A Desperate Wager (2 page)

He stood up and paced across the room, his dark brows furrowed in concentration and his hands clasped firmly behind his back. He cut a dashing figure certainly. But he also seemed to be arrogant and obnoxious. But maybe that was more to do with her mortification at the situation in which she found herself. He could not be very happy either given that her father had taken advantage of him.

“
Can you bear a child?” he asked suddenly. Her eyes seemed to pop out of her head. What an improper thing to ask a lady. “I only ask because of your…” He waved his arm in the general direction of her legs and crutches.

She bit her lip. It really was not improper since he was considering marriage to her. And it was a duke’s raison d’
être to beget an heir.

“
The doctor told me that since I have almost some sensation below my waist, having a child should not be a problem. He suggested it may take slightly longer to conceive, bearing the child may cause a few extra problems to my mobility and the birthing of a child may actually be less painful for me.” She shrugged.

“
And how do you get about?”

“
I use my crutches in the house. I do not take walks in Hyde Park, if that is what you are asking?”

“
Do you ride during the fashionable hour?”

She laughed mirthlessly.
“Your Grace, I do not have a line of suitors at the door asking me to ride in the park with them.”

“
And afternoon calls?”

“
They come to me, when they remember. Usually at the start of the Season there is a flurry of activity but once the entertainments start in earnest, I am usually forgotten. Unless someone has spotted my father in the street and feels a pang of guilt.”

“
It sounds… miserable.”

“
Oh it is not so bad. I read a lot and I paint. I sometimes play the pianoforte, but I am unable to use the pedals, therefore I would not be classed as accomplished. I have a few friends in the country to whom I write regularly.” She smiled wanly at him. She could have put on an airy countenance and pretended her life was wonderful but if he decided to honour the wager, he would find out soon enough. Better to learn now and have the option of finding a way out of the match. “It is what it is, Your Grace.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his brows almost meeting. Then he paced a few steps and looked at her again. She imagined this was the look on his face when considering horseflesh at Tattersall’s.

“Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for a drive this afternoon in the park?”

“
In Hyde Park?”

His lips pursed. A sure sign he was biting back a sarcastic retort.

“Yes, in Hyde Park.”

“
What kind of carriage do you have?”

“
A phaeton.”

“
Not a curricle?” She bit her lip. She had only been in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour a few times. She hated going out in society. It meant meeting people who did not know her or her circumstances. People would stare at her and whisper about her accident. Then they would speak to her as if she was an imbecile or a child. But she wanted a little adventure and the duke, while rather sullen, was very handsome.

“
No, not a curricle. Look, would you like to accompany me or not?”

“
I would. Thank you, Your Grace.”

“
Be ready just before four.”

“
Would you mind coming a little earlier than you would normally, Your Grace? I find the front steps take me a little longer than most ladies.”

He harrumphed a sort of agreement, bade her farewell, bowed and left.

She stared at the drawing room door long after she heard the front door close. Good Lord, the man had a terrible disposition, absolutely no manners and a scowl that would send Napoleon’s armies scurrying. It truly was a shame since he looked so handsome with his long legs in those form-fitting pantaloons, his chiselled jaw and his dark curls that made her want to run her fingers through them. She was used to being manhandled, mainly by servants, but she would not have minded being manhandled by him, if only he had not been so disagreeable.

Anyway, the outing to the park would no doubt put an end to this silliness.

He watched her face, concentrated and frustrated as she moved down the hallway.

“
I am sorry,” she repeated for the third time. It was beginning to annoy him. Did she think him a monster who would not have patience for a cripple? She was nearly at the door where he stood, redonning his gloves.

“
Please, Lady Sarah, there is no rush. The park will still be there no matter how long it takes.” Damn, was that insensitive? He did not know. Of all the things he had learned at Eton, the niceties of dealing with someone who had difficulty walking had not been one of them. He would have preferred lessons on this than Greek noun declensions.

She smiled at him though. Maybe he had not offended her. Now she had reached the door and the butler opened it with a flourish.

“Ma’am, would you like me to lift you into the carriage?” asked the butler. Lady Sarah’s cheeks flushed crimson.

