The Courtesan's Wager by Claudia Dain Page A

surprise, it did not look a pleasant one. Cranleigh slid his gaze to the butler and felt his pulse pound against his temples. “Are you all at home, then? Lord Iveston as well?” she asked sweetly, her blue eyes meeting his briefly.
    “Lord Iveston is engaged at present, Lady Amelia. You shall be forced to make do with me, I’m afraid,” he said, taking a step toward her. She took a step away from him, toward the front door, an awkward little dance between them. The butler looked on, stone-faced.
    “Forced, Lord Cranleigh? That does sound a bit like you, I’m afraid,” she said stiffly, straightening the seam on her left glove, avoiding his eyes. “You don’t expect Lord Iveston to be available, then?”
    “Not in the next few minutes, no,” he gritted out between his teeth.
    “How very disappointing,” she said, lifting her chin and staring him fully in the face for the first time. Most irregular behavior for her and wandering very nearly into being not entirely proper. How peculiar. He could not think what had changed in the past day or so to make her behave so boldly.
    Ah, but how stupid. Of course. Her cousin had married his brother. How difficult would it be for her to marry Iveston now?
    More difficult than she dared to imagine.
    “I’m certain it must be,” he said coldly.
    “Are you?” she said, her voice catching in her throat. She coughed lightly and said, “Excuse me, I was merely going to ask if the rumor of your returning to sea is true?”
    “It is quite true.”
    “How very intriguing,” she said, her gaze wandering from his to survey the room behind him. Likely planning how she’d change the wallpaper once she was Duchess of Hyde, blasted snip of a girl. “I had no idea you were so taken with life aboard ship, Lord Cranleigh. What is it that draws you?”
    “The complete absence of women?” he asked crisply. When her gaze returned to his, her blue eyes sharp with rebuke, he added, “A poor jest. Your pardon.” Without waiting for her to grant him pardon or not, he continued. “Adventure awaits me there, Lady Amelia. I would grab hold of it. A man cannot drift upon the waves like so much flotsam, his plans shifting upon the tides.”
    “I understand completely, Lord Cranleigh,” she said pleasantly, her eyes once again on his face, holding his gaze. His pulse hammered. He quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere, to the butler’s feet, in fact. “It is, I fear to inform you, much the same for a woman. Drifting is not a desirable choice. Anything is preferable, wouldn’t you say?”
    “I would,” he said.
    “We have an accord. How pleasant. Shall I risk it by stating that a woman must grab hold as well?”
    “Grab hold of what, Lady Amelia?” he asked.
    “What would you suppose, Lord Cranleigh?” She looked at the room around him, at the high plastered ceiling and the richly colored walls and the fine furnishings. She took her time about it, too, cataloguing the place that she clearly wanted for her own. And then she looked straight into his eyes, her crystalline gaze quite clear, and said, “Why, grab hold of a husband, Lord Cranleigh. What else is there for a woman to grab? In fact, I have an appointment with the Duke of Calbourne in a few hours and I must make haste. Good day.”
    And with that she was out the door before he could think of a response, verbal or otherwise.

Six
    T HE Duke of Calbourne had lost a wager to Lady Dalby and because of that, he came very near to whistling whilst being dressed by his valet.
    An intimate supper with Sophia Dalby had been the terms of the wager. Hardly a wager he was dejected about losing. He would dine, charm, and woo. He would, if things went well, find himself in her bed. Just one night, one tumble, was all he asked. That he had, at his advanced age of thirty, managed to miss seducing Sophia Dalby was not to be borne a moment longer. He was a duke. He did have his reputation to think of.
    And because Calbourne, of all things, had