Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

“ T ell me, good sir, what is your age again?” Josiah asked.

Barbara watched her father warily from the couch, unsure of where he was going with his questioning. He had not been pleased when Reuben had informed him of the meeting and had sworn to forbid the man entry into the house before Barbara calmed him down.

Josiah looked like his heart was being torn in two when she told him that she wanted to meet the baron, and though he had been mostly polite with his words, his manners, however drunken, were cold.

The baron, however, was as pleasant as could be. Conversation came from him naturally, and it did not go unnoticed by Barbara how smoothly he seemed to handle Josiah. It was just after eleven, so her father was not completely foxed yet, but he was showing signs that he was on his way. If the baron was bothered by her father’s impolite manners, he certainly was not showing it.

“I am three-and-thirty, sir,” Edward replied pleasantly, then focused more on Barbara. “I believe it is impolite for a gentleman to ask a lady for her age,” he stated gently, “so I will simply assume that you are as young as you look. I cannot fathom you being more than a year or two on the marriage mart.”

Barbara almost rolled her eyes at the blatant lie but was able to shift it into a rapid flutter of her eyelashes as she smiled back. “You are most kind, Lord Kirkland, but I am not ashamed to confess that I am three-and-twenty.”

Edward Sempill was not at all horrible to look at, Barbara mused as she watched him speak with her father and uncle. He was tall, of sturdy build, and had a full head of curly brown hair. His eyes matched his chocolate locks and were framed by surprisingly long eyelashes. Beautiful was the more fitting word for this man. Not handsome, like Ambrose, who definitely had masculine traits.

“I agree, that is nothing to be ashamed of at all,” Edward replied pleasantly, his eyes focused on her. “In fact, I find that quite refreshing.”

“You do?” Barbara asked, her curiosity piqued.

Edward smiled at her easily. “I believe a person should marry when they are ready, not beforehand,” he replied in a tone that calmed her nerves.

“I could not agree more,” she said.

“I also believe that beauty is not confined to an age, Lady Barbara,” he went on. “Whether you are three-and-twenty or three-and-forty—it would not take away from your beauty.”

Barbara’s cheeks flushed at the rather blunt compliment. Beside her, Reuben stood up rather quickly, grinning from ear to ear, and walked over to his brother before she could think of a reply.

“Come, Josiah,” he urged as he hauled his brother onto swaying feet. “Our Barbara has her handmaid to chaperone her. Let us leave the young people to talk and get to know one another.”

Barbara heard her father’s disapproving mutterings and was thankful, possibly for the first time ever, that Reuben had inserted himself into her business.

“I believe I owe you an apology, sir,” Barbara said to Edward as the doors to the parlor clicked shut.

“An apology?” he asked, frowning slightly at her.

He rose from his seat in the chair opposite her and took a seat beside her on the sofa. Barbara’s eyes darted to her maid as Edward moved closer, feeling a little uncomfortable by the sudden closeness.

“Whatever do you have to apologize for?” Edward asked, reaching a hand toward her knee.

Another shiver of discomfort ran down her spine as his palm seemed to sear through the fabric of her skirts and into her skin.

Forcing her smile to remain intact, Barbara stood up rather briskly and walked over to the tea tray. Normally, she would have forcefully brushed his hand off as she verbally slapped him up one side and down the other. However, something about Edward, about the way he’d been so at ease with everything thus far, made her pause. She did not want him, of that she was sure, but she could perhaps depend on him to do what was needed. Surely a man who touched so much would pay whatever needed to make sure his wife was within reach.

“I suppose for my father,” she replied, busying herself with making a cup. “And for me. I confess I have not had a gentleman caller before, and I am most unsure how to act.”

She finished stirring her tea as she turned back to him, and she nearly spilled it when she saw that he had risen from the sofa and followed her.

“Perhaps I prefer that you do not act, Lady Barbara,” Edward replied, studying her. “Perhaps I simply want you to be yourself.”

Barbara paused, his words washing away the nagging discomfort she felt from his closeness.

“That is truly what you wish?” she asked him, looking into his doe eyes steadily.

A lilt of a smile touched his lips as he reached for the teacup and saucer in her hands. He took them without a word and set them gently on the table. His hand, not much bigger than hers, clasped her own.

“It is,” he said softly, stroking his thumbs across the back of her hand.

Barbara’s brain rushed to a thousand places at once. This felt… wrong somehow, yet Ambrose had just given her a lesson on touch yesterday. Edward’s touch was the opposite of cold, which was what she was to look for, correct? And then there was the feel of Edward’s hands. Her memory and senses flashed back to how Ambrose’s hands felt. Large. Rough. Firm. Edward’s hands were not only like hers in size but also in sensation. His flesh was feathery soft with no scars or calluses to be felt anywhere.