“
I can do that,” said Nate quickly. She turned her head to him, staring open-mouthed. “If you do not mind, of course.”

“
I… well, no.”

He nodded curtly. Her blush waned slightly and she licked her lips. Devil take it. The chit was being coy. And now her plump bottom lip glistened.

“I could carry you to the carriage. It is only about eight steps to the roadside.” She seemed to consider this. He could tell she was independently-minded, but would she turn down help just to be stubborn? Her mouth turned up at the corners.

“
Well, it would mean we might still manage to arrive in Hyde Park before the fashionable hour is over,” she said. He appreciated her self-deprecating humour despite, having lived with this infirmity for ten years. She passed off her crutches to the willing butler and then snaked a hand around Nate’s neck. Good grief. She smelled delightful. Of roses and vanilla. He swept her up into his hold, and she giggled. Was she laughing at him?

He was certainly not laughing. She was reasonably light to carry and soft. So soft and pliant. And if it wasn’t for her damned leg braces digging into his arm, this would be a very pleasurable experience.

His toes curled in his boots as he tried to remove the lewd images that popped into his mind. That long auburn hair spilling over a white pillow, the décolletage he had seen earlier, now hidden beneath her spencer, and his fingers slipping under her gown, down over those creamy, freckled mounds.

“
Your Grace, I could have walked in the time you have just been standing there.”

Shaking his head, he grunted and hurried over to the carriage, just as a dog bounded up to him barking and jumping up.

“Caesar, down!” Bloody dog. He must have slipped out the house again. Jarvis, one of his footmen, came hurrying up behind him, his breathing laboured and his face sweaty. “Down, Caesar,” Nate commanded again.

“
Your dog?” inquired Lady Sarah as his coach driver opened the door of the phaeton.

“
Yes.” The dog was still barking and jumping up at its master, and Lady Sarah laughed. A throaty yet high trill of a laugh that tightened his breeches.

“
He thinks you are attacking me. Or maybe he thinks I am attacking you.”

“
Down, dog!”

Lady Sarah dropped her hand and it made contact with the dog’s muzzle.

“There, there Caesar. I am fine,” she said soothingly, feeling around until she found the Labrador’s ears, and fondled behind them. The dog stopped barking and groaned in pleasure.

Devil take it. Now he was jealous of a damned dog. He walked the final two steps to the carriage, forcing Caesar out of the way, and placed her inside. It was slightly awkward but Lady Sarah was obviously used to such indignities, and once seated, she gave him a sunny, warm smile. Again he nodded curtly.

“Can we take the dog?”

“
No. Jarvis, take him home. How the hell did he get here?”

“
Must’ve followed your scent, Your Grace.”

“
Stupid animal,” he grumbled, before he turned back to Lady Sarah. She made a delightful moue with her mouth over his refusal to let the dog ride with them, and for a moment he was tempted. But his better judgement won out. “He gets carriage sick. When we travel to the country, he has to travel on the box with the driver. I have never tried him in the phaeton. If you do not mind him casting up his accounts on your gown, I shall happily oblige you.”

Again she laughed, throwing her head back as though what he had said had been the funniest thing in the world.

“Better not then. Bye-bye, Caesar.”

The footman tied a lead to the dog and led him back off towards home while Nate hurried around the phaeton to jump in the other side. Her scent assailed his nostrils, and he felt a pang of desire.

He frowned at her. How the hell could he be attracted to her? She was all but forcing him into marriage, she laughed too much, she had far too many freckles and frankly the whole walking thing was a problem.

The fact she was quick-witted, intelligent, had magnificent breasts, had made friends with his dog and her father was dying were points in her favour, however.

Sarah smiled sunnily at the duke, but her heart had sunk. He had obviously been upset when he had visited a few hours ago, but she had hoped that he would have calmed down by now and would exhibit a more pleasant demeanour. He was still sullen and dismissive.

What a shame that her breath had caught when he scooped her into his arms. He was so strong and firm and manly. But he had also been rather short with his dog. Her mother had always said you judge a man on how he treats his inferiors and his animals. To be fair to him, he had not been cruel, just out of sorts with the poor animal.

