The Rake’s Christmas Wager (Spinsters and their Suitors #2)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

H enry was not a man easily rattled. He had faced down creditors, endured the scorn of Society matrons, and navigated the perilous waters of London’s social scene with little more than a raised brow and a well-timed smile. Yet as he strolled toward the drawing room an hour later, he was still puzzling over his morning’s interaction with Miss Ashworth at the breakfast table. And he couldn’t shake his ruminations.

Breakfast had certainly not gone according to his plan. He had been prepared to find Miss Ashworth much more agreeable. Instead, he had discovered a formidable opponent, a woman whose sharp wit and unyielding demeanor intrigued him far more than he cared to admit.

He’d thought this challenge was too easy, but Camden had chosen well. His friend had seen something in her aloofness from the previous day that he had not caught on. He had dismissed her demeanor as simply a woman who was tired from her journey, not one who was specifically vexed at him.

But breakfast had revealed a different story. She found him barely tolerable. The words shouldn’t sting. He knew them to be unfounded. How could she make such a statement about him? It was likely a way for her to receive a shocked expression from the women she was with. He knew how they all played games.

She was a puzzle, but perhaps it was the way Lady Beatrice had practically sung the praises of her cousin Miss Ashworth from the moment they had arrived. It was not matching up with the woman he had seen or become acquainted with. Or perhaps it was the way Miss Ashworth herself had met his gaze earlier; her eyes were cool and discerning, as though she were sizing him up like a horse at auction.

He was no stranger to the appraising looks of women, but there had been something disquieting about the way she had seemed utterly immune to his charm. Why was she so opposed to him?

He entered the drawing room, where many of the guests had already gathered. Large tables were set out with festive materials. Ribbons, sprigs of a variety of evergreens, and pinecones were spread across the table.

Lady Beatrice had a way of gathering friends and guests together to help with the decorations. It was brilliant. He noted that several bundles of mistletoe were already tied and completed. Lady Beatrice always made traditions available, and the mistletoe was no exception. He was confident that the majority of the ceilings and alcoves would have at least one ball in each location.

Henry took in the merriment of the room, but his attention was drawn to one person in particular.

Instead of wrapping mistletoe bundles together, like many other females in the room, Miss Ashworth stood by the fireplace, engaged in conversation with Lady Beatrice, while they arranged the garland around the fireplace.

Her dark hair was elegantly swept up, leaving a few delicate tendrils framing her face, and her pale green gown, though modest, complimented her graceful figure. She had an air of quiet dignity about her, a calm poise that set her apart from the other ladies who flitted about the room with practiced flirtations and eager laughter. It was that very restraint, that refusal to perform for the benefit of the crowd, that intrigued Henry the most.

He had overheard her telling one of the other ladies that she was a self-appointed spinster at only five and twenty. And what was the reason? Simply that she had younger sisters that had married before her.

Yet, she did not wear the air of a spinster. Miss Ashworth didn’t fade into the background. She was beautiful, and there was something about the way she moved—graceful, elegant with a certain air of self-possession—that held his gaze longer than he intended. She was directing the placement of Christmas decor, her hands deftly arranging the holly and ivy.

Miss Ashworth didn’t simper or blush at his compliments, nor did she offer him any encouragement when their paths crossed. She was polite, certainly, but distant—keeping him at arm’s length with a cool civility that only made him more determined. There was a challenge in her eyes, a quiet defiance that made him want to break through the carefully constructed walls she held around herself.

Henry’s musings were interrupted by the familiar voice of Lord Camden, who sidled up beside him, a glass of port in hand and a knowing smirk on his face. “Ah, the infamous Lord Brinton, looking as though he’s trying to win something quite unattainable,” Camden teased, his gaze following Henry’s line of sight.

“Not at all,” Henry replied, feigning nonchalance. “Merely admiring the festive decorations.”

“Or perhaps the one arranging them?” Camden quipped, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Henry turned to see his friend’s knowing smirk and realized, with some chagrin, that his gaze had lingered on Miss Ashworth far too long to be considered merely idle. “It always feels festive when the decorations are up.”

