She didn’t wait for any agreement but went quickly down the terrace steps, skirted the lawn, then followed a grassy path between beds that eventually led her around the corner of the building.
Sure enough, a window blazed on that side of the house. Even better, the sash had been raised to allow cool air to waft inside—and sound to roll out.
Below the window, the lawn extended to the wall of the house, allowing her to silently approach and stand to one side of the frame.
This window wasn’t curtained, but ground level was significantly lower than the terrace; she was only just tall enough to see over the lower edge of the window.
She’d been careful to approach the window from one side; no one had seen her slip into position. And no one noticed when she peeked in.
A few feet inside the room, Tilly stood with her back angled to the window, facing an oval card table at which she was plainly dealing. She remained on her feet, as did the young men crowding around the table. Four young gentlemen were seated in an arc facing Tilly, and their peers pressed close, watching the play and, in the way of young men everywhere, egging the players on.
Ellen was relieved to see Robbie merely looking on. His face was flushed, and he was grinning inanely, but he didn’t seem inebriated. The same could not be said for several of those around him, who appeared distinctly glassy-eyed.
Ellen watched Tilly shuffle the cards, get one of the players to cut the deck, then deal. After a few minutes, Ellen had confirmed that the game was, as at the other tables, vingt-un.
Given the wide popularity of the game, it was a fair bet it was one most of the young men attending would know—and, very possibly, consider themselves expert in.
She’d just reached that conclusion when she felt a now-familiar heat—no less disconcerting because of that familiarity—settle all the way down her back.
Damn! He followed—and he’s even closer now than he was on the terrace!
Jaw set, she slanted a glance sideways as his face appeared over her shoulder. His concentration seemed absolute, locked on the scene playing out before them.
Deciding she would have to grin and bear with his presence—she wasn’t moving from this very revealing spot—she gritted her teeth and returned her gaze to the cards Tilly was holding.
The ace of spades and the king of diamonds.
Ellen wasn’t surprised to hear Tilly blatantly flirting and encouraging the players to increase their wagers. From what Ellen could hear of Tilly’s prattle, she was pretending to be an easy mark when, in reality, she was going to win and clean the gullible fools out.
Ellen watched the little drama unfold, sure of its inevitable end…only to blink and stare when, instead of laying her cards face up and claiming the wagered tokens, Tilly dropped her cards face down and pouted, then, smiling to show there were no hard feelings, she pushed a small mountain of tokens toward one of the seated young men. Elated, he crowed and gathered in his winnings…
With her elbow, Ellen nudged her companion and incredulously breathed, “Did you see that?”
Christopher blinked and briefly met her gaze. “No.” He’d been too distracted by the perfume rising from her hair; he hadn’t been focusing on anything in the room.
Her eyes sparked, and she all but hissed, “Watch Tilly’s cards—not her.”
He bit his tongue; he hadn’t been watching Tilly at all.
Obediently, he focused on the next hand, but saw nothing odd.
When he glanced at Ellen and arched a brow in question, she shook her head and ordered, “Keep watching.”
He did—and eventually saw what she already had. Tilly folded a clearly winning hand and claimed her luck had deserted her. “Huh.” After a moment of thinking, he murmured to himself, “So that’s how it’s done.”
Ellen cast him a sharp glance. “How what’s done?”
He pressed his lips together, and she glared.
“Later,” he murmured and returned his gaze to the scene inside the room.
They watched Tilly throw two more winning hands, then Ellen stirred and breathed, “I’m going to go back to the terrace.”
He nodded and stepped back, allowing her to lead the way. When she halted on the path through the flower beds, swung around, and glared at him, he waved her on. “I want to scan the room again and take more definite note of those I recognize.” Drake would have to be told.
They returned to their previous vantage point at the end of the terrace. Shadows still shrouded the spot, but the moon had shifted, and the engulfing darkness wasn’t as dense as it had been. Regardless, the position was the best for their purpose, affording as it did a decent view across the central section of the room.
Ellen slipped into the corner by the wall, from where she could see through the gap in the curtains; as before, Christopher stood behind and a little to her right and looked over her head into the room.
He was busy memorizing names when three of the guests walked out of the room through the open French doors.
All three young men became entangled in the gauzy drapes, which caught on their heads and clothes. Laughing, they swatted and peeled the clinging material away.
The fleeting seconds of their distraction was all the time Christopher had to conceal Ellen and himself—or at least concoct an excuse for their presence.
She stood frozen in shock, her eyes wide.
He seized her waist, backed her against the wall, raised a hand, framed her face, and tipped it upward as he bent his head and sealed her lips with his.
Chapter 4
Sensation streaked through them both. She tensed, rigid as a poker. Her hands had flattened against his chest; along with her arms, they firmed, preparing to push him away.
He broke the kiss enough to breathe, “Play along.”
Her lips parted—either in shock or on a protest. He seized the chance and plunged back into the kiss.
A kiss—and luscious, delectable lips—that had his inner wolf slavering.
From behind his back came a chuckle.
“I say—what’s this, then, heh?”
Drunken cackles replied.
Christopher retained enough sense to lift a hand from Ellen’s waist and, behind his back, signal to the inebriated three in a gesture that unequivocally stated Go away!
More chuckles ensued, then one said, “Lucky devil—I suppose we should leave them to it.”
Yes!
“Half his luck.” From the shuffling sounds, the three were turning away.
“Who is he, anyway?” one asked, purely curious as the trio stepped back through the doors.
“No idea, but more to the point, where did he find her? I haven’t seen any maids about, have you?”
The last comment that drifted back as the three moved into the crowded room was “Funny sort of gown for a maid.”
He could stop kissing her now. He should; they should stop and retreat to safety now the men had gone.
But the temptation to linger just a little bit longer—to explore the delights of her lips, her mouth—was difficult to resist. In that moment, he didn’t want to resist; the allure of Ellen Martingale, of kissing her and drawing her to him, held sway over him, a powerful compulsion he couldn’t turn away from.
And then, as if the retreat of the three men had removed all threat, all sense of danger, she softened against him. No melting, no sense she was swept away. Instead, through the gentle pressure of her lips against his, moving not so much tentatively as exploratively, he felt her curiosity reaching for him.