If she was honest, her thoughts and feelings were rather jumbled. When he had lifted her, a thrill had shot through her. He had smelled so good—spicy and masculine. He had gazed off into the street as if his mind had transported him somewhere else. He seemed wistful and was probably recounting a woman whom he had bedded. Lighter than her, prettier than her and not a cripple. She had made light of it, but it hurt.

The carriage took off, and very soon they were sitting in a line of carriages waiting to enter Hyde Park. Excitement crushed her disappointment with her suitor. She had seldom been in Hyde Park during the fashionable hour since her mother died when Sarah was just seventeen years old.

Eventually, the duke’s phaeton moved through the gates of the park and she smiled and nodded at a number of acquaintances, most of whom either looked surprised to see her or a little guilty. Horse hooves beat behind them, and a familiar voice called out and drew up beside them.

“
Good God, Freckles, it is you.”

She looked up into the smiling eyes of Lord James
Eversley.

“
Piggie. How lovely to see you too. Your Grace, this is Lord James Eversley.”

“
Yes, I know. We live next door to one another.” He nodded curtly at the gentleman.

“
Really? Our fathers’ country estates neighbour each other. We practically grew up together.”

“
Indeed,” said the duke drolly. “Hence the familiarity.”

Oh dear, the man sounded like a dry old stick. Perhaps they drummed the very soul out of ducal heirs at Eton just so they would have a suitable level of hauteur when they had to greet their inferiors—which aside from royalty was pretty much everyone.

“Well I have been known to call him Lord Eversley on occasion, but James insists on calling me Freckles. I cannot think why.”

Lord
Eversley guffawed while the duke stiffened, his displeasure evident. James sobered and glanced between her and His Grace.

“
Anyway, Freckles. I must be off. Just remember, the gossip only ever lasts a few days. This scandal will pass soon enough. Ah there is Ramsey—thought he had forgotten he was to meet me here. Kirkbourne!” He bowed in his saddle in deference to the duke. “Toodle pip, Freckles.” He dug his heels into his horse and set off at a fast trot.

“
James, wait… Damn,” Sarah called after him but he was out of earshot.

“
Lady Sarah!”

She turned to him, aghast.

“He said there was gossip. What kind of gossip could he mean?”

“
Well at a guess, I suppose it will have become known that your father wagered your hand in marriage to me last night.”

“
How would that become common knowledge?”

“
It happened in a gaming hell, with witnesses, who were clearly more sober than I. Of course it will have been the talk of drawing rooms today.”

He was talking to her slowly as if she were a child.

“So that is why you invited me to drive in the park. To face down the gossips.”

He was staring straight ahead.

“Partly—partly to see how much the gossip had spread and exactly what they were saying, and partly so that we could get to know one another.”

She took a deep breath and considered him.

“Are you seriously considering carrying through with this wager?”

“
I am honour bound. Had I wagered money, I would have been honour bound to pay it, even if it had been my last shilling.”

“
I see.” Married because of a wager. How dreadfully lowering. “And did it not occur to you to prepare me for the gossip?”

“
I thought you would know. You are what? Five and twenty?”

“
Six and twenty.”

“
You have lived in the
ton
all your life. Surely you know how these things work.”

“
I have lived in a house on Brook Street, Your Grace, but I am hardly out in society.”

She hated this. For years she had longed to attend parties and balls and routs and now, she just wanted to be at home with a good book. She was not sure she could cope with being the object of a fully-fledged scandal. But the man really seemed to be considering carrying through her father’s ridiculous plan.

“Ah we shall see now how bad it is. Here is Miss Trotter,” he murmured, lowering his head so that only she could hear. His breath brushed the curl at her ear, tickling her and making her shudder.

“
Oh God,” she moaned quietly. She had only met Miss Trotter once, but Sarah had taken an instant dislike for the women. Everyone knew she was after any man with a title and had made no secret of the fact.

“
Miss Trotter, Lady Trotter,” said Kirkbourne, nodding courteously as the carriages drew alongside each other.

“
Oh Lady Sarah, how delightful to see you out and about,” trilled Lady Trotter, the large feathers on her bonnet whacking her daughter in the face. Miss Amelia Trotter swiped at the feathers and sat forward. “You have met my daughter Miss Trotter, have you not?”

