Chapter Eight

October 1, 1812

McBarland's was full of smoke and noise by the time George had arrived, but that did not halt his progress. He'd been delayed by a rather dreary conversation with two of his footmen and a maid, all of them attempting to persuade him that Northrup, his butler, was a bad sort. He never gave them time off when needed. He made them work long hours. The maid swore her wages were short but could not, in fact, prove it, and had even balked when George had asked her to do so.

Some people would always seek to drag others down.

Finding a seat on the edges of the room, precisely where he could keep an eye on the door, George was rewarded for his patience.

There she was.

His whole body responded to the sight of Miss Dodo Loughty as she stepped through the door, pelisse tucked around her shoulders and head held high.

Dear God, but she was magnificent.

Dark hair. An elegant neck. Sparkling intelligence in her eyes that could not be falsified—this was a clever woman. A sense of calm and yet of tightly coiled curiosity that could spring forth at any moment. And a way with her… a way that was surely drawing the attention of every red-blooded male in the room.

George swallowed. There wasn't a part of his body that did not respond to Dodo—to Miss Loughty, as he would have to call her here.

And though he was no stranger to the sense of one's body responding with delight to the sight of a pretty woman, there was something different about the way his heart started thumping, the tension in his thighs as he forced himself not to rise, the way his head span.

She was different.

It had been two days. Two days, or three? The point was, too many days since he had last seen her.

George had attempted to organize another lesson for the following day, but it was not to be. Though he could hardly imagine what Dodo had been doing that could keep her from him.

You fool , he thought darkly as his attention tracked her progress across McBarland's. You're acting as though she owes you something—as though she has to check her movements with you. You aren't her father, or her brother.

Though the fact that she had no guardian with her in Bath did awaken some sort of protective instinct in him, whether it was his right to feel that way or not.

The candlelight poured over Dodo as she stepped past a candelabra, shining on her shimmering, dark-black hair. George's manhood stiffened.

Definitely not her father nor her brother.

But if there was one thing he was starting to learn about Dodo, and it had been a hard lesson to accept, it was that she did not appreciate being crowded. She had her own mind, her own opinions, her own plan as to what should be done.

George watched carefully as Dodo approached a table. It was true he had encouraged others not to play with her, but that had been weeks ago, and she might find opponents more willing to accept her as a player this time. But at that table… "Not that one."

He had been unable to help the murmur that had slipped out, but no one had been close enough to hear it. Dodo certainly hadn't, and she was being welcomed with open arms to the table at which sat—

He groaned. "Not that one."

It was well known throughout Bath— at least, by most people , he corrected himself with dismay as he watched Dodo remove her pelisse and incline her head at the two men at the table—that Mr. Gregory and Mr. Gillingham were not good people. Not good at all. Since their arrival in town, they had done nothing but make trouble.

And they were good at cards.

Far better than him, anyway, though George was starting to accept that did not mean much.

Anxiety flowing through his bones, he attempted to see what, precisely, was going on at that table. From what he could gather from this angle, it appeared that they were attempting to coerce her into playing a game of poker.

A slow smile crept across George's face.

Well, it wasn't as though he didn't know how impressive Dodo was at that game. And as he watched, though he could not hear what was being said thanks to the loud chatter in the room, the raucous laughter of other tables… He saw it clearly.

Dodo attempted to decline, then allowed herself to be persuaded. Eventually, she removed her gloves and allowed herself to be dealt into a hand, showing nerves from every inch of her face.

George's smile grew larger. The minx .

He should have noticed before—but then, had he not been taken in by just the same trick? The woman had pretended she had no idea what she was doing at the table, then all of a sudden…

He hadn't lost too much then, though he had certainly lost a great deal since. He would have to slow these lessons if he wanted to keep his coin where it belonged, in his pocketbook. But he could not resist her.

George did not have to wait long to see the consequences of Dodo's cleverness. With her mouth puckered into an "O," feigning surprise that she had been so fortunate as to win, Dodo clasped a hand to her breast and blushed prettily.

Very prettily.

A roaring anger that she could blush at someone who was not him crept across George, and he started to rise from his seat.

The very idea of leaving Dodo there to—

But no. George forced himself to sit. Dodo would hardly thank him for getting in the way of her game, would she? And the men, Gregory and Gillingham, would not believe him, even if he told the truth.

No man liked to believe he had been conned out of money.

The next ten minutes, however, demonstrated just how swiftly Dodo could work. She took the subsequent three hands, gaining a greater sum each time, and the charmed expressions of the two men started to fade.

