An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) by Eliza Lloyd (the best novels to read txt) 📕

He glanced over his shoulder. “Where are these supposed chaperones? They have been lax so far.”

Nora nibbled at her food. Her heart tripped at a fretful pace, but she kept a fearless gaze as she looked into his eyes. There was a scar at the side of his face from his temple to down below his ear. It took nothing from his aristocratic look; it might have even given him a more daring edge. His eyes were dark like hers, but his brows and lashes gave him a contemplative expression unless he was smiling. Were his thoughts so deep then? Was he thinking about the next life he and his family could ruin?

She sighed. “They are watching. Rest assured.”

“Do they not trust you?”

“An understatement, Carlow. My guardian has always thought I had a wild streak. And they rightly blamed my father but, clever girl that I am, I let them believe they tamed that aspect of my nature.”

“I won’t say a word.”

“So, why are you not escorting a woman of your acquaintance tonight? Averse to marriage, are you?”

“My dear, I have practically asked you twice for your hand this evening. I wouldn’t say I am averse, but I am certainly waiting for the right woman.”

“I, for one, could not be betrothed to a man who eats as many pickles as you seem wont.”

“I will never eat another pickle in my life.” He pushed the plate away in a dramatic gesture.

“You misunderstand,” she said, bringing the plate to her side of the table. “I love pickles. Two in a household with such a craving could never be suitable for a long-term affair, such as marriage.”

She plucked up one of the small, sweet-pickled vegetables and popped it in her mouth whole.

“I may have a sudden interest in gardening. I will plant you all the cucumbers you wish. And you will have jars, nay barrels, of pickles to eat at your heart’s content.”

“I thought you said you were already gardening.”

“Oh, that. A personal project, one that doesn’t involve vegetables but several plants, bushes, bridges and waterfalls. At one of my properties.”

“I see. We’ll need a brooder house full of chickens too. I like pickled eggs as well.”

He reached toward her and dropped his hand over hers. “I ask again. Tell me who you are so that I may obtain an audience with your guardian. We could be married in three weeks.”

“Banns? So cliché. Why wouldn’t we run off to Gretna Green if we are doing everything so quickly?”

“I’ll pack the pickles,” he said.

She laughed. She couldn’t have him think she was too attracted to him, though.

They ate in silence but not with any sort of calmness. His knee rested against hers. His gaze suggested myriad improprieties. Only one misdeed mattered, and she was closer to her goal than she believed possible. Her hope runneth over, though. If not tonight, then never.

Nora pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’ve eaten too much. Maybe Lady Weatherby is planning to kill us all with such rich fare.”

“I don’t think that has actually happened yet. At least I don’t know of anyone who has fallen over, bludgeoned by their gluttony and Lady Weatherby’s French cooks. It is time for that evening walk. I promise you will feel better afterward.” He held his hand out to assist her to her feet. The domino he left on the table.

“That’s what I have heard,” she said, reaching back subtly to grab the small keepsake that would remind her of this night. She tucked it in a secret pocket within her skirt.

He turned sharply. Without his domino, his emotions were written in vivid color upon his face. The raw desire she saw was a little frightening. Was it possible he was actually attracted to her and not just flirting? No! It couldn’t be. Any sensible man would never believe a masked woman at the Weatherby Ball had honest intentions. But he did know that, and he liked her anyway.

She and Gigi had read volumes of history and philosophy. Had she missed the parts about men succumbing with such ease? Well, there was Dante and Beatrice, but Beatrice was the destroyer of all vices and queen of virtue. A far cry from Nora’s vengeful nature.

Beatrice would never flirt or let Dante believe something which wasn’t true. But Nora wasn’t Beatrice; she was Salome, dancing around virtue and vice—and suggesting an actual liaison that would occur in Lady Weatherby’s library later while convincing him it was his idea. Ah well, Salome got John the Baptist’s head; all Nora was after was Henbury Hall.

As they entered the crowded ballroom again, Carlow led her around the room, bumping shoulders as they navigated the large hall. “Everyone will wonder why you are spending so much time with me,” she said, leaning close and whispering near his ear.

“Only the old gossips who keep track of nearly every movement of every person here. But they have the same disadvantage I do. They don’t know who you are.”

“Tomorrow they will. Once my mask is off.”

“Surprises are just so annoying. I really wish you would tell me now.”

“And have you flee the ball in horror once you see my visage?”

“Somehow I don’t think it is your face you are hiding from me. You don’t want me to know who you are for some other reason, and I can’t think of any woman of my acquaintance who knows me well enough to tease and flirt the way you are.”

“In order words, I have you flummoxed?”

“Thoroughly. I’m glad you are enjoying it.”

“As much as you seem to be.” She smiled broadly. She was enjoying it. A little too much.

Nora noticed the looks they garnered, more so now that he wasn’t wearing his mask. Who is with Lord Carlow? She could almost