This Wicked Gift (Carhart 0.5)

The scrape of Lord Blakely’s pencil echoed loudly in the reigning silence. When he finished, he set the utensil down carefully.

“You wanted a scientific test, my lord.” Jenny placed her hands flat on the table in satisfaction. “You have one.”

And if the ball was as crowded as such things usually were, he would see dozens of women in every glance. He’d never be able to track them all. She imagined him trying to scribble all the names in his notebook, being forced by his own scientific methods to visit every lady, in order to fairly eliminate each one. He would be incredibly annoyed. And he’d never be able to prove her wrong, because who could say he had recorded every woman?

Ned’s mouth had fallen open. His hand slowly came up to hide a pleased smile. “There,” he said. “Is that specific enough for you?”

The marquess pursed his lips. “By whose clock?”

One potential excuse slipped from Jenny’s grasp. Not to worry; she had others.

“Your fob watch should do.”

“I have two that I wear from time to time.”

Jenny frowned. “But you inherited one from your father,” she guessed.

Lord Blakely nodded. “I must say, that is incredibly specific. For scientific purposes, can you explain how you got all of this from an elephant?”

Jenny widened her eyes in false innocence. “Why, Lord Blakely. The same way I got an elephant from an orange. The spirits delivered the scene as an image into my mind.”

He grimaced. She could not let her triumph show, and so she kept her expression as unchanging and mysterious as ever.

“So,” Ned said, turning to his cousin, “you agree, then?”

Lord Blakely blinked. “Agree to what?”

“When you find the girl in question and fall in love, you’ll agree Madame Esmerelda is not a charlatan.”

The marquess blinked again. “I’m not going to fall in love.” He spoke of that emotion in tones as wooden and unmoving as a dried-out horse trough.

“But if you did,” Ned insisted.

“If I did,” Lord Blakely said slowly, “I’d admit the question of her duplicity had not been scientifically proven.”

Ned cackled. “For you, that’s as good as an endorsement. That means, you’ll consult Madame Esmerelda yourself and leave me be.”

A longer pause. “Those are high stakes indeed. If this is to be a wager, what do you put up?”

“A thousand guineas,” Ned said immediately.

Jenny nearly choked. She’d thought herself unspeakably wealthy for the four hundred pounds she’d managed to scrimp and save and stash away. A thousand pounds was more money than she could imagine, and Ned tossed it about as if it were an apple core.

Lord Blakely waved an annoyed hand. “Money,” he said with a grimace. “What would either of us do with that paltry amount? No. You must risk something of real value. If you lose, you’ll not consult Madame Esmerelda or any other fortune-teller again.”

“Done,” said Ned with a grin. “She’s always right. I can’t possibly lose.”

Jenny couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Because Ned could do nothing but lose. What if he began to doubt Jenny’s long-ago assurances? What if he discovered that he owed his current happiness to the scant comfort of Jenny’s invention? And Jenny could not help but add one last, desperately selfish caveat: What if Ned learned the truth and disavowed this curious relationship between them? He would leave her, and Jenny would be alone.

Again.

She inhaled slowly, hoping the cool air would help her calm down. The two men would go to the ball. Lord Blakely would look around. For all she knew, he might even decide to marry a girl he saw. And once he rejected all the women whose names he’d recorded, she’d tell him he’d seen a different woman at the appointed time out of the corner of his eye.

The wager would become a nullity, and she wouldn’t have to see the fierce loyalty in Ned’s eyes turn to contempt. Jenny’s pulse slowed and her breath fell into an even rhythm.

Lord Blakely lounged back in his chair. “Something has just occurred to me.”

The devilish gleam in his eye froze Jenny’s blood. Whatever it was the dreadful man was about to say, she doubted he’d thought of it at that minute.

“What will stop her from claiming it was some other chit I was meant for? That I saw two girls at the designated time, and chose the wrong one?”

He’d seen through her. A chill prickled the ends of Jenny’s fingers.

Ned frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose if that happens, we’ll have to call the bet off.”

The marquess shook his head. “I have a better idea. Since Madame Esmerelda’s seen everything in the orange, she’ll be able to verify the girl’s identity immediately.”