George's chest puffed out.

It was remarkably odd. Dodo was nothing to him, at least on paper—yet he felt such a strange sense of, well… Pride. Ownership.

Perhaps ‘ownership' is not the right word , George thought as his gaze lazily moved along from her delicate hands to her delightful wrists to the softness of her arms, to her neck…

Possessiveness. Perhaps that was more accurate.

Whatever the right term, it was ridiculous. This was not some young widow he had picked up at a ball or a dinner party, could have his way with, and never seen again.

Bath was too small a place, for a start. But it went beyond that.

He knew almost nothing about her.

The thought was unpleasant, but George could not deny it, despite the sinking feeling. He could list the facts he knew about Dodo on one hand and still have a few fingers to spare.

She was a woman. She played cards well. She was clever enough to travel to and continue to stay in Bath without a chaperone…

And that was essentially it.

A ripple of uncertainty plagued him as George watched the two men at Dodo's table get more and more irritated. One of them, the squat man with a glistening temple he knew to be Gregory, offered a piece of paper which they both wrote notes on. An IOU, perhaps? It appeared more like a bet, an agreement, a shaking of hands. Making a bet to consider the outcome of the debt?

I really shouldn't be doing this.

Not sitting here at a gaming hell, though it was hardly polite Society. No, it was worse than that. He was an earl, a Chance. His brother, William Chance, the Duke of Cothrom, certainly would not appreciate his younger brother getting involved with a woman with a dark past.

Assuming it was a dark past.

It had to be, did it not? Why else keep so much a secret? Why else show up in town alone, no guardian to see to her safety? Why else ensure he could discover nothing about her?

"No more personal questions. That's an order."

"You know, you are the only woman to even consider ordering an earl about."

"And will you obey?"

George swallowed hard as Dodo won another hand and tilted her eyes, ever so slightly, to meet his own.

And in that moment, he would have decried his own family, denied his name, and walked away from everything that meant being the Earl of Lindow.

Anything, for her.

You're being ridiculous , a voice at the back of his head whispered. She's just a woman!

The lurch in his stomach, and a tad farther down, proved that. He was most definitely having the reaction to her as a man to a woman.

But it wasn't anything more serious than that, was it? Surely not. He wasn't the sort of man to do something so foolish as to develop feelings for a woman. That was the sort of thing that happened to other people. Like his brothers. Both of them this year had been so foolish as to be entrapped by ladies.

George blinked. So lost had he become in his thoughts, he had been staring without seeing. Only now did he realize that the two men, Gregory and Gillingham, had departed from the table with scowling faces—leaving Dodo alone.

It took him less than half a second to make his decision.

"You know," George said conversationally, as though they were continuing a chat they'd started only moments ago, "you're not going to make yourself popular if you never let a gentleman win."

He sat opposite Dodo and grinned.

She returned his smile. "Once I meet a gentleman in this place, I shall be sure to remember that."

George chuckled, crossing his legs and hoping to goodness he was going to be able to control himself.

There was something about this woman—something that made it difficult to keep one's head. Just when you thought you had everything under control, she went and said something like that. It was most disobliging.

His pulse skipped a beat, causing physical pain. It was all George could do not to grasp at his waistcoat buttons.

He was being ridiculous. It wasn't as though he were, oh… in love , or anything like that.

Heaven forbid.

"You appear to be doing well," said George aloud, forcing himself to concentrate on the table before him, instead of the most inconvenient thoughts whirling through his mind.

Dodo shrugged, causing him for a moment to see far farther down her light-cream gown.

George swallowed. Hell's bells, man, keep a hold of yourself.

"Two pounds, so far," she said, placing her reticule in her lap as though it could be taken by a cutpurse at any moment. "Not a bad beginning to the night, I think."

He nodded, though he said nothing.

And there was another one of Miss Dodo Loughty's enigmas. This fascination with money.

No, he could not call it a fascination, for it was more than that. An obsession. He had never heard anyone speak about money as she did—certainly not someone from the gentry. Her interest in it went far beyond that which he would expect from a polite and genteel young lady.

Which either meant she was not a polite and genteel young lady… or…

Well, what could he lose by being direct? "Your lack of escort aside, you don't look like a woman short of money."

As it turned out, there was a great deal that he could lose. The cordial expression faded from Dodo's face, and she crossed her arms, becoming closed off in an instant. There was something in the curl of her shoulders, her entire demeanor: it told George very clearly that this was not a line of conversation that Dodo was going to accept.

