A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection (28 page)

His kisses were urgent, yet gentle, as if he savored each taste of her, and she wanted to taste him back. His fingers skimmed her neck, causing warm shivers to course through her body. Then his fingers trailed her collarbone and rested on her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he whispered.

She felt too dizzy to reply for a moment. “Kissing me was the wager?”

“No.” His breath was warm against her ear. “Becoming acquainted with you.”

“So you went straight to kissing me?”

He chuckled softly. “I’m sorry. I am taking advantage.” But he didn’t release her. “Ever since I first saw you scale the balcony wall, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Gina said.

His arms stayed around her as he looked at her. “I intend to remedy that. Thus the wager.”

Her mouth still tingled from his touch. “I don’t want to be a wager.”

One side of his mouth lifted, and he touched her jawline. “Your father was backed into a corner. The wager was that if I won, he’d drop the lawsuit. He lost, then demanded we play a second game for a chance to win back the lawsuit. But he had nothing else to offer, so I threw out your name, and he grabbed onto it.” His low voice resonated through her.

She gazed into his eyes, her heart pounding at his nearness. “And you won?”

“Of course.” One of his hands trailed down her arm then caught her hand in his. “They call my fortune new money because I won a couple of gold mines in a card game. I sold them and started the shipping company.”

Gina’s skin went cold. “You’re a
gambler
?”

One of his brows arched. “Retired.”

“It doesn’t sound like you’ve retired.”

His other fingers threaded through hers; they stood nearly toe-to-toe. “I was until someone with a beautiful daughter decided to sue me.”

Gina’s mind tumbled. She didn’t know what to think. Maybe her father was right— she should stay away from Edmund Donaldson. Here he was, a professed gambler, with his wife dead only a few months. She drew her hands away.

“Your father wanted to play again,” he said, not seeming aware that she was keeping her distance. “He said all or nothing… and I asked what he meant by ‘all.’”

Gina found herself holding her breath.

“He said ‘my fortune for yours’ and when I asked him the amount of his fortune, I could tell he thought he’d bested me.” Edmund paused, moving closer to Gina. “My wife’s property is worth twice that of your mother’s and father’s assets combined. I told him I didn’t want his fortune, but I would wager my own in exchange for becoming acquainted with his daughter.”

Gina gasped. “You risked all of your wealth for
me
?” Her face burned… with what she wasn’t sure. Anger? Pleasure? Embarrassment? Then she realized… “You knew you’d win, didn’t you? You cheated.”

His expression turned to stone. “I’m not a cheat.” His eyes narrowed. “Is that what your father said?”

“No,” Gina breathed.

He grasped her arms. “I knew I would win because your father’s face is as easy to read as a naughty toddler’s.”

“It was still a great risk. Why would you make such a wager?” she asked, unsure if she should be flattered or angry.

His grasp fell away, but he didn’t give her any space. His tone softened. “There was no other way your father would let me near you.”

The man was a flatterer. She’d only met him the day before, had danced with him once. How could he be so interested? “Surely you seek my company because it brings angst to my father.”

He showed no hesitation in his answer. “No. But I won’t deny the challenge.”

Gina didn’t know what to make of his answer. “Despite the wager, my father is determined to keep you away,” she said in a quiet voice.

“Then, my darling.” He moved close again. “We’ll have to keep him to his bargain.” He kissed her cheek, lingering, and Gina wished for more, though she feared this was all some sort of game to Edmund.

She was a challenge; he’d said so himself. Was the wager for her really a way to get back at her father as part of a revenge plot? Or worse, was she a passing fancy, someone to dally with while he got over the death of his wife?

“I know what you’re thinking.” His scent seemed to steal some of her common sense.

“You can’t possibly know that.”

“This is not about the lawsuit, and I’m not a man of idle convictions,” he said, holding her gaze. “I would like to get to know you better… with or without a wager.”

Her breath left for a few seconds. “Edmund.” She felt her resolve to stay away from him weaken. She had to think this through. This man had been a gambler. Could he be trusted? Would she listen to her own father, or a near stranger who happened to make her pulse race wildly?