“You are very correct. Greenery always makes the holidays festive—especially the mistletoe .” Camden smirked. “Have you already tried to win the bet and failed with such a formidable target?”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Formidable? Hardly. Miss Ashworth is simply … discerning.”

“Discerning? Is that what we’re calling her now?” Camden chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “From where I stand, she seems completely immune to your charms, old friend. Quite the blow to your renowned reputation, wouldn’t you say?”

Henry rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t entirely hide the flicker of irritation at his friend’s words. “It’s not about reputation, Camden. Miss Ashworth is … different.” He only needed a different strategy. That was all.

“Oh, I can see that,” Camden said, nodding sagely. “She’s the type who’d rather read a book than entertain the likes of us. Quite the spinster, really. Doesn’t seem the least bit interested in social climbing or in capturing the attention of gentlemen. Which, I must say, only adds to the intrigue.”

Henry’s gaze remained fixed on Miss Ashworth as she moved gracefully through the room, pausing to admire a wreath that hung by the fireplace. There was something captivating about her aloofness, the way she carried herself with quiet confidence. He had seen women play coy before, but Miss Ashworth’s disinterest wasn’t a performance—it was genuine. And that, he realized, was what made her so fascinating.

“Tell me, Henry,” Camden continued, leaning in conspiratorially. “Do you really think you can win her over? I’ve seen you charm the most stubborn of ladies, but Miss Ashworth seems entirely out of your reach. A woman like her doesn’t fall for flattery and flashy gestures.”

“I know that. It’s merely a challenge that will take some strategy, that is all.”

Camden’s eyes flicked to the other end of the table, where Miss Ashworth was engaged in conversation with Lady Beatrice. “Ah, I see. The fair Miss Ashworth has you off balance already. I had no idea she was such a formidable opponent. Shall I collect on those dueling pistols already?”

Henry shrugged, though his gaze remained fixed on Miss Ashworth. “She’s unique. I’ll grant you that. It’s rare to find a woman who can parry words as skillfully as she did.”

Camden chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. “Do take care, Brinton. If you’re not careful, you might find yourself on the losing end of this wager.”

Henry gave a low, amused laugh. “Losing, my dear Camden, has never been an option.”

“Watch and learn, my friend,” Henry said, with a measure of confidence that even he did not feel. “She’ll be eating out of my hand in no time. You will see.”

He glanced back at Miss Ashworth, who was still speaking with Lady Beatrice. Her expression softened slightly as she smiled at something Lady Beatrice said. There was a warmth in her that he wanted to see more of, to draw out until she no longer looked at him with cool detachment.

With that, he straightened and crossed the room to where Miss Ashworth stood, her attention focused on a particularly stubborn twig that refused to stay in place.

He approached her with a smile, his heart quickening slightly as he caught sight of her profile, her dark hair swept up in a simple but graceful arrangement.

Though he wouldn’t admit his insecurities to Lord Camden, he’d had similar thoughts about his own status in this bet. Could he win the elusive Miss Ashworth over?

He shook his head. He would not think in such a manner. Of course he would win. He always won. It was an easy bet, and though Miss Ashworth had a few walls up yet, he would find a way to woo her and kiss her before the deadline.

He watched her for a moment, appreciating the concentration etched on her face before he spoke.

“Allow me, Miss Ashworth,” he said smoothly, stepping in to assist with the garland.

Miss Ashworth’s gaze shifted to him, her expression polite but reserved. She nodded. “Thank you.”

When he moved the garland, his hand brushed against hers. The touch was simple, and someone could interpret it as an accident. But Miss Ashworth looked up at him with surprise and suspicion.

She pulled her hand away and didn’t acknowledge that their hands had even brushed together. “Lord Brinton, it seems you have a talent for appearing just when assistance is needed.”

Henry smiled, enjoying the subtle challenge in her tone. “A talent, indeed.”

“It’s almost as if you were here out of some sort of strategy,” she mused.

He smiled. “You found me out.”

Her eyes flashed, one brow arching skeptically. “What do you mean by it?”