Damn and blast it.

Cursing silently did not appear to change the situation, but it certainly made him feel better.

What was this woman truly about? He could not begin to solve the riddle she was—or the equation, which was perhaps a more accurate descriptor.

Try as he might, George could not understand her. And he understood people—was famous for it. The Earl of Lindow was a charmer, a man who always managed to coax people into doing what he wanted.

It was how he had managed to keep solvent all these years. Most older brothers wouldn't happily hand over the chunks of cash that old Cothrom had. And as for all the ladies George had managed to bed…

Strange. None of them stuck out, now. In fact, he could not recall a single one of their faces. All he could think of was—

Dodo glared. "I said, no personal questions."

"It's not a personal question," George said quietly. "I didn't ask a question, for a start."

"But you were thinking one."

He had to shrug at that. "Is it a crime to think?"

She bit her lip, evidently unwilling to declare it was so yet clearly wishing she could.

George wished to goodness he had chosen to sit closer to her. From this side of the table, there appeared to be a gulf between them that he simply could not cross.

Why must they spend all of their time together trapped on opposite sides of a table? When he was so desperate to be close to her, to feel her softness, to know the scent of—

"Why do you need to earn so much money?" George asked softly.

The question had been dancing on the tip of his tongue ever since they had first met. It was not a very personal question—that was, any question about money was personal, even he would admit. But it was not the most personal thing he could ask.

It most definitely wasn't as personal as what he wanted to ask. Has anyone else kissed you? Was I the first? Has anyone touched you in a way that made you shiver? Have you—

"I said," Dodo said quietly, her voice full of malevolence, "no personal questions."

George did not know what made him do it. He certainly did not plan to rise from his seat, step around the table, and drop into the seat right beside Dodo.

Yet that was precisely what he did.

"I am your friend," he said quietly. "I deserve to know—"

"You are not my friend," said Dodo calmly.

George stared.

By God, this was a turn-up for the books. He was hardly what one would describe as someone who was thin skinned, most definitely not. He'd received his fair share of critiques in his time, and jests at his expense. Old Aylesbury couldn't see him for laughing, and Cothrom had at times been very cutting.

And as for Pernrith…

George pushed aside the irritating memory of his—of that man. He certainly wasn't his brother.

But nothing anyone had ever leveled at him had the potency of what Dodo Loughty had just said.

"You are not my friend."

It would have been George's instinct to make a jest of such a remark. To say she had injured him most grievously, and he would need the kiss of life to be returned to health. Something of that nature. Something better, if he only had a moment to think.

But somehow, he could not laugh about such a thing. Her words had hurt him, deeply.

Could she see that in his looks?

"Ah," George said helplessly. "Well… What am I, then?"

It appeared that was a most difficult question. Dodo hesitated, glancing at the reticule clasped tightly in her hands before saying, to the reticule, "I don't know."

And he did not know what he wanted her to say.

The room was heating up, bodies pressing in, desperate to gamble and win. Laughter, and smoke, and the sloshing of ale and arguments in the corners.

And despite all the distraction, George could do nothing but look at her.

Dodo Loughty. No, they weren't friends. They couldn't be. A lady and a gentleman—it was rare indeed that such a friendship could grow between two such people. It would be inappropriate in the extreme, unless they had known each other while young—sometimes even then.

And yet where did that leave them? What were they to each other? It couldn't have been nothing but teacher and pupil, though there was a rather exhilarating and seduction direction that could take.

George watched Dodo swallow and tried not to think about her lips as they parted.

"I don't… I don't want to talk about myself."

"But you are the most interesting woman I have ever met," said George impulsively.

It had been the wrong thing to say. He flushed immediately at the sudden regret that poured through him, but his cheeks were surely nothing to the flaming pink on Dodo's cheeks.

He was leaning so close to her, their knees were almost touching. Almost …

As though startled into openness by his inappropriate revelation, Dodo peered closely. "Truly? You think I am interesting?"

How could she ask that? "I have never met a woman like you. You… You are so different to anyone I have ever met, in truth, man or woman. You… You bewitch me."

The words were perhaps far too dramatic, but George could not help himself. He was not usually given over to the dramatics, but Dodo made it impossible to be anything else.

There was a suspicious furrow across her forehead as Dodo's fingers fiddled with the reticule in her lap. "Truly? That is not an exaggeration, is it?"

George exhaled slowly. At least, he had intended to. All that seemed to happen was a jagged breath that revealed far more of his consternation than he wished.