“I must confess, Lady Barbara, that I have noticed you for quite some months now,” Edward continued, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Why?” she asked, then flushed.

She could have asked the question a little less bluntly. Edward only chuckled though and led her back to the sofa. Barbara threw a longing glance over her shoulder at her tea. Not so much wanting it but perturbed that her choice of leaving it had been taken from her.

“As you have taken your time to be ready for a husband, I have taken such time to be ready for a wife,” Edward explained, sitting them down. “In truth, though, now that I am ready, I wish to marry rather quickly. I am not in need of a long courtship or an extravagant wedding. I believe the marriage itself is of more importance. The reason I have noticed you, Lady Barbara, is because of how you seem to make your own way. You do not gossip at parties, nor do you go husband-hunting like many other eligible ladies. You speak with honesty but understand wit.”

Barbara was not sure she liked discovering that someone had watched her so closely without her knowledge. Shivers of worry began to naggingly travel up her spine as she contemplated how close she had unknowingly been caught sneaking out as Asland by this man. She did not like the way he touched her. She did not like the way he watched her. But… she did like the way he talked of her. To her. As if he truly was trying to understand who she was.

“That is… quite an impressive collection of information about me,” she managed to say with a stiff smile. “I feel as if I have done myself a disservice by not researching you.”

“Not at all,” Edward assured her happily, missing her sarcasm. “You are free to ask me any question that you wish.”

Barbara’s mind started to fill with hundreds of questions, but before she could speak even one, Edward was talking again.

“Questions, perhaps, that could wait until after a wedding.”

Barbara’s hands flew out of his grip so fast and so involuntarily. “A wedding, sir?” she asked, needing to be sure she heard him right.

Edward took her hands again, much to her dismay, and pulled her back down onto the sofa. She hadn’t even realized she’d stood up, but as Edward pulled her down into a sitting position, her knees seemed to want to refuse the push. With effort, she finally got herself to sit down again, but when he pressed his outer thigh against hers, she nearly shot back up.

“Your uncle has stated that you are looking for a comfortable life with a husband who is practical and willing to take care of you,” Edward stated bluntly. “I am a man who is both, and I also find you quite lovely. You are not a sentimental woman, Lady Barbara, and I admire that in you. I am not sentimental, either. I believe our practicality could benefit one another greatly if we were united.”

Barbara felt her left eye twitch as she tried to wrap her mind around the proposal he had just made—a proposal she had been hunting for, for over a month. His touch made her uncomfortable, yes, but everything else? Unromantic and insensitive, yes, but it was also honest and practical.

“My lord, I am most grateful for such a consideration,” she managed to say through her havoc of emotions.

“No gratitude is needed as long as you are amenable,” Edward replied simply, his hand landing on her knee again. She wanted so badly to push it off her.

“I believe that I am,” Barbara found herself saying. “However, you must understand that I must speak with my father before I officially accept your proposal, my lord.”

Her response drew a slight frown from Edward’s face, making him look irritatingly youthful for a moment. A breath later, though, he recovered, and his hand blessedly left her knee as he rose from the sofa. Relief rushed through her briefly, but before she could rise on her own, his hands took hers again.

“Of course, Lady Barbara,” Edward replied politely, bowing to kiss her knuckles.

Just as Ambrose had done a day before, Edward slid his tongue between his lips and tasted her knuckles. Only, it was not at all the way Ambrose had done it. Ambrose’s tongue had been swift, playful. It had sent a shiver up her arm. Edward’s tongue lay flat and moved slowly over each knuckle, leaving a wetness behind that made her stomach churn.

“My evening duties approach, anyhow, and your uncle and I have a meeting to attend together. I shall call on you tomorrow to officially ask for your hand.”

“You cannot be serious!” Ambrose fumed. “What are you doing out this late? I thought I forbid you to do this!”

Barbara pulled down the dark hood of her cloak and closed the patio door to Ambrose’s study. After hours of contemplating Edward’s proposal and even gaining begrudging permission from her father, she had decided, despite how little she enjoyed being touched by him, that the baron was a reasonable choice.

“You forbid me to run my errands as Asland, not as myself,” Barbara countered, shooting him a glare. “Besides, I would not need to be here if you had answered the messages I had sent to you.”

Ambrose scoffed, his face still twisted with anger. She narrowed her eyes at him in annoyance. He seemed more on edge than usual.