“Why, merely as I said at breakfast, I will be around until you change your opinion of me.”

She folded her arms. “I must apologize for the words I said to you at breakfast. They were thoughtless, and I apologize.”

He smiled. “Apology accepted, but that doesn’t mean that you have changed your opinion of me.”

She bit her lip. “I do not think that strategy will work. In fact, it may have the opposite effect. It may make me see more of what I do not like.”

Henry took the barb in stride. He had a feeling that under the protective thorns and nettles of her words was a much different approach. He leaned closer, and she took a step back. “I shall have to try, though, Miss Ashworth. It is the only way for you to see that who you’ve imagined me to be and who I am are completely different.”

“You do not know precisely what I think. You do not know if that statement you just made is true,” she said, her tone bristling.

“I deduce enough to see that is what you think,” he said with a wide smile.

“That is most ungenerous of you,” she said.

“Not at all. I am merely just trying to move my status up from barely tolerable.”

“This does not change my opinion of you.”

“Pray, do not mince your words, Miss Ashworth. What is your current opinion of me?”

She bit her lip again. “I do not think it wise to speak such things.”

He smiled widely. “You might as well give me your unguarded thoughts. There must be a reason that I am only barely tolerable, when we have both agreed that it is no fault of my tailor’s that you feel this way.”

“You are a flirt and a rake.”

He gestured to the garland. “Or perhaps I am just a knight looking to do a good deed during the Christmas season. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t offer my help to a lady in need? The importance of adequate and abundant adornments cannot be overstated.”

Miss Ashworth’s lips twitched as if suppressing a smile at his alliteration. “One might say a man with ulterior motives.”

“Ulterior motives? You wound me, Miss Ashworth,” Henry replied, feigning injury. “I live to serve, particularly when such service involves the betterment of festive décor. And perhaps I may move up from only barely tolerable in the process.”

She allowed herself a small smile at that, and for a brief moment, Henry felt the satisfaction of having cracked her cool exterior. But just as quickly, she composed herself and turned back to the garland.

“Are you enjoying the festivities?” he asked her.

She smiled wider than a reserved, practiced smile, and he found he enjoyed the look of her lips framing her teeth. “I am enjoying myself. What about you, Lord Brinton? Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Immensely,” Henry replied, his smile easy. “Though I must admit, they pale in comparison to the company.”

Miss Ashworth raised an eyebrow, her suspicion barely concealed. “Is that so? I hadn’t noticed your particular fondness for pine wreaths and garlands.”

Henry chuckled, unperturbed by her cool reception. “I was speaking of you, Miss Ashworth. It’s not often one encounters such … refreshing company.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Refreshing? You recall my words from earlier with accuracy, my lord. And I have not rescinded them.”

“That is true.”

“What game are you playing at, Lord Brinton?”

Henry feigned innocence, his smile never wavering. “No games, I assure you. Merely a compliment to a lady whose beauty and grace deserve recognition.”

She was unmoved, though a flicker of something passed through her eyes—amusement, perhaps, or disbelief. “I see. Well, Lord Brinton, I’m afraid I’m not much for flattery or idle flirtations. You’ll have to try your charms elsewhere.”

Henry’s grin widened, undeterred by her resistance. “Then perhaps I’ll simply have to try harder, Miss Ashworth.”

Miss Ashworth gave a polite smile, though her eyes remained skeptical. “I wish you good fortune in that endeavor,” she said lightly. “Thank you for your assistance, but I believe I have it under control now, Lord Brinton,” she said, her tone polite but dismissive as she turned her attention back to Lady Beatrice.

Henry didn’t press further, knowing when to retreat. Instead, he gave her a small bow and stepped back, watching as she finished her task with the same quiet efficiency that had caught his eye earlier.

Determination surged inside of him as he stepped away. Miss Ashworth was a challenge, yes, but not one he intended to lose. And as he glanced at Camden, who was watching with a smug grin from across the room, Henry felt the weight of the wager settle in. He had made a wager, after all, and Henry never backed down from a challenge.