What a Lady Wants Read online

  “Perhaps.” Nigel shook his head. “But I am not interested in marriage at the present time.”

  “You should be.” Lady Fernwood’s brow furrowed. “Goodness, Nigel, if someone as well bred and pleasant as Lady Felicity wishes to marry you, in spite of your very naughty reputation, you should thank your lucky stars and snatch her up before someone else does.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Cavendish does not share your views.” Felicity studied him for a moment. What ever he had in mind was certain to be significant. Why, it was only a few hours ago that the man had said he wanted her out of his life. This was his opportunity to accomplish just that. Not that she was worried. He was skilled with cards but she was better. Not merely at whist but, she suspected, at this other game they played as well. In spite of his vast experience with women, he had never played for stakes like these before, never played with a virgin determined to marry him before. Felicity stifled a grin at the thought. A determined virgin was indeed a powerful force. “Very well then, what do you want to wager?”

  Nigel lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “I fully admit to you, Felicity, that I cannot get you out of my head. I desire you in a way I’m not sure I have ever wanted a woman before. I have no idea if that’s due to the fact that I cannot have you, or the fact that you seem to be everywhere I look, or something altogether different, although I refuse to believe fate is involved. Such desire on my part will surely lead to your ruin—”

  “So you simply have my best interests at heart?” she said softly. “How very noble of you.”

  “Sounded noble to me,” Lord Fernwood said in an aside to his wife.

  “Hush,” Lady Fernwood said.

  Nigel ignored Felicity’s comment. “And your ruin will inevitably result in marriage. I do not wish for marriage.” He straightened. “If we win, Lady Felicity must leave London.”

  Felicity gasped. “You’re exiling me?”

  Nigel shrugged. “Only for the remainder of the season.”

  “But it’s the height of the season. She’ll have no chance of finding anyone to marry if you force her to leave town.” Lady Fernwood shook her head reprovingly. “That’s rather vile of you, Nigel. I should tell your mother.”

  “You won’t tell anyone.” Lord Fernwood’s voice was firm. “Indeed, I think all the revelations at this table should be kept between us.” He turned toward Felicity and met her gaze directly. “I agree with Lady Fernwood. You would make Nigel an admirable wife—”

  “See here, sir,” Nigel cut in.

  Lord Fernwood ignored him. “This wager will take a great deal of courage, my dear. I would expect courage to run in your blood. Does it?”

  “I don’t know if it does or not, my lord.” Felicity smiled slowly. “But I do have every confidence in my skill.”

  “Well, I shall do my best to make certain we win.” Lady Fernwood nodded. “I strongly suggest, since Felicity’s stake is her own exile, which might well affect the rest of her life, Nigel’s wager be equally as great. His freedom perhaps.”

  “If we lose, he should have to marry her.” Lord Fernwood chuckled. “Seems only fair to me.”

  Nigel paused, met Felicity’s gaze, then nodded slowly. “I agree.”

  “But I do not.” Felicity waved off his offer as if it were of no significance whatsoever and prayed she was not making a mistake. “I have no desire to make you marry me against your will.”

  “I know you’ve said that but this wouldn’t be against my will exactly. I have agreed to the stakes.” Nigel’s brows drew together. “I thought marriage was what you wanted.”

  “Oh, I do. And I still believe you and I are fated to be together. Nothing has changed that. Indeed, your comments to night have only strengthened that belief.”

  Nigel shook his head. “Then I don’t understand.”

  “Men rarely do,” Lady Fernwood murmured.

  “I understand,” Lord Fernwood said under his breath.

  “You are a rare gem, my lord.” Lady Fernwood cast her husband an affectionate smile.

  Nigel stared. “Then what do you want if you win?”

  “A keepsake,” Felicity said without thinking. “Something to remind me of you when you are not following me around.”

  “You’ve been following her?” Lady Fernwood huffed.

  “Bad form, Cavendish.” Lord Fernwood shook his head in disgust.