“What bothers you so?” she asked, looking him up and down. “If you did not want me to come, why did you not answer my messages so that we could arrange a better meeting?”

“Unless it is to inform me that you have found a husband, we have no reason to meet,” he retorted bitingly, turning his back to her.

Barbara’s back went painfully straight as she watched him walk to the full bar in his study, pick up a bottle, uncork it, and drink straight from it.

What is wrong with him ?

What of their lessons? Not that she’d need them anymore, but he was just going to stop helping her? Without letting her know? Concern for him began to rise, but it was quickly dashed by her anger when he turned back to her with the most hateful expression.

“As a matter of fact, Your Grace, that is precisely why I am here,” she stated with icy clarity.

The rigidness that overtook Ambrose’s body was unmistakable as his usual half-lidded, sultry eyes grew wide and dark. Fear—no, not fear. Something Barbara couldn’t quite name filled her as she took in his new stance.

“Who shall I be collecting my debt from?” he asked stiffly.

Barbara bristled. “I have spoken with my father, and I shall be accepting a proposal from Edward Sempill, the Baron Kirkland,” she informed him.

“No,” Ambrose stated flatly.

“He is a friend of my uncle’s,” Barbara continued. “He is pleasant, understands me well, and is looking for a practical marriage where we may both be ourselves. He does not want a long engagement, nor do I, so I expect we shall be married at the end of the month.”

“ No ,” Ambrose repeated, his voice growing more gruff.

“I suspect within a month and a half, my father’s debt to you shall be paid in full, and our business will be officially concluded. I have also come to return your dress. Another debt I wish to settle.”

“I do not want the damned dress! Barbara, are you not listening to me?” Ambrose growled, slamming the bottle down hard on the bar. “I said no!”

“You do not get a say!” Barbara retorted, her voice rising to match his.

“Yes, I do!”

“Why?”

“Because the cuck is broke,” Ambrose stated coldly.

Barbara’s entire body went cold and numb as she saw the barest glint of remorse in Ambrose’s eyes before they were filled once more with annoyance. Her throat closed up as her chest grew tight, and she felt her eyebrows draw down so hard that pain began to bloom between her eyes. Her mouth suddenly went dry, and she worked her tongue around to try to gather the smallest drop of moisture.

Unable to, she simply rasped, “What?”

Ambrose had held on to his anger from yesterday like it was a precious object. He’d tucked it close to his chest, not wanting to part with it, and had had a sneer plastered on his face all day. Even Helena could not get his mood to lighten, and when she voiced her discomfort with his mood, he quickly permitted her to leave. She had tried her best to not look relieved by this, but he’d seen it plain and clear, and he knew he was being awful.

There was no reason Reuben should have gotten to him yesterday. Nor was there any reason for him to be bothered by Barbara declining his intervention—no matter how uncomfortable she appeared. Yet, his body had filled with rage the moment he’d been so abruptly dismissed. Now, though, the tension he’d held on to all day began to melt as he saw the utter shock and disappointment on Barbara’s face.

He had been beyond furious with her for not checking into Sempill’s financial status. Furious with her for letting her uncle, a man barely a step above her father, make her decisions for her. Furious for reasons he could not admit to himself. But upon seeing the color drain from her cheeks, upon witnessing the hope sputtering out of her brilliant green eyes, that fury faded away.

Taking a steadying breath, Ambrose composed himself, poured two glasses of brandy, and then leaned on the bar.

“Lord Kirkland is in as much financial trouble as your father,” he confessed. “If you marry him, you will not only be unable to pay Josiah’s debt, but you will no doubt have to find a way to help your new husband as well.”

“ No, ” Barbara stated, baring her teeth as she glared at him. “No, that cannot be. My uncle would not betroth me to a pauper! You do not know him! He barely comes to London, you cannot possibly know what his finances are like!”

Her back was so stiff that she looked ready to break. Ambrose thought of her legs, knowing what would happen if she stood too rigid for too long, and took a wary step toward her.

“Barbara, how do you think I vet my members?” he asked.

Logic. Barbara needed logic, not accusations.

“If it were easy to get into a gambling hell, there would be far more clients and money to be gained, but because of its necessary secrecy, we have to choose our members. Sempill has attempted to join my hell twice, as well as one in a nearby town in Kirkland. If he is marrying you, it is because he is buried in his own debt, and he is depending on your dowry.”

“But my uncle believes I have no dowry. Why would he offer Edward one if he believes it does not exist?” Barbara asked.

