Ormonde came to a stop before her, and the breath in Tessa’s lungs became stuck.
Was he here to gloat? For that was certainly triumph singing in his summer-blue eyes.
Was he… oh… was he here to claim his one night?
As the Duchess of Acaster began to make introductions, Tessa interrupted. “The marquess and I are acquainted.”
The duchess’s eyebrows looked as if they would lift off her forehead as her gaze flicked back and forth between Tessa and Ormonde. She was adding one and one together and clearly arriving at two.
And the subtle smile curved about Ormonde’s mouth…
It held more than triumph.
Arrogance.
One would expect as much from a victor.
But his smile held something else, too—something solely for her.
Determination.
If she’d harbored the slender hope that he would forgive her debt without claiming it, like a gentleman should, all such hope was immediately dashed.
Then he bowed, pivoted, and strode away. Was that a swagger she detected in his step?
Who was this Marquess of Ormonde?
“You’re acquainted with the marquess?”
Tessa realized she was staring at the back of the man.
Or, more accurately, the backside of the man.
My, but he was built solid as a marble monument to Adonis.
She tore her gaze away. “He’s a member of The Archangel,” she said, careful of her words.
Disbelief shone in the duchess’s eyes. “So, that was about business?”
Dread snaked through Tessa. “That was about a debt—a debt that must be paid.”
Speaking the words aloud transferred them from the theoretical to the concrete—imbuing them with substance.
This debt…
It existed.
It must be paid.
“Your Grace,” came a masculine shout.
A young gentleman with a shock of coppery hair and a too-bright smile was practically tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to the duchess. The Earl of Wrexford. Tessa had noted him at The Archangel. Not a spender, this earl. He came for the company of friends rather than the gaming.
Tessa took the opportunity to slip away, unnoticed. She had no intention of being trapped in conversation with an eager young lord who only wanted to bask in the glory of the Duchess of Acaster.
Yet as Tessa moved through the crowd that had finally begun to thin, she realized she was walking in the direction opposite the one the marquess had taken. Instinct urged her to pick up her pace and run.
She stopped.
Run?
When had she ever run?
When had she ever taken the coward’s way and patiently waited for the ax poised above her neck to drop?
She couldn’t live that way.
She would have this debt settled.
She swiveled and began striding, certainty in every step even as she experienced a wobble in her core.
Ahead, he appeared, engaged in conversation with a small group of gentlemen. Her gaze roved over his back—again. Following the width of his broad shoulders and his golden hair between his shoulder blades, confirming he was still as solidly and massively built as he’d been three minutes ago.
Right.
She cleared her throat when she’d drawn near enough and said, “Ormonde,” before she lost her nerve.
His name hardly emerged loud enough to be detected above the din of the crowd, but he heard it and glanced over his shoulder. Surprise flicked in his eyes.
“I believe we need to discuss the settlement of a debt, my lord.”
The statement emerged clear and direct and without a hint of the wobble quivering through her.
He turned toward the group. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”
Then Tessa was walking—striding—in silence by Ormonde’s side. They weren’t precisely moving as a pair, for her arm wasn’t linked through his, but she felt him all the same. A sort of energy that pulsed between them, as he led her through the crowd that didn’t make it easy and around the back of a building that appeared to be a stable.
And she was alone with this massive, built man.
She was a tall woman, but her head had to tip back so she could meet his eyes—eyes that gave the impression of openness due to their similarity to a clear blue sky, but which were, in fact, the very opposite.
One couldn’t read what lay behind the Marquess of Ormonde’s eyes.
She swallowed, her throat gone dry. “About the debt…”
“Yes?” he asked, carefully.
Expectation glinted within those summer-blue eyes.
And she understood what that expectation was.
He expected her to try to beg off.
“Shall we get the debt settlement over with tonight?”
Debt settlement?
She couldn’t very well call it what it was.
The one night in your bed.
Though she was being bold and brave, she wasn’t that bold and brave.
Debt settlement would have to do.
A subtle smile curved about his mouth. “Over with?”
She nodded and tried not to swallow—and failed.
His gaze drifted down and followed the undulation of her throat above her cravat.
Of a sudden, she was too hot.
He leaned forward as if to invade her space, and she offered up a silent prayer of gratitude to her past self who had deemed it practical for her to wear a wide-brimmed hat to the Derby. Even so, she froze, her back pressed against the wall, catching his scent above the horsey smell that permeated the air of Epsom Downs.
He planted his hands to either side of her head and angled his face, the smile on his mouth still there…
Still determined.
Then he shifted and before Tessa understood what he was about, he ducked beneath the wide, distancing brim of her hat and she felt his warm breath on the patch of skin just below her earlobe. Her insides flipped and fluttered before deciding to ignite and now she was thanking the heavens for this wall at her back, for without it she would surely collapse into a molten puddle.
His lips moved against her ear. “Not yet,” he muttered.
Then he pulled back, met her gaze one last time, and pushed off the wall.
And he was gone.
Now Tessa knew what a house on fire felt like.
Ablaze.
Entirely engulfed in flame.
Not yet.
If not yet, then…
How soon?
Excerpt from Wager with a Siren, Copyright Sofie Darling 2024
All's Fair in Love and Racing #3
It was supposed to be one night with the marquess…
Everyone loves Lord Julian Batchelor, Marquess of Ormonde. The golden boy of the ton, he knows everyone, and they think they know him, too. But Julian harbors dark secrets, and he’s determined not to let anyone discover them—until he meets the one woman immune to him…
But when he meets a lady who’s his perfect match…
Lady Tessa Calthorp is everything unexpected in an aristocratic woman. Co-owner of a gaming hell, she sees Julian as simply another rich lord handed everything in life—but Julian surprises Tessa. First with a daring wager, then as a man—a very sensual man with a scandalous hobby that shocks…and delights.
One night could lead to happily ever after…
Their wager becomes more than friendly as desire burns through all their scruples. When reality pierces through their passion, everything changes for Tessa—but Julian knows he can’t break free from his past. Until Tessa reveals a secret of her own...
Romance Historical [Oliver-Heber Books, On Sale: May 17, 2024, e-Book, / ]
Sofie Darling is an award-winning author of historical romance. Her debut novel, THREE LESSONS IN SEDUCTION, won the Writers' League of Texas' Manuscript Contest in the Romance Category in 2016.
She spent much of her twenties raising two boys and reading every book she could get her hands on. Once she realized she simply had to write the books she loved, she finished her English degree and embarked on her writing career. Mr. Darling and the boys gave her their wholehearted blessing.
When she's not writing heroes who make her swoon, she runs a marathon in a different state every year, visits crumbling medieval castles whenever she gets a chance, and enjoys a slightly codependent relationship with her beagle, Bosco.
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