His fingers slowly traced her jaw, and then they moved to lightly brush her lips. “Tell me about yourself, anything and everything. Do you like music, painting? What books do you love?”

Her body trembled in response to his touch; she wanted to cling to him, to kiss him again, to ask him to hold her. But if this was anything real, if it had any potential at all, she must tell him the truth about what she read before she lost herself to him completely. Then she would know if he’d ever fully accept her. She took a step back.

“I read romance novels,” she whispered. “Constantly. And without my parents’ knowledge. I will not apologize for it, and someday I may write one myself.” She had never admitted to herself that she was interested in writing novels, but with blurting it out, she realized it had been a hidden desire for years.

“Will you use a pen name?” he asked.

Gina straightened, getting some of her determination back with their new distance. “I haven’t decided. Whether or not I do, I wouldn’t be fit for marriage. Society frowns upon a married woman with an occupation. Especially a female novelist.”

His gaze held steady for a long moment. “Whichever way you choose, I’ll read your books.”

Chapter Eleven

Edmund chuckled to himself as he remembered being with Gina in the garden. If her worst flaw was reading romance novels, she was a like a dove in the eye of a storm— innocent, to be sure. Her life had been more than sheltered.

He turned from the window and the rising sun to start packing. They’d reluctantly parted after another kiss or two and had returned to their own rooms— Edmund through the front doors of the hotel, and Gina back up to her balcony. Perhaps one day, he’d try balcony climbing himself.

He thought about her family as he unlatched his trunk, getting ready to pack. Gina’s mother was a society drunk, and her father was ruthless; life was not all roses at the Graydon household. The man’s reputation was callous at best, and if Edmund took the time, he’d probably uncover several questionable transactions made by Mr. Graydon to keep his company afloat. There was no secret about Mr. Graydon’s gambling history, and though it seemed to have lessened in the last few years, the financial sting would likely be felt for decades. If anyone knew the false promise of gambling, it was Edmund. Which is why he’d sworn to retiring the habit after starting his shipping company; wagering against the old man had been the single exception.

As Edmund loaded his shoes and trousers into the trunk, he realized that the fact he had no trouble hiring some of Graydon’s top employees was a distress signal indeed. There might be more issues with Graydon’s company than Edmund knew. No matter the outcome of the lawsuit, Edmund determined to court Gina. He’d had marital complications before, but now he’d rather enter into a love-filled marriage and deal with difficult in-laws, than marry for convenience— which he’d already experienced.

Marriage.
Was he really thinking it? As unbelievable as it might sound to others, it wasn’t to him. Would marrying Gina be so farfetched? He didn’t think his interest would wane anytime soon. His marriage to Jacqueline had not been all it seemed. It wasn’t something he readily admitted to anyone else, but it was hard to deny who attended his wife’s funeral— the most notorious bachelors in New York City.

Edmund had never caught Jacqueline cheating on him, but that hardly meant a thing. She enjoyed her drink as much as she enjoyed mixed company, and they often stayed at her parties far into the night. So late he’d found men and women sleeping throughout his home the next morning, not all of them in full states of dress.

Being married to a novelist would be like exchanging a lion for a lamb.

He smiled, which happened almost every time he thought of the red-haired woman in the rooms next door. Edmund started to fold his shirts and set them in the trunk. He’d leave the hotel, but he wouldn’t be leaving France until things were completed with Jacqueline’s estate. He hoped, perhaps beyond reason, that he’d be able to see Gina before returning to New York.

What would happen once they were both in New York? He honestly did not know.

When Edmund finished packing, it was still early, and he doubted anyone else in the hotel stirred. All the better. He wasn’t much in the mood to run into Mr. Graydon, especially after a night without sleep and time spent kissing his daughter. The guilt would be plain on Edmund’s face.

He left his room and went to the front desk of the hotel to request that his trunk be brought down and a carriage ordered. Soon he was on his way to another hotel. By the time he was settled into a new set of rooms, he was famished.

