The Wallflower Wager - Tessa Dare Page 0,44
aristocracy built fortunes on the backs of serfs, peasants, tenant farmers. Slaves. I don’t suffer a moment’s shame when I take their wealth from them.”
“You realize that when you say ‘them,’ you also mean me. My family, my friends.”
“I‘m aware of that.”
She poked at a dish of sherry trifle with her spoon. “Before the pawnbroker, where were you?”
“On the streets. Thieving. How do you think I met the pawnbroker? I had to sell the pocket watches and baubles somewhere.”
“And before that?”
“The workhouse, mostly.”
“The workhouse? How dreadful.”
“Could have been worse. I was out of the cold, at least. Meager meals are better than none. They taught us to read and write, and do sums.” Gabe had also learned how to grind bones with a rock until his fingers bled, and how to survive savage beatings from a schoolmaster who took cruel joy in meting them out. But those were lessons better left unmentioned.
“What about your parents?”
“Never knew them.” The one falsehood in his tale.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“I’m not.”
“So you were raised in the workhouse—and here you are now, at the top of the world.” She propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand. “It’s remarkable, Gabriel. You must be proud.”
Was he proud? He’d always thought so, but now he wasn’t so sure. A sense of pride implied satisfaction. By now, everything he’d amassed ought to feel like enough—but it didn’t. Satisfaction eluded him, again and again.
The hunger never went away.
He pushed back from the table. “The fireworks will be starting soon.”
He guided her over to a heap of pillows and plush, sumptuous blankets. Velvet, satin, embroidered silk. They relaxed into the jumble of luxury and stared up at the clear night sky.
“Alexandra would know the name of each and every star up there,” Penny said. “She found a comet, you know. It’s named for her.”
“That’s impressive.”
“I have remarkably accomplished friends. Alex is our astronomer. Emma’s a magician with needle and thread, and Nicola . . . well, Nicola has a dozen brilliant ideas a day. Only half of them are new biscuit recipes.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m the one who invites them over for tea and kittens. And horrid sandwiches.” She nudged him in the ribs. “I don’t have any remarkable talents. I just try to make my friends feel at home.”
“That is a remarkable talent. A damned rare one, too.”
She laughed in self-deprecating fashion.
“No, truly. Ask any hotelier. People with welcoming dispositions are in short supply.”
“That’s good to know. A spinster never knows when she might need respectable employment.”
They lapsed into silence, staring into the vast, starry night. He’d stared into darkness many times in his life. Nothing ever made a man feel so alone.
He inched his hand to the side until his little finger brushed against hers. Just that feathery touch made his breath catch. They clasped hands, interlacing their fingers and holding tight. His heart was beating in his throat.
A rocket whistled into the air, exploding above them with a shock of sound and a burst of golden sparks.
“Make love to me,” she said quietly.
His thudding heart stopped.
She rolled onto her side, facing him. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, and she slipped them loose. One by one by one. Her hand stole under the fabric, caressing his chest.
Her lips brushed his. The sweetness of her kiss made his whole body ache.
“No, no, no.” With heroic effort, he pulled away. “Your first time should be special.”
“Gabriel. We’re currently on a rooftop, lying atop a mountain of satin pillows, staring up at a sky bursting with fireworks. I should think this meets the ‘special’ requirement.”
A burst of shimmering red bloomed amid the stars, conspiring with her against him.
“Your first time should be with someone special,” he said.
“There’s absolutely nothing ordinary about you. Once again, you can cross that requirement off the list.”
“I meant your husband.”
She flopped back on the pillows and groaned. “You’re supposed to be dangerous and passionate. Not principled.”
“I’ve made a career of ruining fortunes, but I’ve never ruined a woman. I damned well won’t start with you.”
“I despise that word. Ruined. As if passion is an unforgivable transgression, and virginity is the only measure of a woman’s worth.” She looked at him. “Is that what you believe? That making love tonight would make me worthless tomorrow?”
“Of course not.”
“But it might make your property worthless tomorrow. Is that it?”
“No. I’m not thinking of that at all.”
In fact, he’d forgotten it completely. His financial interests weren’t the reason for their bargain