  “I have not been following her,” Night said sharply. “We have tended to be in the same places at the same times, but I assure you it is nothing more than mere coincidence.”

  “Or fate,” Lady Fernwood said softly.

  “The small portrait of you that hangs behind the desk over there.” Felicity pointed to the portrait she had noted upon their entry into the library. “It’s a remarkable likeness. Quite well done, I think. That’s what you will wager.”

  “Oh, that’s not—” Lady Fernwood started.

  “Accepted,” Nigel said firmly. “Now, shall we begin?”

  Felicity picked up her cards and studied them carefully. It was not a bad hand. An overwhelming desire to grin swept through her, but she maintained a passive expression. Indeed, she’d been exceptionally lucky in the deal. Fate, no doubt. Still, it would be an interesting game. Lord and Lady Fernwood were both very good players and Nigel was excellent as well. But, especially with these cards, Felicity would be better.

  They played with a calm concentration and very few words save when Nigel or Felicity claimed the trick. The men won the first two tricks, the ladies the next three, and the wins went back and forth from then on. The players were well matched, and Felicity thought Lady Fernwood played even better than she had thus far to night, while Lord Fernwood seemed a touch off. Of course, Felicity could be mistaken. She was surprisingly nervous herself. Midway through the game, the score was even. Nigel was intent upon the play of the cards, his expression bordering on grim. Did he fear he would lose or was he concerned that he might win?

  With four cards left to play, and the gentlemen one point ahead, Nigel paused. His gaze met Felicity’s. “Lady Fernwood is right. This wager I have proposed is vile of me. I am willing to call an end to this right now and abandon the wager. I’m confident Lord and Lady Fernwood will approve.”

  “I will not.” Lord Fernwood huffed.

  “Quiet,” his wife snapped.

  “Why, Mr. Cavendish?” Felicity smiled pleasantly. “Do you fear you’ll lose?”

  “I am very much afraid”—he shook his head—“I may win.”

  Their gazes locked for a long moment. Regret shone in his eyes. It might well have been the loveliest thing she had ever seen. Her heart warmed.

  “That’s not the way the game is played, Nigel,”

  Felicity said firmly. “One doesn’t try to end the play if one doesn’t like the cards. Even for the best of intentions.”

  “Very well then.” He studied her for a moment longer, then shrugged. “Let us continue.”

  The men won the next trick and Lady Fernwood cast Felicity a look of sympathy, or perhaps it was dread at the thought of next year’s season. Felicity simply nodded her acknowledgment, considered the cards in her hands, and resisted the urge to smirk. The game was hers.

  The ladies took the next trick, and the next, and with Felicity’s last card played, the final trick and the game.

  “Brilliant, my dear.” Lady Fernwood beamed.

  “Never suspected she held those back. Damn fine job, girl.” Lord Fernwood nodded. “Your father would be proud.”

  Nigel stared at the cards on the table in disbelief, then shifted his gaze to Felicity. “You won.”

  “Yes, I know.” She patted his hand. “That was my plan.”

  “You beat me.” Disbelief sounded in his voice.

  “Yes, I did.” She cast him her brightest smile. “It was most exhilarating.”

  “Fate,” he said under his breath. The poor man looked positively stunned. “Bloody hell.”

  “Nigel,” Lady Fernwood said
sharply.

  “I should like my painting now, if you please,” Felicity said politely.

  “The painting?” A queasy look passed over Nigel’s face. “About the painting…”

  “I don’t want to hear anything about the painting. It is mine now and”—she smiled—“I want it.”

  “Now? To night.” Nigel shook his head in a regretful manner. “Oh, I don’t think to night is a good idea.”

  She drew her brows together. “When would you have made me leave London had you won?”

  “Certainly not to night,” he said, as if offended she would suggest such a thing.

  “I’m not entirely sure I believe you, Mr. Cavendish.” She leaned toward him over the table. “Regardless, I want the portrait and I want it now.”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Now, Nigel.”

