The Marquess of Landon was her pirate.
Myriad emotions flooded Phoebe at once.
Shock. Disbelief. Curiosity. Even anger.
He’d fooled her in the gardens the prior evening by not revealing his true identity. Today, he’d fooled everyone else into believing he’d just come back to Society. Why had he lurked in the gardens at last night’s masquerade? She’d searched for a black-clad pirate at the ball but hadn’t seen him. Why hadn’t he made his presence known then?
What is his game?
Landon was watching her. Phoebe placed her gloved hand on his forearm, and he escorted her across the gardens to where the players awaited. She was conscious of the gaze of the other guests, making her feel like a rare item in a curiosity cabinet.
At the same time, she was aware of the muscles in Landon’s forearm, and the coiled strength beside her as he walked. Without a mask shielding part of his face, he was striking. Dark, curling hair, black eyes, a straight nose, and full lips. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had an air of command, as if he knew his place in the world and dared anyone to question it. The scent of his cologne, sandalwood and bergamot, combined with a hint of dangerous male, wafted to her.
Together they stopped at the green, a large rectangle bounded by a ditch and divided into playing areas called rinks. They were handed eight black bowls, four bowls per player, and paired off against another team, Lord and Lady Milton, a married couple in their mid-forties. Her mother had told her that Lord Milton was heir to a viscountcy and waiting for his father to die so he could inherit the title and accompanying fortune, and his wife had a nasty gambling habit.
“Shall we make it more exciting and place a small wager on the winning team?” said Lady Milton, a tall, thin woman with mousy brown hair and a sharp nose.
“What do you have in mind?” the Marquess of Landon asked.
“Twenty pounds for the winner,” Lord Milton offered. In contrast to his wife, he was heavyset and of average height.
“Twenty pounds!” Phoebe was appalled. The sum seemed more than a “small” wager.
Landon looked down at her and winked. “I accept. I have faith in my partner.”
Other than last night’s brief encounter, he didn’t even know her.
Phoebe smoothed her palms on her skirts. The amount of money bothered her for reasons none of these privileged aristocrats would understand. It could help numerous people. A charity close to Phoebe’s heart, the Society for Unwed Mothers in London, could use the hefty sum to purchase clothes, shoes, and other necessities for the women and their children. Necessities the guests at the house party took for granted.
Suddenly, Phoebe wanted to win.
The two men tossed a coin to determine which team would roll the jack, the small white ball, to establish a target. The Miltons won the coin toss. If the marquess was upset, he didn’t show it. Rather, he appeared maddeningly confident as he held one of the bowls in his large palm.
In order to score points, they must roll their bowls closest to the jack without touching it. Landon handed Phoebe a black bowl. Its painted red triangle marking distinguished it from their opponent’s bowls which were marked with a painted yellow circle.
“Ladies first,” Landon said.
Cradling the lawn bowl, she leaned over and rolled the bowl on the green. It did not land anywhere near the jack. Her stomach knotted.
Landon took the next turn, and his bowl stopped inches from the jack.
Fortunately, the Miltons weren’t very good at lawn bowling. Phoebe wondered why Lady Milton had raised the idea of a bet. Was she as reckless as her mother had suggested?
When it was Phoebe’s turn once more, her attempts were not much better. Landon, on the other hand, had good luck.
“You spoke falsely,” Phoebe said. “You are very good at this.”
“Some things are hard to forget.” He stepped closer. “Let me show you my technique.”
He stepped behind her and his large hand cradled hers as she held the bowl. Every nerve ending in her body tingled with awareness.
“If you aim directly at the jack the bowl will curve out to the side. The best way to allow for the curve is to toss your bowl so that it aims for the jack from either the left or the right.” He drew her hand back and her bodice stretched tight. Her breasts tingled against her chemise.
Good God.
What is wrong with me?
“Take one step forward like this.” He took a step, and she moved in unison with him. His leg slipped between her skirts and brushed her thigh. His breath was warm on her cheek.
