Regency Surrender: Ruthless Rakes: Rake Most Likely to Seduce / Rake Most Likely to Sin. Bronwyn Scott
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find it. Louisa von Haas would be more than accommodating. He took her hand and kissed the gloved knuckles. ‘Now you see why it is best that we part ways for the evening. Get in the gondola and go.’
* * *
She’d not seen the dismissal coming! What a fool she’d been to be taken so unaware. She’d thought they were making progress in the church—well, perhaps not ‘they’, but certainly she was in her attempt to draw him close.
Gianna drew off her gloves and threw them on the small table next to the door. Apparently kissing a woman up against a church wall was all in a night’s work for Nolan Gray. Which might explain why he was capable of walking away from it without as much as a backward glance. There was another explanation, too. He had simply seen her coming, strategy and all. He’d been wary of her motives from the start.
Gianna trailed her cloak over the back of a chair, its haphazard drape ruining the perfection of the room. Someone had been here after they’d left to clear the dinner things, to turn down the lamps. In the bedroom, someone had turned down the bed and laid out the silky nightgown. Nolan Gray must indeed be paying them a fortune for the flawless service he received, proof enough that she wasn’t beggaring him with her dinner and dresses. Proof enough, too, that he didn’t need the card game in the way he suggested. But he had needed it in other ways. He’d needed the distance. If he had walked away, it hadn’t been without some effort. There was consolation in that.
She should be glad for his restraint—if that’s what it could be called. There’d been nothing restrained about the encounter until the end. What had happened in the church had affected them both. Gianna changed into the nightgown, the slide of silk against her body reminding her of other touches, of his hand on her breast, his mouth on her neck, on her mouth, and how her body had thrilled to his touch wherever it had been, she had thrilled to him in other places, too, that had gone untouched by his hands but not untouched by his words. I want to put my mouth on you, here and here and here... Even now those words could recall the thrill they had raised.
She faced herself in the mirror, her hands moving to cup her breasts, through the silk of the nightgown, lifting them, running her thumbs over the peaks, feeling them rouse a little like they had for him, but it was only a mere facsimile of the truth he’d wrung from them, from her.
That truth still seared her. She’d not wanted him to stay for the sake of her game—the game didn’t need him to stay. She already had his consent. He’d burgle the count’s house without it. He’d pledged his help in return for her leaving, not for sex, not for pleasure, not for the liberties he could take against a church wall. Staying was something she wanted for herself alone. She wanted more of what had happened against the church wall, more of his mouth, more of his hands, more of his body pressed indecently against her, his need for her evident in the bold erection he’d made no attempt to hide.
Perhaps it was her curiosity that had driven her wild as much as his mouth. Maybe she was her own worst enemy in her efforts to resist his lures or were those lures really cautions? Tonight had been meant to warn her away, but it had only served to heighten the complex pull she felt when she was with him.
He had cautioned her to make up her mind, to lay down her weapon and seek pleasure instead, and yet she felt those words suited him as well. He was not without his own conundrum. He wanted her and he wanted her to leave. He could not have both. It made her wonder what sort of plans he had? Did a real mistress await him? Was he looking forward to her leaving? She hoped he’d regret the thought of her leaving a little, otherwise her next revelation might come as an unpleasant surprise.
Gianna slid beneath the covers of the big bed. She didn’t dare think beyond tomorrow night and the masquerade. She would focus on the jewel box. Once she had it, then, and only then, would she think about the next item. She’d seen too many people tripped up by looking too far ahead. It was better to focus on the immediate future. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the hour. She blew out the lamp beside the bed, leaned back against the pillows and said her prayers. They were very simple ones, ones she’d prayed every night since her mother passed away. Please let Giovanni be safe. Please let me be enough.
* * *
The clock chimed two in the morning and Count Agostino Minotto ran a hand across the chessboard, scattering the pieces in play on the floor. ‘Basta! Enough!’ He could hardly concentrate on the game, so distracted was he by Gianna’s absence. What was she doing? Was she still in the city? Had she enticed the Englishman to help her? Had she slept with the English bastard? If she’d done any of it, it was all his fault. He’d let her slip through his fingers with that wager.
His opponent, the decadently handsome, dark-haired Romano Lippi, merely laughed. ‘She’ll be back.’ Romano bent down to pick up the pieces. He set the queen back on her square. ‘The Englishman will return her when he is done with her. It’s only been a day.’
The count grunted and said nothing. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He’d thought to frighten her into accepting his proposal. He’d imagined putting the wager to her and watching her beg him not to do it, watching her bargain anything not to be sent away, even marriage to him, which would give him everything he wanted. He was well aware she didn’t like him, didn’t trust him. But better the devil you know. Or so he’d thought. But Gianna hadn’t quivered, not once. She’d merely marched off with the Englishman.
‘You’re just upset she preferred a stranger over you.’ Romano poured each of them another drink.
Hell, yes, he was upset. He took a long swallow. He’d misjudged her. She’d called his bluff and allowed him to wager her instead of crying and begging. Even then, he hadn’t worried. He had had a good hand, one that should win. He wouldn’t really lose her. He’d only meant to scare her. Then that Englishman had laid down an unbeatable hand. Now she was gone.
He didn’t regret what he might have doomed her to. He was hardly bothered about the fact that he might have sent his ward to lie with a stranger. He was bothered that she’d slipped out of his control. For all intents and purposes, she was loose in Venice, able to cultivate an ally in the Englishman if she wished to, able to strike back at him if he didn’t strike out at her first. To be honest, it did make him nervous. There was a small fortune and jewels at stake that would see him through for some years.
If she remained free for four weeks, all of her money would be hers. He would lose every last bit of control, everything he’d worked for in the past five years. That would set a domino effect in motion. He would lose the palazzo, he would become a barnabotti—a nobleman with no funds—as he had been before Gianna’s mother had presented with him with an opportunity he couldn’t refuse.
The count fingered a pawn and set it down. She might have her freedom, but it would cost her. He’d given Gianna twenty-four hours to decide her fate: return to him or run. She had chosen to remain at large. What happened next would be on her head. Tomorrow, he would send the letter that would decide Giovanni’s fate. As long as he controlled her brother, he could still force her hand. He gave Romano a long, lingering look that Romano returned before rising and coming to massage his shoulders. Agostino sighed and let the tension go. He understood Romano, Romano was easy to please: money and attention were all he required. But women were damnably frustrating creatures.
Nolan had not been this frustrated by a woman since his first mistress at twenty-one. Olivia Donati, an opera singer. Perhaps it was no coincidence that she, too, was Italian. Maybe it was only Italian women who were frustrating. He’d spent the early morning walking the city, thinking, and now his feet had brought him back to the hotel. Nolan took a seat out of doors at one of the cafés near the hotel and signalled for a coffee. He couldn’t go up yet to Gianna without any answers.
The coffee was rich and hot and Nolan savoured the warmth curling around his hands. It had been a cold walk and not one he’d planned to take. After cards, his body had still been far too primed to come back to the hotel. Neither had