Anthony glanced toward the lady in question once more. She was lovely. Perhaps the finest he had seen in quite some time. Her dark red hair framed her fair face in delicate ringlets, and the blue of her gown set off her eyes like brilliant sapphires. He felt Ambrose watching him and turned back to his brother.
Ambrose’s eyes held that dangerous look, as if a devious plan was forming in his mind as he spoke. “Say, Anthony?”
“What?” The crazed glint in his brother’s eyes disturbed him, but he trained his own gaze on the girl by the plants again, feigning boredom, when boredom was truly the furthest thing from his mind. Kissing? Tangling his fingers in that glorious red mane? Pushing her deeper into the shadows of the hall? Those were his real thoughts.
“Would you agree that every Season you are approached by several women for little dalliances?” Ambrose asked.
“Yes.” It would do no good to ignore his questions. He’d simply continue asking them until finally, in a fit of rage, Anthony would answer with a loud bellow, earning him haughty looks from society’s patrons.
“Would you also agree that you’re one of the most sought after bachelors in the ton?”
Devil take it, was he still talking?
Beside him, Wilde cursed. “I’ll answer that for you. Just this morning in the park a girl cried when he picked up her fallen hat.”
“Perfect,” Ambrose said. “Do you believe you could make any woman fall in love with you then, Anthony? Or have you lost your touch?”
Oh, so that was what this was about. Anthony couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his lips. He did have an enviable touch when it came to the gentler sex.
“Not that it matters, but yes, I do believe that.” Anthony smoothed out his jacket with pride. He could have any woman eating out of his hand within minutes of an introduction. Yes, he was that good. His prowess had never once been disputed.
“Any girl?”
“To be certain.” Anthony thought the line of questioning ridiculous. His brother knew his talent better than anyone else in the world.
Wilde appeared to be mumbling a prayer heavenward. Strange. Praying a fraction of Anthony’s charms would be bestowed upon him, no doubt.
“And you’re willing to wager you could accomplish this in say… four weeks?”
“Yes.” Anthony nodded. This discussion was growing tiresome. The view was nice though. The girl’s ruby lips were drawn into a tight pout. She turned her head to address someone over her shoulder. Was that a hint of fire in her eyes? Her apparent spirit intrigued him, and he found himself wishing his present conversation would end so he could obtain an introduction to his newest conquest.
“Shake my hand, Anthony,” Ambrose ordered.
Anthony reached out and shook his hand. A sudden realization struck him. What had he just given his consent to? He cursed under his breath.
Ambrose grinned. “What was that?”
“Did I just agree to a bet?”
“Yes, and guess who I’m choosing.” Ambrose rubbed his gloved hands together.
Anthony closed his eyes. “I don’t want to guess. I want to go back in time and slap myself before I accepted the terms.”
“Not possible. Do you see that girl over there? The one you’ve been salivating over for the past ten minutes while you handed over your life to me on a silver platter?”
“Son of a—” Anthony mumbled.
“You haven’t called me that in ages!” Ambrose slapped him on the back. “Her. You must make her fall in love with you in four weeks’ time. You have the devil’s own fortune, so it shouldn’t take any longer. Good luck!”
“Why do I feel like this is going to go terribly wrong?” Wilde muttered.
“Or,” Cordelia said as she kissed Ambrose on the cheek, “it could go terribly right.”
“Yes… yes, it could.” Ambrose leaned down and scandalously kissed his wife full on the mouth. “After all, it’s just a bet.”
Why did they have to do that in public? Had they any idea how scandalous it was to kiss one’s wife in public? On the mouth, no less? They might as well start stripping one another and — Anthony stopped his thoughts from going into dangerous territory.
Cordelia giggled, swatting at her husband with her reticule. “Who knows where it will lead?”
“Probably somewhere near the potted plants.” He pointed as the lady in question stepped behind the ficus.
Anthony rolled his eyes in disgust and walked away. His brother’s words faded as the great hall filled with music. It hardly seemed like a fair bet. The girl hadn’t danced all evening. This would be a piece of cake for a devil-may-care charmer like himself.
And although he was a trifle irritated that Ambrose had used Anthony’s woolgathering against him, he did love a challenge.
He smoothed his jacket and grabbed two flutes of champagne as a servant walked by. Tall, dark, handsome, and carrying a woman’s favorite drink — who could resist him? Or the tiny bubbles that danced on the tongue? Naturally, she would know who he was when she clapped eyes on him, but introductions must be made.
He glanced to the side and noted the Dowager of Marseilles flipping her fan this way and that. Well, the little biddy knew everyone and everything; his instincts told him to go to her for an introduction.
“My lady.” He bowed over the dowager’s hand and grimaced when she tightened her grip and pulled him nearly into her lap. Mustn’t forget how many men she’s single-handedly accosted.
“What brings you over to the chaperones and elderly, my lord?” Dare he say it was her loveliness? The lady in question lifted a bushy brow and smiled revealing missing teeth. Stop gaping! he scolded himself. The last thing he needed was for her to think he was even a trifle interested in a dalliance.
He steeled himself against the elderly woman and smiled so brightly he was afraid the lady would expire on the spot. “I hoped to dance with you and your charge, or are you merely acquaintances?” He turned toward the glorious redhead and winked.
Either she was unmoved by his wink or she was blind. He smiled rakishly and noted the girl squeezing her eyes as if to inspect him. Blind it is. Pity.
“Ah, this is Lady Bridget. This is her first season, but I’m sure a man of your experience can tell these things. After all… you aren’t known to go after the young ones. No.” She patted his arm, allowing her jeweled hand to rest across his muscled forearm. “You enjoy a little spice and maturity. Do you not, my lord?”