"It is one hundred percent the truth," he said quietly. "I… I don't know what to say, Dodo. I don't know what we are to each other, what we could be. I know what we should be—polite, aloof, like Society expects. But you… I want to be your friend."

I want to be a hell of a lot more than that , George thought silently, managing to crush the words under his tongue. But I'll settle for friend. For now .

Dodo was examining him closely, as though attempting to spot the lie amongst the truth. Try as he might, he could not entirely hold her gaze, for it was piercing and far more prescient than anything he had ever encountered.

Gone were the days, it appeared, when the Earl of Lindow could say whatever he liked without being questioned about it afterward.

Then she inhaled deeply, and his pulse skipped a beat.

"I… I am sending money home. To my parents."

George opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. There had to be more than that, surely? Elegant ladies of Dodo's caliber did not turn up mysteriously alone at places like Bath merely because they needed to earn money.

A woman, earn money?

"What of that necklace you wear when at the gaming tables? The one with the shiny, blue baubles?"

"Glass." She swallowed.

So that men, like him, would assume she was rich.

"They… They are sick. My parents."

Dodo had not really spoken, more whispered. It had been all George could do to hear her words over the chatter of McBarland's, but he could not be mistaken.

Sick. Ah.

And something George rarely felt, and would have laughed at Aylesbury for feeling, swept over him. Something he was sure he should have felt for others all the time, but no one had ever elicited it from him like this.

It was compassion. "Why the devil didn't you say so?"

Dodo looked up with fierce eyes. "What, as an introduction? Introducing myself would already be quite forward. But add that on? ‘Good evening, my name is Doris Loughty, and I have two sick parents'?"

George cursed himself for his inopportune critique. "I apologize. My choice of words was not—"

"Besides, it is not ladylike to wish to earn money," she continued, holding her head high as though she were admitting to stealing the Crown jewels.

A soft smile slipped across her lips and all the desire he felt for her… Well, it did not disappear, not exactly. It was still there.

But in this moment, this delicate moment between them, there was something more important than his own needs.

It appeared he could surprise even himself.

"It may not be ladylike to wish to earn money," George said softly. "But it is very daughterly to be caring for them."

For an instant, it seemed as though Dodo were getting fired up and ready to shoot a retort back to him—but as she turned in her seat to glare, she paused.

Perhaps , George thought with a jolt, she can see I am in earnest. It was a strange thought, and no mistake. When was the last time he had been truly earnest about something?

Heavens . He could hardly remember.

"They are getting better?" he asked gently.

And saw immediately that he had gone too far.

The openness in Dodo's expression altered very swiftly. Mayhap if he had not been examining her carefully at the time, he would not have noticed. It was delicately done, her lips moving into a thin line, her chin lifted.

The frankness he had managed to coax out of her, God knew how, was no longer there. The mask had returned, a distance had come between them despite neither of them moving.

And that was it. George could see that he was going to get little else from Dodo this evening.

"There," she said briskly, a false grin plastered across her face. "Now you know something about me."

"And is that all?" George asked, knowing he was pushing his luck.

"What else is there?" Dodo asked airily.

He bit his lip.

So much else , he wanted to say. I want to know about your parents, what ails them, what can be done. What siblings you have—surely, you cannot be bearing this burden all alone? Why has no one come with you to Bath?

I want to know what you read, what you love, what music you loathe. I want to watch the sunshine pour onto your face, and the rain wash away your tears, and laughter fill you up. I want to make you laugh, Dodo Loughty.

George swallowed. He could not say any of those things.

He may not have had a full understanding of Dodo, but he knew well enough now not to push his luck. Not if he didn't want to risk completely pushing her away.

"A hand of cards?" Dodo asked with a bright and stiff expression.

George wavered.

He could stay. He could remain and attempt to winkle a few more details about Dodo from her. He could stay and hope she warmed to him, try to tease her into getting into bed with him—though now that he knew the reason for her desire for funds, he thought that would take priority over any chance of her ruining herself with him.

But staying would also mean punishment. Being close to her and not touching her. Wanting to be intimate with her and seeing her close herself off again and again, refusing to let him near.

And that was before one considered just how much money he'd lose.

George forced himself to rise, shaking his head. "No."

"No?" Dodo repeated, her voice full of surprise.

It was painful, but he had to do it. He couldn't stay. Not today—though he would see her again, he was sure of that. It was impossible to stay away. "No, I think… I think I'll go. I'll see you soon, Miss Loughty."