Ambrose let out a weary sigh. For as much as she thought she had men figured out, it was clear that they could be much, much worse than what she already knew to be true.

“I believe it is possible that your uncle might have offered a dowry on your father’s behalf,” he replied honestly. “I also believe that it is possible that Sempill has fooled your uncle into believing that he suffers from no financial burdens. Many men do. It is a skill, it seems, to pretend one is wealthy when one is truly just skimming by.”

Ambrose did not miss the look Barbara shot him. It was not one of anger or disgust, but one of guilt. He might have been talking about men, but when it came to pretending, she did so just as much and just as well as any man had.

His temper now back to a low simmer, Ambrose once more found the ability to smirk at her, and go back to the two glasses of brandy he had poured.

“So, unfortunately for you, Lady Barbara,” he said, placing the glass in her hand, “your search for a husband is not over, and my business with you is not concluded.”

The bits of fright that had lingered in Barbara’s eyes sputtered into disappointment as her body finally let loose from its rigid hold, and she accepted the glass with chagrin.

“There, there,” he cajoled sarcastically, clinking his glass against hers. “It was a valiant effort. Credit for trying.”

Barbara shot him a cold look before downing the brandy in one swig. “This is most disappointing news,” she grumbled, stalking past him to the bar. “I thought I had it! Why do men… uuggghhhhh… Why do you have to be so complicated?!”

“ We are complicated?” Ambrose answered with a laugh.

He followed her to the bar, taking the bottle out of her hands as she uncorked it.

“Stop doing that!” she snarled at him as she lunged for the bottle. “That’s the second time you’ve plucked a drink from my hand!”

“Trust me, dear Barbara, it is not men who are the complicated sex. It is most certainly you, women, ” Ambrose retorted, ignoring her question and refilling both of their glasses.

“What do we do?!” she hissed, snatching the refilled glass, spilling some of the liquid on his fingers as she did so.

“ You are always making something out of nothing,” Ambrose answered accusingly.

He made to snatch the glass back, but she downed it before he got to her, her eyes glittering with triumph as a trickle of brandy slid down the corner of her lips. Desire, pent up and agitated, niggled at him as he watched the drop slowly roll down her chin, and he steeled himself against the lustful thought that came to him.

“That’s it?” Barbara laughed, clearly not noticing his new agony. “That is all you have to complain to us about? At least we are not two-faced! Look at you, Ambrose, you are the perfect example of what I’m speaking of. You appear to be the catch of the Season—of any Season, because of how you present yourself—and yet if the mamas of the ton just knew what you truly did?—”

“If I did not run the gambling hell your father is indebted to, what do you think you would be doing right now?” he asked, taking a step toward her as he drummed his fingers on the bar in an attempt to siphon out his sudden surge of… energy.

“Perhaps a better owner of such an establishment would have taken my first deal, and this would have all been sorted more easily,” she replied defiantly.

“You think there is someone better suited than me?” he asked, taking another step toward her.

Barbara’s eyes narrowed at him as a challenging smile spread across her face, the utter confidence and strength emanating from her accentuating her beauty.

“As a matter of fact,” she purred, taking a brazen step toward him, “I do.”

Barbara watched as Ambrose’s jaw tightened until it began to tick, and the deep blue of his eyes went from sparkling to flat. A sneer rippled across his lips before it set into a hardened line. Beneath his clothes, every muscle was tightening, quivering with anticipation. He desperately tried to beat it down, to call on his anger through the thickening lust simmering beneath the surface.

“You know nothing of what I am capable of, Barbara. Back down. Now. ”

He said it like a warning not to say another word. Whatever was building between them was past anger, past bruised ego, and he needed to stop it now. But Barbara blew right past the imaginary line he’d just drawn, practically laughing at it in the process. She took another step toward him, obvious triumph—and something much more pleasurable—flashing across her seductive features.

“I back down to no one,” she whispered with confidence as she met his eyes, her lips just a hair’s breadth from his.

It happened in a blur of movement, his hands reaching for her as his lips came down on hers. It was a total loss of control.

Ambrose, the man who held power over everything around him, let go. He felt the silky warmth of her neck as he cupped it in his hand and the litheness of her figure as he grabbed her waist. Her lips, softer than any he’d ever kissed, did not have time to react to his quickness, and they yielded to his own. A strangled gasp escaped Barbara’s throat as he drew her closer and then backed her up against the wall.

Her body grew rigid for a moment as he had her pressed there, but just as he was about to pull back, he felt her arms wrap around his neck. A groan escaped his lips as his arousal took over him, guiding him to what his body so badly craved.