Once in the dining room with eggs benedict before him, he inquired of the waiter where he might find a bookshop with English translations. It didn’t take long to find the bookshop, although he had to wait half an hour for the place to open. His first question to the shopkeeper was where the ladies’ romance novels were shelved.

“This way, monsieur,” the shopkeeper said in a curious tone, leading him down a narrow aisle.

The man stopped at a shelf of cloth-bound books in varying colors of burgundy to brown. He eyed Edmund up and down, as if assessing what type of man made such a request.

“Which is newest?” Edmund asked.

The shopkeeper reached for one and handed it over. He was quick to scurry away. Edmund leafed through the novel and decided to read a few pages. The author had identified themselves by initials only, making him suspect that it was a female writer. He leaned against the shelving and opened to chapter one. By the beginning of chapter two, he was smiling, not because of the light, humorous prose, but because an idea had formed in his mind.

An idea of how to win over Gina Graydon.

So what if it meant stealing a fictional plot?

Chapter Twelve

Three months
, Gina thought, turning over in her bed. It was after midnight, but she couldn’t sleep. It had been an insufferable three months since her return from France, and the fact that the air was turning from autumn to winter didn’t help at all. New York didn’t have the kindest of winters, yet usually Gina looked forward to them because she could spend long hours by the crackling fire, curled up with a book.

But that wasn’t to be this winter. The night before, her parents had declared that her father was having the credentials of a few potential gentlemen suitors investigated.

Investigated!
Humiliating. Her father had hinted that her future husband needed to be mature and dependable. The
mature
part had her worried. At least they’d given her some warning, but Gina had yet to read a romance novel where the hero was twice the age of the heroine.

In truth, it made her sad that her marriage prospects had come down to this. Sad because the one man she thought could even remotely imagine sharing her bed and raising a couple of children with, had disappeared… completely.

Mr. Edmund Donaldson had packed and left the Bordeaux hotel without so much as a note slipped under her door. Not that Gina hadn’t known he was leaving— he’d told her— but she thought he’d at least keep his promise to stay in contact, to hold her father to the wager, to become better acquainted with her… to possibly court her.

But there had been nothing.

When she had inquired as discreetly as possible as to the progression of the lawsuit between her father and Mr. Donaldson, she’d been immediately told to stay out of “matters that don’t concern you.”

Hours before, she’d read in the evening paper that the lawsuit had been settled, and it seemed Mr. Donaldson had come out better, while her father had been ordered to pay damages. That might explain his glowering nature the past several days. It also might explain his new demand that she find a husband…

Gina burrowed deeper into her bedcovers. It didn’t matter now. Mr. Donaldson had kissed and then abandoned her. He’d used her. She’d been a pawn in his game. Now he sat high in society, having bested his rival. No matter who her father’s friends were, they all admired power and money.

Let Mr. Donaldson be admired. He would not be admired by her.

Gina let out a sigh, willing her tears to be gone. She was done pining over the man; crying wasn’t an attractive thing anyway. If she was going to attract a husband, she needed to be back to her agreeable self.

She closed her eyes, but a moment later, opened them again. The early winter sun glowed against the outline of her drapes. Had she slept? She wasn’t sure, but the dawn called to her. Much as she’d done in Bordeaux, she often rose early to go out into the garden. Except she hadn’t been reading lately. Romance novels hurt her heart. Reading about love and kissing and daring heroes only reminded her of the man she’d thought might be her hero but had turned out the opposite. He’d become the villain.

Gina climbed out of bed and pulled on her warmest wrapper. She left her room, went down the back stairs, and out the kitchen door. No one was awake yet, and she was careful to close the door without a sound. She walked in the chill of the cold morning, certain it would snow any day now. The garden, once green and full of blooming flowers, now only had a few hardy rose bushes left to add any color, with the rest of the plants and bushes wilted to a dried brown.

She stopped at her favorite bench. Surprised to see a book left there, she bent to pick it up. Surely the cold and damp would damage the fine leather. The book wasn’t familiar though; whose could it be? Who had left it out? None of the maids read, and she hadn’t seen her mother read anything but gossip columns for a decade.