“Which way?” Her voice sounded breathless to her ears.
“Let’s aim for the left of the jack. Like this.” His hand cupped hers as she let the ball go to roll on the green. Phoebe watched the bowl arc as Landon had predicted, then come to a slow stop within inches of the left side of the white jack. Landon didn’t step away until the last moment—until her body was traitorously alive and humming.
“We did it!” A thrill of victory sizzled in her veins.
“No, you did it. I merely demonstrated a technique.”
Phoebe’s gaze met his. Unexpected admiration darkened his eyes.
“Well, then. I do believe you have bested us,” Lord Milton said. “I shall have the twenty pounds delivered to your room.”
“As this is my home and you are my guests, I would not hear of it. Consider this in good fun. If we shall wager, then it will be later, during a game of faro or whist,” the marquess said.
“Yes, yes,” Lord Milton was fast to agree. He took his wife’s arm, and they were on their way to the refreshment table, clearly delighted not to have to pay the debt.
Landon bent to retrieve one of the lawn bowls for the next group. “You made for a spirited partner.”
Phoebe’s mind was awhirl as she knelt to pick up one of the bowls. She couldn’t hold back any longer. “I remember you, my lord.”
Landon arched one dark eyebrow. “From years before? I do not think so. I certainly would remember you.”
“No. From last night.”
A heartbeat passed and she thought he would deny it, but then his full lips curved in a smile. “You are as observant as you are beautiful.”
She lowered her voice. “You do not deny it, Lord Pirate?”
“I know better than to deny a goddess, Lady Diana.”
She swallowed. Was he calling her a goddess or using the name simply because she’d worn the goddess costume at last night’s masquerade?
“Why lead everyone to believe that you just arrived this afternoon when you had actually arrived last night?” Or had he arrived even earlier? Days? A week? Perhaps longer?
Copyright © TinaGabrielle
Make Mine a Marquess by Tina Gabrielle
MAKE MINE A MARQUESS by Tina Gabrielle
The Daring Ladies #3
He lost everything. Now he’s come to take it all back—along with her—in this entrancing romance that’s ideal for fans of Sophie Jordan and Eloisa James
Everyone thought that the Marquess of Landon was lost at sea. Instead, Robert Kirkian defied all the odds and survived. Now he’s returned to London to reclaim his title, his property, and his lands from the foul snake who tried to have him killed: his own cousin. But proper vengeance requires patience—and the perfect weapon. Which is precisely when Robert meets his cousin’s charmingly spirited betrothed…
Miss Phoebe Dawson is everything an ambitious gentleman could desire in a wife. Wealthy, exceedingly lovely, and with a sparkle in her blue eyes that could entice even the most reluctant suitor. But Phoebe’s come too close to ruin—the humiliation of it!—to be fooled by yet another handsome face and silken words . But oh, how he makes her feel. So flustered, so flushed…and so thrillingly alive.
Phoebe knows that love is a fool’s game, even if the Marquess does play his hand like an expert. Her reputation can nary afford the tiniest spark of scandal, let alone those slow, deep kisses that leave her breathless. But she’s about to discover the only thing more dangerous than a rogue is a wronged man hellbent on revenge…
Romance Historical [Entangled: Amara, On Sale: April 22, 2024, e-Book, / ]
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About Tina Gabrielle
Best-selling author Tina Gabrielle is an attorney and mechanical engineer whose love of reading for pleasure helped her get through years of academia. She is the author of adventurous Regency historical romances for Entangled Publishing and Kensington Books. Tina also writes the diverse best-selling Kebab Kitchen Mediterranean cozy mystery series for Kensington as Tina Kashian, and her first book, Hummus and Homicide, spent six weeks on the Barnes and Noble bestseller list. Tina grew up in the restaurant business, as her Armenian parents owned a restaurant for thirty years. She lives in New Jersey and is married to her own hero and is blessed with two daughters.
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