He kissed her lips firmly, working his own in a sensual motion until her jaw slackened and her body melted further into his. Then he softly nipped her lower lip and skimmed his tongue over the delicate bite before dipping into her parted lips.

Bad. This is bad.

Barbara should stop it, she knew. He didn’t want this, not really. How could he? They had been fighting, and fighting did not lead to kissing! When his lips first pressed against hers, she had told herself to push him away, to ask him what he was doing, but the pleasure was so swift, so overwhelming, that she’d barely retained the ability to stand.

“Why do you do this?” Ambrose demanded between kisses, his voice hoarse and aching as he brought their lips together and pulled them apart. “Why do you like to drive me so insane?”

For as sharp-tongued as his words were, his kiss was intensely deep and thorough. Not quite soft or tender, but hypnotic—entrancing.

“You started it,” Barbara breathed, her green eyes hazy as he pulled her back just enough to look down at her.

A deep moan mixed with vows vaguely resembling a curse left his lips before he kissed her again, rendering her just as thoughtless.

Barbara felt a heaviness seep into her body as Ambrose supported more of her weight, their bodies tightly pressed against one another. His thigh was wedged between her skirt-covered legs, but even through the layers of fabric, she could feel his rock-hard length press hotly against her thigh.

More, a voice in the back of her head begged as she bravely trailed her fingers from his neck up to his head. His body responded immediately, tensing up to a frightening rigidity.

More…

Ambrose suddenly broke the kiss, the ending of it so abrupt that Barbara’s world spun, and she stumbled forward. She blinked at him in disbelief as he now stood two steps away, panting heavily as his fingers trembled at his bottom lip. His eyebrows were drawn down with great concern, and his eyes were trained on the floor.

“Ambrose, what was?—”

“You should not talk like that,” he stated, his voice harsh and trembling. “It is most offensive and will not win you a husband. Again, Lady Barbara, your mouth continues to get you in trouble.”

Barbara balked, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Excuse me?” she whispered.

The lovely, dizzying, falling feeling she’d experienced from his kiss evaporated as she bristled at his disapproval. A familiar anger soon swept into its place, and she folded her arms as she glared at him.

“It is clear that you are going to be unsuccessful in the venture if you do not have my help,” Ambrose said, shaking his head in disapproval.

Still, he would not look at her.

“Did you not just infer earlier that I was now on my own?” she asked icily.

“That was before I truly understood how hopeless you are without me,” he replied matter-of-factly.

Finally, he drew his eyes to hers. The usual arrogance seemed to be doing its best to shine through, but something was battling the emotion. Barbara could see it as plain as day, and she stepped toward him with a pointed finger.

“I am not hopeless,” she hissed.

Finally, that strange look faded from Ambrose’s eyes as he snickered, and when he blinked again, that infuriatingly arrogant demeanor had returned with full strength.

“Your point remains to be proven, Lady Barbara,” he said smugly, his lips curling into a fox-like grin.

He then walked past her, as unbothered and confident as ever, and opened the door to the patio.

“You should go home, Lady Barbara,” he instructed her. “I shall let you know when it is time for our next lesson.”

“You’re dismissing me?” she asked, giving him an incredulous stare.

His mischievous grin turned into a predatory one as his blue eyes darkened. “Unless you want to spend the night here,” he drawled sensually. “Though, that might lessen your chances of finding the husband you need.”

“I hate you,” Barbara hissed, striding toward the opened door.

“I know,” Ambrose purred, his eyes following her as she passed him. “I think that is what makes this so fun.”

There were many words Barbara wanted to fling back at him then, but as she strode out with her head held high, she kept them to herself. As furious as she was with him, and everything that had occurred that night, she did indeed need his lessons. His first one had shown her a lot, and if she had been able to learn more, perhaps she would have spotted Edward’s flimsy mask more easily.

Like it or not, she needed his help.

Still fuming about the way Ambrose had gone from angry to sarcastic to… What had he been in those moments? Sensual? Seductive? Abrasive? Forceful?

Edward’s touch had made her skin crawl, but Ambrose’s kiss had rendered her senseless in moments. She touched her lips tentatively as she stuck to the shadows heading home, recalling how hot, how firm his lips had been. She had never imagined kissing Ambrose before, but for some reason, the softness of his lips had surprised her. Had stolen her breath and made her melt into his arms.

“Was that another lesson?” she whispered to herself, but she knew it was not.

In truth, she had no idea what the kiss was. But… she did know, even if she could never admit it to anyone, that she had liked it.