Lucy Muir Read Online Free PDF Page A

lack of fortune, she supposed.
    Anne looked Lord Stanton over frankly, wondering why such a renowned rake was interested in having a liaison with her. He must be very bored from being in the country for a long time. Perhaps he would not even collect. Six months was a long time. By then he would be back in London and probably enamoured of another woman far more beautiful than she. Yes, that was most likely what would happen. Anne’s face cleared and she opened her mouth to accept the wager, when Lord Stanton spoke with uncanny perception.
    “Make no mistake, my dear. I mean to collect in full if I win. Don’t deceive yourself.”
    His eyes travelled slowly over her with unmistakable meaning, and Anne felt an unaccountable flutter in her chest.
    “But why?” she burst out. “I am not young, beautiful or wealthy.”
    “Because, Anne,” Lord Stanton replied, most improperly using her given name, “I find you a very desirable woman. Having no intention of entering the married state, I can think of no other way to obtain what I want. If I were to simply offer you carte blanche you would not accept. By offering a wager, particularly one by which your cousin will gain, I have a chance. You revealed a great deal of yourself in our conversation this afternoon. I know you would honour a wager once you entered upon it. As you see, I am quite unscrupulous.”
    Lord Stanton smiled at Anne again, and she was aware of a feeling of intimacy between them that was somehow established by his use of her baptismal name and his meaningful smile. She thought again how well he fit into the opulent late-seventeenth-century furnishings of his home. So much richness and ornamentation made a very sensuous ambience. She was acutely aware of his physical presence. His arm was casually flung across the top of the sofa, revealing his shirt, and she noticed how the tightly fitting kerseymere breeches outlined the muscles of his thighs. The firelight brought out the silver glints in his hair, and his eyes seemed to caress her. Anne shook her head slightly to clear it. The situation was unthinkable! She must be foxed, she decided, setting down her glass of port. A well-brought-up woman, even one raised in a military atmosphere, would not entertain the idea of agreeing to such a wager even for a moment. And what of her promise to Sanders not to wager? As these thoughts chased each other through her mind, Lord Stanton caught her eye and saluted her with his glass provocatively, seeming to dare her to accept the wager.
    “Done,” she said simply, accepting his unspoken challenge.
    Lord Stanton set down his glass and rose from the sofa.
    “We must seal the wager,” he said, taking hold of her hands and drawing her up into his embrace. Either the unexpectedness of his actions or the port made Anne’s reactions slow, and she did not resist. His hands were warm and dry in hers a moment before he released them to clasp her closely in his arms. She felt his body moulded against hers, and then warm lips covered hers. She felt a quick sinking sensation in her stomach, and her knees weakened. Almost unaware that she was doing so, she began to return his kisses. At her response, Lord Stanton’s lips became more demanding, and then suddenly he held her from him.
    Anne swayed a little on her feet, but Lord Stanton held her steady. Appalled at her behaviour, Anne stared at the floor, concentrating on the intricately intertwined flowers patterning the carpet. After a moment of silence, she felt a light touch on her cheek, and Lord Stanton turned her face gently up to his.
    “Good night, Anne,” he said softly. “Pleasant dreams.”
    Anne did not reply, but pulled herself away and hurried from the room to the safety of her bedchamber.
    * * * *
    Lord Henry Stanton remained in the drawing room long after Anne had left, staring into the dying fire and reviewing the night’s events. He was becoming more dissolute with age, not less, he feared. Whatever his