Free Submitting to Lord Rockwell by Em Brown Page A

presence, nor the women who threw themselves his way.
    He possessed a countenance she would have enjoyed studying
at length, much in the way one would admire a painting or sculpture. If he
favored a lass here or there, it was difficult to ascertain, though surely no
mortal could resist such attentions for long. Years ago, she had heard that
banns would be read betwixt him and a Spanish princess or the daughter of a
Duke or some such. Admittedly, the lack of a wedding ring was one of the first
things she had noted when he sat down at her table this evening.
    That he was always impeccably dressed also did not escape
her, but many a man spent money he did not possess in order to maintain the
appearance of wealth. She would not have allowed the wager to reach the sum of
fifty pounds had she not felt assured of Lord Rockwell’s finances. Unlike
others, he did not flaunt his affluence. And though down by an even grander sum
at one point, he showed no apprehension at the loss. How quickly thereafter the
game had betrayed her!
    Regardless of what she knew or thought of the man, her
situation remained. If she did not accept his proposition, she was indebted to
him for a significant amount of money. His demeanor suggested if she rebuffed
him tonight, he would not necessarily renew his proposal.
    “Pray, wait.”
    Lord Rockwell paused and looked down at her.
    “I accept your offer,” she informed him with eyes downcast.
Honor or no, she could not look at him.
    He inclined his head. “You honor me, Miss Herwood.”
    What a ridiculous statement, she thought, as if she had
accepted an invitation for a ride in the park with him.
    “There are rooms here reserved for more, er, amorous
pursuits. Shall we retire to one of them?” she inquired, meeting his gaze this
time, then wishing she hadn’t. The contrast of dark intensity with the glimmer
of light in his eyes disconcerted her.
    “That won’t do. The accommodations here are hardly adequate,”
he replied. “My carriage shall meet you here two nights hence. The wait will
deepen the anticipation.”
    Anticipation? His or hers? Perhaps his self-assurance
was arrogance after all.
    “My only request,” he continued with a stern tone, “is that
you do not arrive inebriated.”
    Again, she reddened. She was known to have had a glass too
many on occasion, but how did this man whom she barely knew acquire such
knowledge of her? And why should it matter to him what state she was in? Lest
he was expecting her to perform certain acts upon him? The thought made her
blush deeper.
    His features softened as he lifted her hand to his lips. “ Au
revoir. ”
    As she watched him depart, she began to regret her decision,
for she could not attribute to indignation alone the warmth she felt spreading
throughout her.
    * * * * *
    “Are you headed to that gaming hell again?” her aunt queried
as Deana finished her supper and prepared to leave the table. “You’ll never
find a husband if you waste your hours there in the company of cads and
rogues.”
    “Leave her be,” her mother responded. “We can ill afford her
not to go. It were not as if she had any marital prospects to entertain.”
    On that merry note, Deana ascended the stairs to her
bedroom. Had she known her father would pass from an untimely failure of the
heart, she would have sought matrimony earlier. While he had earned a decent
income as a barrister, they had over time eaten into what savings they had,
including funds intended as her dowry. If it were not for a flair and more luck
than not at the card tables, she knew not how they would have fared. She had to
acquit herself of her debt to Lord Rockwell or her hours at the gambling hall
would be long indeed.
    Struggling with her attire, she settled first on her
plainest muslin, but vanity, and perhaps a subtle desire to please Lord
Rockwell, led her to a simple but elegant gown of batiste. She could not deny a
part of her was flattered that he wished to bed her. He had a