Page 77 of Rules for Ruin

“Why does your accent come and go?” she asked him.

He toyed with her fingers. “I try to prevent it.”

“Why?”

“It’s uncouth,” he said. “People of your class take me more seriously when I talk like them.”

“Did you teach yourself to do so?”

“Not well enough. My old accent always comes back when I feel too much.”

She went quiet again. And then: “Do you feel too much for me?”

He couldn’t deny it. Not when she was in his arms. “I suppose I must, else I wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said softly. “Glad you can be still with me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Aren’t you?”

Gabriel hesitated to give voice to his more cynical thoughts. To ask the question that had been plaguing him since he’d received her invitation. He knew it would spoil whatever was happening between them. This fragile spun-glass illusion of closeness and warmth, so far untouched by the realities that separated them in the daylight. He had no wish to shatter it. Nevertheless…

“Why did you invite me to join Mannering’s party?” he asked.

She said nothing.

Gabriel’s mood dipped. She was soft and pliant in his arms. A fragrant bundle of black currant–perfumed femininity, trusting him, all but embracing him in return here in the lamplit darkness. But he couldn’t allow himself to forget what she was. Even at her most vulnerable, Euphemia Flite was still a panther on the hunt. He wouldn’t make the error of mistaking her for a harmless tabby.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said. “I already know why. You believe you can play with me like you’re playing with Compton.”

“Why would you imagine I’d deal with you as I intend to deal with him?” she asked. “Are you the same as he is?”

Gabriel bent his head closer to her. His lips brushed the silken shell of her ear. “Darling, I’m worse.”

Effie’s mouth curled up at one corner, threatening a smile. “How much worse?” she wondered. “Have you ruined many ladies?”

Gabriel’s own brief smile faded.

“Have you broken their hearts?” she asked.

He thought of the emotionless liaisons he’d had in his youth. Cold, transactional encounters with no warmth or affection to them. “The ladies I’ve known were already ruined when they met me,” he said. “And there was no question of hearts.”

“What about their money?”

Gabriel scorned at the suggestion. “I don’t take money from women.”

“Just from men.”

“Men who know what I am when they meet me. If they owe me anything, it’s because they choose to take the risk. That’s the nature of gambling.” He caught her chin with his fingers, gently forcing her to look at him. Her blue eyes were still tear-damp, glistening up at him like dark violet jewels beneath the glow of the colored lamps.

“What about you, minx?” he asked. “Ruined any men lately? Broken any hearts?”

“No, not yet.” She smiled. “But the night is young.”

• • •

Effie knew very well what she’d done. Her teasing words had been akin to throwing down a gauntlet. Being the man he was, Gabriel had no choice but to pick it up. She watched, heart beating hard, as a dozen conflicting emotions crossed his face at once. He was plainly at war with himself—half of him desperately wanting to resist her, and half of him wanting her full stop.