An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) Eliza Lloyd (reading books for 7 year olds .TXT) 📖

“That sounds exhausting. As for dances, only a few country reels.” She nibbled at a piece of crisp bacon.

“The cotillion. A Scottish reel? I think we should be able to dazzle the crowds with even a simple dance.”

Somehow, she would talk Carlow out of going. It had been many years since she’d set foot to a dance floor. And she wouldn’t admit to him she had no ball gowns. That was why the Weatherby Ball had been so perfect for her plan: a costume and no reason to dance with anyone.

Pride was a troublesome thing. She might not care for the man, but she wasn’t going to embarrass either of them by wearing country clothes at a grand ball.

They ate in relative silence. Carlow glanced at her, his gaze intense and examining while he asked her a few questions, things a man should have known about his wife months before marrying her.

“You know you could have just walked away last night,” she said, slicing a hardboiled egg and placing it on her toast.

He leaned back and gave her that inscrutable look she hadn’t been able to decipher yet. It was different than when he talked, animation lighting his face.

But just looking at her. Assessing every facet of her being. She wasn’t used to it. When Gigi tried to find answers from Nora, it was as if she were both interested and distracted. Nothing intimidating like Carlow’s hooded gaze.

“You want the truth, of course. I don’t know if you will believe me,” he said.

“It’s always about honor and duty with the nobility. I suppose you will tell me such tripe to appease my curiosity.”

He laughed. “The truth is about as far from honor and duty as it can possibly be.”

“When you found out I was the Nora Blasington and you realized how I trapped you, how I embarrassed you, and yet you still agreed.” She lifted her teacup and took a sip, wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste. She did not enjoy tea in any way but drank it to be sociable most of the time.

“Because I had decided hours before that I wanted you. I wanted you in my bed. I wanted you under me. I wanted you with me. And that was about the time you spoke your fifteenth word. After that, marriage or whatever you offered or wanted wasn’t such a stretch to grant you. Even the possibility of giving up Henbury Hall in exchange.”

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

“Men don’t feel the same things women do, at least not in the same order,” he said, wearing a wry smile.

“What does that even mean, Carlow?”

He leaned forward; the animated smile had returned. “Because before a man asks a woman her name, wonders at her dowry or who her family is, long before he takes her hand or even thinks of kissing her, he is thinking one thing only: What will it be like to fuck her?”

“Fuck?” She blinked a few times. “I don’t know what that means.”

“You can’t imagine? Not even the slightest clue? I am no simpleton, Lady Carlow. If any woman knows that word, it would be you.”

“But I don’t know.” She searched her memory. Lady Fortenay had required that Nora memorize volumes of words. Vulgarity wasn’t tolerated, though.

“Shag? Swive?”

“Oh,” she said, and leaned back, taking a deep breath. “Your manly impulses?”

“Quite.” He returned to his meal and she watched, mulling his words, which could hardly be true. No man, no gentleman, thought that before he became acquainted with a woman.

I mean, how would he know without a basis of reference?

No. He was lying. Timothy would have told her of such a thing, if it were true. Or Lady Fortenay, who knew everything.

“You ought to eat a bit more. You’re going to be hungry when we sit at a table again this afternoon,” he said.

“Carlow?”

“Yes, my dear.”

“I don’t have a riding habit.”

He smiled, quite diabolically. “Hopefully, you don’t have a nightgown either.”

Chapter Four

Later, when Nora descended the staircase, Gabriel had a better understanding of his wife’s wardrobe. Without knowing for sure, his instinct told him she was wearing her best dress—a gray print with white cuffs and a white lacy collar. The dress was drawn high on her waist and gave a good hint as to the figure beneath. Her bonnet was tilted on her head with a large bow tied at the side of her neck. She held a small parasol but no reticule, along with perfectly ordinary gloves.

He held out his arm and led her outside to the waiting carriage. With the entire day reordered, Gabriel had decided he would take care of his wife’s immediate needs.

“A perfect day to start our marriage, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Where are we going?” she asked. She held her chin high. Of all the things he had presumed about this woman, he was surprised to see her boisterous confidence hid an unsure ingénue. A practiced, petty thief to be sure but also an unsophisticated, mostly wholesome girl.

She probably drank milk before bedtime.

And she was his wife. Hell-bent on revenge and mistrustful of anything he said or did.

“We are going to the Bond Street shopping district. There is a small bauble I wish to purchase, and I need your assistance.”

Nora hugged her side of the carriage and kept a vigilant gaze on the passing scenery. He caught her obviously delighted smiles as she observed the sights along the route.

“When was the last time you were in London?”

“I think I was eight,” she said absently. “Right before my father died.”

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the jeweler with whom he was familiar. Wide-eyed, Nora stepped from the carriage and glanced about, taking in the majesty of buildings,