that when an opportunity to have a lover for her own presented itself, she just might be open to the idea.
    Had she already told them about last night and that blistering kiss in the carriage?
    "I will not keep you from your friends," he said. "But before I go, I should like to know when I can expect to get my kiss. When shall it be?"
    Her brow furrowed even as a blush rose in her cheeks. Lord, she was marvelous. So deliciously flustered and yet so proud. Rochdale hadn't had this much fun in years.
    She shook her head. "I don't know."
    "I do."
    Still frowning, she lifted her eyes to his. "You do?"
    "I believe I will collect my winnings at your