“
I have, thank you, Lady Trotter. Miss Trotter, it is lovely to meet you again.”

“
And you, Lady Sarah. Your Grace, it is nice to see you at this hour.”

“
I do enjoy a ride in the park every so often, Miss Trotter.” The duke’s voice was tight, and Sarah glanced out the corner of her eye to see his jaw set as though he was struggling not to say what he really felt.

“
I hear congratulations are in order, or are the stories of your night in the gambling hell exaggerated, Your Grace?” Her giggle was forced, as if she was attempting to sound more congenial than she felt. A fact Sarah did not doubt. The younger woman’s gaze raked up Sarah with disdain, and despite an overwhelming desire to hide behind Kirkbourne, Sarah fisted her hands at the side and smiled sunnily at her.

“
Ah yes,” the duke said solemnly. “All a big misunderstanding. A joke gone wrong, I fear. You know how we men are. Hate to be seen to be taking on a leg shackle willingly. Lord Brackingham played along, pretending to force me into marriage. The trouble was, I was a bit tipsy and forgot to let my friends in on the joke. Now they think that Sarah… I mean Lady Sarah and I… are not a love match, when it is obvious that I am totally and utterly besotted by her. Is that not correct, my love?”

He looked deep into her eyes and for a moment, even Sarah believed him. His brown eyes darkened as he lifted her gloved hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. All she could do was nod mutely.

“Oh!” squeaked Miss Trotter, and Sarah tore her eyes from the man to whom she may well be betrothed, in time to see Lady Trotter whip out her fan and attempt to cool her flaming cheeks. Sarah smothered a smile by pretending to cough, her hand hiding her mouth until she could control it.

“
And so you see, ladies, terrible misunderstanding. Just as well I was planning to marry Lady Sarah anyway. Ah well, it is probably best for me that my friends still think I have no wish for a leg shackle, eh? I am sure I can count on you ladies for your discretion.”

“
Oh course, Your Grace. Lady Sarah, I wish you both every happiness despite your uh… impediment. Please, if you ever need help with finding a good modiste, I would be happy to accompany you.”

“
I think we must be moving along now, Amelia,” said Lady Trotter, obviously seeing the thunderous look on the duke’s face. “Goodbye, Your Grace, My Lady.”

“
Move on,” Kirkbourne barked at his coachman. They had barely moved ten strides when Kirkbourne sat back in the seat. “Bitch,” he muttered sullenly.

“
Your Grace!”

“
What!”

“
That is a terrible thing to call a lady.”

“
She
is no lady.”

“
Well, she may not have a title…”

“
Titles be damned. If the queen herself had her personality, I would suggest her no lady. Miss Trotter is a manipulative, self-serving, sly, nasty woman and if I hear you have even considered visiting a modiste with her, I shall lock you in your room.”

“
Oh you will, will you?”

“
Do not think that I will not carry out my threat.”

“
I have to be willing to marry you before I am required to obey you, Your Grace.”

“
Given that every member of the
ton
who is behind us in this line of carriages has already been told that we are supposedly a love match, I see that we have no option.”

“
And who told Miss Trotter and Lady Trotter such an unlikely tale?”

“
I did—to save your reputation. Do you really want bitches like Miss Trotter spreading it around that your father tricked me into marrying you?”

“
Of course not but…”

“
But nothing. It is what it is, Sarah.”

She sat back and contemplated him. His jaw muscle worked and his brow was furrowed yet again. Did the man never smile?

“Is that my proposal then?” she asked, her voice as sullen as his face looked.

He snorted.
“Give me some credit. I did not lose my manners when I lost that game of cards last night.”

“
Are you sure?” It was snide, but she had had about as much as she could take today.

“
I did not,” he said firmly.

The rest of the hour passed quietly. They accepted a few congratulations, smiled appropriately and waved to acquaintances.

Inwardly, Sarah fumed. Nathaniel Spencer, Duke of Kirkbourne was arrogant, argumentative, lying, most likely womanising and a thoroughly unlikeable person. And it looked as if she was going to have no choice but to marry him.