He met her eyes and all Jenny’s thoughts—her worries for Ned, the loneliness that clutched her gut—were laid bare in the intensity of his gaze.

His lip quirked sardonically. “We’ll take her with us.”

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Excerpt: Once Upon a Masquerade

Self-made shipping magnate Christopher Black first spies Rebecca Bailey at a masquerade ball and is captivated by her refreshing naïveté and sparkling beauty. But when Christopher’s investigation of the murder of his best friend leads him straight to Rebecca, he fears his ingénue may be a femme fatale in disguise. Now he must decide if he can trust the woman he’s come to love, or if her secrets will be his downfall.

REBECCA’S FEET HURT SO badly they burned. “Where are we going?” she wheezed, pulling back on Christopher’s hand.

“Just a bit further,” he assured her, his grip tightening.

A mild saltiness seasoned the damp air. When they rounded the corner, she understood why. They’d reached the harbor. Merchant vessels towered over the wooden docks along the coastline as waves lapped against their massive hulls.

The hollow rapping of their boots on the pier jarred her frazzled nerves as he led her down the wooden path to a merchantman. “Welcome to The Fair Maiden,” he gasped out when they reached the gangplank. “I’ve been captain of this ship for the last several years.”

He took her elbow and assisted her up the ridged panel. A man on deck approached them from the shadows, and she tensed, ready to run, but Christopher’s step never slowed.

“Jack, let me know immediately if anyone comes near this vessel,” he said.

“Aye, Captain,” the sailor replied, barely sparing her a glance.

Crossing the deck, Rebecca huddled against the chilly breeze off the waters, vaguely recalling this ship as the one Christopher had repaired with his father.

They passed through a door and descended a staircase into the darkness below. At the base of the steps, he lit a lantern hanging from a peg and held it aloft.

“Why are we here?” she asked, her feet shuffling as exhaustion settled in, making each step a chore.

“This was the closest, safest place I could think of.”

They entered a modest room, and he shut the door.

“Is this your cabin?” she asked, spying a bed in the corner.

He set the lantern on a bed table bolted into the wall. “It was.” Christopher stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto the end of the bed before running a hand through his untamed hair. “What just happened back in the street?”

She dropped into a desk chair. “I don’t know.” Numbness settled into her bones. Her situation was hopeless.

“You don’t know,” he echoed, dumbfounded. “All right then. What were you doing there? From your clothing, I suspect you knew what manner of place you planned to go.”

“I borrowed the dress,” she muttered. “I…I had to see someone.” Her father was gone, running for his life. Without her to help him… A mist of tears blurred her vision. She didn’t think she could bear it if something happened to him. He was all she had left.

“Must have been someone important.”

?

?It was.” Staring at a black knot in the floorboards, she shook her head. “It would be best if you didn’t get involved in this.”

“Best for whom?”

“For both of us,” she croaked. Each time she saw Christopher Black, she dreamed of things she couldn’t have.

He knelt before her and grasped her hands. “Look at me.”

Lord, she didn’t want to. It hurt too much.

“Rebecca, look at me,” he insisted as his fingers nudged her chin higher.

Lifting her gaze, she willed herself to stop dreaming.

“Talk to me. Let me help you. You could have been killed.”

The eerie groan of the ship’s hull echoed the emptiness in Rebecca’s chest. “What does it matter? No one would care.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice cracked, and his palm smoothed over her cheek, the touch so tender, she nestled her face into his work-worn skin. “God help me, I care.”

She clenched her eyes shut, and tears slid down her cheeks. His words seeped through the numbness and revived her aching heart.

“Don’t cry.” Christopher’s lips grazed her face, kissing her tears away. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Large hands cradled her head, and his mouth settled lightly on her lips.

With a shuddering breath, she kissed him back, refusing to listen to the doubts in her head—the sensible voice that had sent Christopher away. Drawn to the comfort he offered, she slipped off her seat and knelt before him on the floor.

His arms engulfed her in a warm embrace, clutching her to his chest. “When I heard you scream, I almost went out of my mind. My God, I thought I was going to lose you.”