The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

“Life can turn on a coin as they say.”

He was impressed at her acting abilities, for she played the jaded coquette as convincingly as she’d played the virginal wife. “It is true there are those here who have lost fortunes and gained two—or other treasures, perhaps—in a night’s gaming?” His look was provocatively inquiring.

“Such foolhardy behavior is not something to smile about, my Lord,” she reproved him mildly and seemed about to turn away, but Miles wasn’t ready to relinquish her. His fascination was growing. Clearly, she was so much more than what she chose to present to the world. Not just in terms of beauty. While candlelight burnished her golden hair, highlighted her perfect, pearl-white teeth, and imbued her with an ethereal beauty, he was certain she could stand up to the most exacting scrutiny in the harsh light of day. He wanted to put his theory to the test; to skim his fingers over the porcelain underside of her arm, and bury them in her lustrous crown of gold.

But when he made some inane remark upon her beauty, she seemed hardly impressed. “You are very kind, my Lord,” she murmured, as she looked over his shoulder.

Desperate, he tried another gambit. Would she respond to a question directly posed? “Lord Deveril is renowned for his discernment.”

She looked at him suspiciously, perhaps anticipating some double entendre that included objects and women in the same remark. Finally, she said, “You wish to make the point that you approve of his latest acquisition?” The way she swept her hand down the curves of her lustrous body made no secret of the base comparison she put into words for him. “Perhaps you calculate that I am of similar value to that Greek sphinx atop the column over there; 500 BC or thereabouts from the Archaic Greek period. Valuable, though only insofar as the price someone is prepared to pay, depending on how much they want it.” She sounded brisk and impatient now.

Miles was surprised at both the tone and direction in which she’d taken the conversation. He’d not expected such irony. He was also aware he was winning no favor in her eyes. Better to admit defeat and quietly retreat. She was Lord Deveril’s mistress after all, and there was nothing to be gained by pursuing conversation that would only frustrate him for knowing she was out of reach.

“I believe it to originate from the Hellenistic period, more likely,” he said with ill grace, bowing in preparation of leaving.

To his surprise, she gave a small gasp. “How do you discern that?”

The gleam of the first animation he’d seen shocked him almost more than the extraordinary transformation from demure housewife to sultry siren. Her smile was unexpected, her gestures quick and interested as she took a step toward the object.

Miles thought a moment. How did he discern that? “My father amassed a vast collection of antiquities. His passion was shared by my brother; however, to tell you the truth, I have no idea if that is Classical, Archaic or Hellenistic.” He stepped forward on the pretense of studying the sphinx more closely, but really so he could close the gap between them. He could smell the scent of orange flower water upon her heated body, and it sent desire charging through him. “There’s one similar in my library, in fact.”

“How extraordinary! I thought this the single example of its kind in all England. Lord Deveril acquired it during the Grand Tour. He was at first unaware of its value.”

The fall of her sleeve brushed against his hand as she reverently touched the tablet, and his desire ramped up to desperate levels. “You’ve no doubt made clear to your…” he cleared his throat, “…lordship, its worth?” He knew his voice was too low and suggestive, that he may appear the predator he felt in that moment. Lord, he’d never wanted to possess anything as much as he wanted to possess the woman beside him.

“I’ve told him a little about the treasures he picked up with careless abandon during his travels and yes, he’s interested.”

She sounded defensive, and at the same time nervous as she glanced over her shoulder. Was she afraid of appearing too close to Miles should Lord Deveril observe them? He wondered if Lord Deveril were a jealous lover, whether she was an obedient mistress, what she was like in bed…and wished he didn’t care. Lust was nearly overpowering him. The faintest touch of a loose tendril of hair upon his fingertips as she bent to observe the inscription upon a shield displayed near the sphinx nearly undid him on the spot.

“Do you see that insignia?” She pointed to an inscription with one gloved hand. Such a dainty hand encased in the finest kid.

“Valor wins the day.”

Confused, Miles stared at her before realizing she must be reciting what Deveril had taught her. So Deveril did know more about his treasures than might be assumed.

“Lord Deveril has many examples. These obviously came from a war armory as each is inscribed with a different bolstering line. Alas, he can’t recall precisely how they came to be in his possession.” She smiled a little grimly. “His treasures were acquired in a somewhat haphazard fashion, it would appear, and after two years of travel, he arrived home to find the entertaining rooms of Deveril House filled with objects he’d bought on a whim, and poorly cataloged.”

“You clearly find such collectibles diverting. I would not have expected it,” he said before she poured scorn upon his trite use of words, and Miles wondered what other line he should take to try and ameliorate the situation. Clearing his throat and hoping to prolong the conversation, he went on, “My brother, like our father, was a great collector of antiquities. I am now embarrassed to admit to a profound ignorance. Although I grew up among fifth-century Greek urns and Danish sun chariots of even greater antiquity, I was more interested in my high steppers. You, clearly, are an authority on the ancient past. You will have to teach me, Mrs. Graves.”

She looked at him coldly. “I don’t think that likely to happen. And please don’t call me Mrs. Graves. My name is Miss Mordaunt. I never was Mrs. Graves.”

Desperate to learn more about her sham marriage and subsequent protection from Deveril, he put his head close to hers. “Who were you, then?” He touched the hollow on the inside of her arm as he spoke.

Jerking back, she said in an angry whisper, “That is a question no gentleman is entitled to ask.”

She was nervous, Miles could tell, though she hid it with a quick smile, a casual toss of her head, and a forced greeting of the man into whose possession she’d fallen.

Miles nodded at his lordship with brittle friendliness. He felt wary, unsettled, that he was treading on dangerous ground. Miles wasn’t used to feeling on the back foot, but Lord Deveril’s gloating smile seemed designed to put him in his place.

“Admiring my most valuable possession,” he remarked, glancing pointedly at his beautiful mistress before settling his gaze upon the sphinx. “Greece, 500 BC.” He snaked an arm about the waist of the

exquisite creature at his side, and Miles wasn’t insensible to the faintest of shudders that passed through her. Desire? Could she really desire a man who was so full of his own divinity, he surely was incapable of worshiping other than his own flesh and blood?

Or was it trepidation? Miles was pondering the matter when a clipped remark from his lordship indicated he was summarily dismissed.

Lord Deveril was a lucky blackguard.

Lord Deveril oversaw every detail of her wardrobe. Jemima reflected his good taste, his ability to fund sumptuary, and his discerning eye for a rare prize. The busts of the bronze warriors and stone statues that lined the airy hallways of Deveril House no longer obsessed him. Once, it had excited him and fed his ego that he owned the most valuable collection of ancient art in the entire kingdom, even if he wasn’t entirely certain of the origins of each one. No new addition to his armory of ancient warrior’s helmets or Norse drinking cups had stirred his blood like the addition of Jemima to his household.