  “As you wish, Lady Felicity.” Nigel nodded curtly, got to his feet, and strode across the room to the portrait on the wall.

  Lady Fernwood leaned close to Felicity and lowered her voice. “Nicely played, my dear.”

  Felicity directed her voice to the older woman but her gaze remained on Nigel. “You’re referring to the cards, I assume.”

  “What else?” Lady Fernwood paused. “You do realize he does not own that painting.”

  Felicity nodded. “Then he should not have wagered it.”

  “He will have to get it back.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “He cannot avoid you if he is trying to convince you to give him back the painting. I daresay it will take an extraordinary amount of time and effort on his part. Why, the two of you will be together constantly.” Lady Fernwood chuckled. “Nicely played indeed.”

  “Thank you but I have simply won the opening hand. The game, Lady Fernwood”—Felicity grinned—“has only just begun.”

  Eight

  What a man really wants is not to be treated as if he were an idiot. Even when, on occasion, he might well be.

  The Honorable Mr. Nigel Cavendish

  “We need to talk,” Nigel said out of the corner of his mouth and escorted Felicity from the library. Her hand was tucked into the crook of his arm, and they trailed after Lord and Lady Fernwood.

  “What have you done with my painting?” She knew full well he had handed it to a servant and wouldn’t have been at all surprised if the man had been instructed to spirit it away for safekeeping from its new owner.

  “I am having it wrapped for you.” He clenched his jaw. “You simply can’t waltz out of someone’s home with a portrait under your arm.”

  “It is a very small portrait.”

  “Nonetheless, your possession of it would be noticed.”

  “You’re right of course,” she said in a somber manner. “That would attract no end of unwanted attention and any number of unwanted questions as well, I would imagine. It might be rather awkward to explain why I am the new owner of a family portrait. Although there is another explanation which would be just as awkward.”

  “I doubt it,” he muttered.

  She bit back a smile. “I did have a great-aunt who tended to—what was the word she used? Ah yes, liberate items from homes she visited.”

  He frowned. “She did what?”

  “She took things. Interesting items that struck her fancy. She once smuggled a marble bust out of a duke’s country house. No one ever could figure out how she did it.” She lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “She did carry a rather large bag with her though. It was always assumed it was for needlework. I daresay she took a painting or two in her time.”

  “That’s precisely what we need to talk about,” he said in a clipped tone.

  “My great-aunt’s larcenous escapades?”

  He eyes narrowed but he didn’t say a word. Felicity resisted the impulse to laugh.

  Ahead of them, Lord and Lady Fernwood turned to the left toward the salon where guests had gathered for dancing but Nigel steered her firmly forward. She glanced in the direction the elderly couple had headed. “We’re not going to dance then?”

  “No,” he said shortly.

  “I would have much preferred to dance in the first place rather than play cards. You do recall cards were not my idea?”

  “I do.” He released her, pushed open a door, and gestured for her to enter.

  She stepped into a small salon, a room obviously designed for family rather than visitors. He snapped the door closed behind her. She raised a brow. “Are you about to have your way with me?”

  He ignored her. “Felicity, I wish to discuss the painting.”

  “Does this mean you’re not about to have your way with me?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “I mean no.” He glared. “I mean I wish to discuss the painting, my painting—”

  “My painting now.”

  “Or rather my family’s painting, nothing more than that.”

  “What a shame.” She trailed her fingers along the back of a sofa. “I had rather hoped, given all that you’ve admitted to your feelings for me—”

  He gasped. “I don’t have feelings for you.”

  “Desire is a feeling, Nigel, you can’t deny that. As for the painting, I see nothing to discuss. You wagered it. I won it.” She shrugged. “I want it.”

  Nigel grimaced. “If truth were told, it wasn’t exactly mine to wager.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have done so.”

  “Because it isn’t mine”—he chose his words with care—“I can’t really give it to you.”

  “You’re not giving it to me, I won it. I gather that your father is the true owner of the painting?”

