“Why Lady Calpurnia—” she was certain he used the name to provoke her, “I believe you are a sore loser.”
“No one likes losing, my lord.”
“Mmm. And yet it seems you have.”
She sighed. “Get on with it. What do you want?”
He watched her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. “Take down your hair.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Because I won. And you agreed to the terms.”
She considered his words briefly before lifting her hands and removing the pins that held her hair in place. As it fell in soft, brown waves around her shoulders, she said, “I must look silly, dressed in men’s clothing with all this hair.”
His gaze hadn’t left her as she’d released her locks from their tight restraint. “I assure you, ‘silly’ is not the word I would use.”
The words, spoken in the dark voice she was coming to adore, set her pulse racing. She cleared her throat. “Shall we continue?”
He dealt the cards again. She won. Attempting to sound cool and collected, she said, “Do you have a mistress?”
He froze briefly in collecting the cards, and she immediately regretted the question. She didn’t really want to know if he had a mistress. Did she?
“I do not.”
“Oh.” She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting him to say, but it hadn’t been that.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you. I mean, you wouldn’t be here with me if you could be somewhere with someone like…” She stopped, realizing that her words could be misunderstood. “Not that I think you’re here to…with me…”
He watched her, his expression revealing none of his thoughts. “I would still be here with you.”
“You would?” she squeaked.
“Yes. You’re different. Refreshing.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you.”
“Mistresses can be rather difficult.”
“I don’t imagine you like difficult,” she said quietly.
“No. I don’t,” he agreed. He set the deck of cards down on the table. “Why are you so interested in mistresses and courtesans?”
Not mistresses. Your mistresses. She shrugged her shoulders. “They’re rather fascinating to women who aren’t so…free.”
“I’d hardly call them free.”
“Oh! But they are! They can behave however they’d like, with whomever they like! They’re not at all like women in society. We’re expected to sit quietly while men hie off and sow their wild oats. I think it’s high time that women have the chance to sow some oats of their own. And those women do.”
“You have an overly romanticized view of what women like that can and cannot do. They are bound to the men with whom they consort. They rely on them for everything. Money, food, clothing.”
“How is that different from me? I rely on Benedick for all those things.”
He was clearly uncomfortable with the comparison. “It’s different. He’s your brother.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong. It’s quite the same. Only women like the one across the corridor get to choose the men to whom they are beholden.”
His tone turned serious. “You don’t know the first thing about the woman across the corridor, Callie. She is the opposite of free. I assure you. And I suggest you stop romanticizing her before it gets you into trouble.”
Whether the result of the adventure of the evening or the verbal sparring with Ralston, Callie’s mouth seemed to have become completely disconnected from her sense of self-preservation. “Why?” she asked. “I confess, I’m rather intrigued by the whole idea. I wouldn’t necessarily dismiss an offer to become someone’s mistress out of hand.”
The words stunned him into silence, and Callie couldn’t hide the little smirk of victory that sprang to her face as she noted his surprise. His brows snapped together as she reached across the table to lift the cards and begin dealing them. He grabbed her hand, stilling her motion and drawing her gaze to his, which glittered with an emotion she couldn’t quite place except to know it was not a good thing. “You don’t mean it.” His tone brooked no refusal.
“I—” She sensed danger and spoke the truth. “Of course not.”
“Is it on the list?”
“What? No!” Her shock was real enough to convince him.
“You are too valuable to play the mistress to some society dandy, Callie. It’s not a glamorous role. Not a romantic one. Those women live in gilded cages. You should have a pedestal.”
She scoffed. “Thank you, no. I would prefer not to be handled with kid gloves and apologies.” She tugged her hand from beneath his. The warmth of his touch was too much. Too close to what she really wanted—to what she’d wanted for her whole life.
“Apologies?”
She closed her eyes for a brief moment, shoring up her courage. “Yes. Apologies. Like the one you delivered so beautifully this morning. If I were anyone else…your opera singer…the woman across the hall…would you have apologized?”
He looked confused. “No…but you are neither of those women. You deserve better.”
“Better,” she repeated, frustrated. “That’s just my point! You and the rest of society believe that it’s better for me to be set upon a pedestal of primness and propriety—which might have been fine if a decade on that pedestal hadn’t simply landed me on the shelf. Perhaps unmarried young women like our sisters should be there. But what of me?” Her voice dropped as she looked down at the cards in her hands. “I’m never going to get a chance to experience life from up there. All that is up there is dust and unwanted apologies. The same cage as hers”—she indicated the woman outside—“merely a different gilt.”
He watched her carefully, unmoving, as the words poured out. When he did not respond, she looked up at him, only to find his expression shuttered. What was he thinking?
“Deal the cards.”
She did, and they played the next round in silence, but it was clear he was no longer playing a harmless game of twenty-one. She knew from his hard face that he would win, and her heart pounded in her chest at the thought—what would he do in the face of her outburst?
When he won, he threw his cards into the center of the table. In silence, he stood, moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses of scotch. Returning, he offered her one of the tumblers.
She took it and sipped the amber liquid, surprised when she did not sputter and cough as she had in the tavern. In fact, the liquor served only to enhance the warmth that had spread through her as she waited for Gabriel to name his next favor.
Turning away from her, he moved to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fireplace and relaxed into it. She watched as he stared into the fire, wondering what he was thinking. Was he considering taking her home? She’d certainly said enough not only to embarrass herself but also him. Should she apologize?
“Come here.” The words cut through the room, even though he didn’t redirect his attention from the dancing flames.
“Why?”
“Because I will it.”