  Nigel nodded.

  “I suspect he would require you to live up to your obligation.” She stepped toward the door. “Shall we ask him?”

  “No.” Nigel moved to block her way. “I would prefer my father, as well as everyone else in my family, know nothing of this incident.”

  “You don’t think Lord and Lady Fernwood will say anything?”

  “I’ll speak to them.”

  “Surely someone will notice a gap on the wall?”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.” He considered her for a long moment and it was apparent he was trying to think of something to convince her to give up her claim on the painting. “You do realize the portrait is not of me?”

  “I had suspected as much although the resemblance is remarkable. The difference is in the hair, you know. The style in the painting is terribly old-fashioned.” She studied his hair in an assessing manner. “Yours is quite stylish. Nonetheless, the portrait will remind me of you and so I shall treasure it always. Now.” She stepped toward the door. “The hour is growing late, and as much as I would like to stay and dance for a bit, I think it’s best if I take my leave. If you would call for my carriage and fetch my painting, I shall be on my way.”

  “Not yet.” Again he blocked the way and narrowed his eyes. “How did you manage to beat me?”

  She smirked. “I’m very good.”

  “I’m very good.”

  She shrugged. “I’m better.”

  He paused. “Did you notice Lord Fernwood’s play in that last hand was not up to his usual standards?”

  “It’s to be expected. The man is getting on in years.”

  “Regardless.” A casual note sounded in his voice. “Even though I was his partner, I wonder if he wasn’t on your side.”

  Felicity widened her eyes. “Are you accusing His Lordship of cheating? For me?”

  “No.” Nigel drew the word out slowly until it very much sounded like yes. “But he did agree with Lady Fernwood that you would make me an excellent wife.”

  “I daresay any number of people would agree with Lady Fernwood about that. I will make you an excellent wife.”

  He ignored the comment. “And it was his suggestion I should have to marry you if I lost.”

  “I can’t believe you would accuse that dear old man of such a thing.” She cast Nigel an indignant glare.

&n
bsp; “I’m not really accusing, merely speculating.”

  “I wouldn’t let Lord Fernwood know of your speculation if I were you.” She shook her head. “Impugning his honor like that. Why, the old gentleman is likely to challenge you to a duel. And dueling with a man of his age would only make your already bad reputation worse. What if he were to win?”

  He scoffed. “He wouldn’t win.”

  “I did.”

  “And I still don’t understand how,” he said sharply.

  “In an entirely fair manner and with a skill superior to yours.” She rolled her gaze toward the ceiling. “Do tell me, what bothers you more? The fact that you were beaten at cards, clearly a man’s game, by a woman? Or the fact that you were beaten by me?”

  “Neither bothers me more. I find them both equally annoying.”

  “Accept it, Nigel. You lost, I won. Accept it and give me my painting.”

  “Felicity.”

  She shook her head. “One should never wager more than one can afford to lose.”

  “I never thought I’d lose!”

  “Furthermore, one should never wager an item that isn’t his in the first place.”

  “Did your father tell you that too?” Sarcasm edged his words.

  “No, he didn’t need to.” She shrugged. “It just makes sense.”

  “Felicity,” a pleading note sounded in his voice. “I cannot honor that wager. I beg of you, do not take the painting.”

  “Let me ask you this.” She studied him curiously. “If you had won, and I had begged you not to make me leave London for the rest of the season, would you have forgiven the wager? Allowed me to stay?”

  He paused and she could almost see the gears of his mind debating the correct response. At last he sighed. “Probably not.”

  “How very honest of you to admit it.”

  “I have my moments,” he muttered.

  “I am confident of it.” She considered him for a moment. The poor man did seem rather wretched about the whole thing. Her intent wasn’t to make him miserable. Still, he was the one who had started it all with his terribly clever wager to get her out of London. He should be made to pay for it. “I will not relinquish my claim on the painting.” She paused. “To night. However you may call on me tomorrow.”