A Wager for Love (12 page)

“So … It was her I saw coming out of your house?”

Saltaire regarded him sharply. “I believe I asked you to forget that incident.”

Lord Ware shrugged. “But surely, Richard has told her that he lost the money to Ordley?”

“Apparently not.” The Earl ls voice was bored. “It seems that the boy was so befuddled with wine he scarcely knew to whom he had lost; the debt is paid, and that is all that concerns him.”

The Earl stepped back to allow his friend to precede him into the bookroom, but it was obvious that someone else had been before them. Richard, after an exhausting morning trying to get his sister on one side so that he could talk to her, and being constantly foiled in this endeavour by the Earl, had at last managed to track her down. His passionate young voice rang out with unfortunate clarity, so that Lord Ware and the Earl would have needed to be completely deaf to avoid hearing what he was saying.

“But, Lavinia, why? I don’t understand. Why did you marry him of all people? His reputation alone …”

He could get no further as Lavinia burst out angrily. “Why? What on earth can you mean, Richard? You know why I married him. Your gaming debts of course.”

“What?” There was no concealing the bafflement in Richard’s voice.

“Yes,” persisted Lavinia. “The seventy thousand guineas. I took the draft to his house, but he refused it. He said he would consider the debt paid only if I married him. Naturally I refused, and then …” She bit her lips hesitating a little. But there was no help for it-she must tell Richard the truth. “He stopped us. Cousin Elizabeth and myself when we were on our way to Lady Fitzallen’s-held us up on the highway. Oh, Richard.” Her voice threatened to break. “He said he would shoot Elizabeth if I didn’t go with him.”

White with shock Richard grasped her arms. “What the devil are you talking about? I never owed Saltaire a penny in my life.”

“What?” The colour drained out of Lavinia`s face. If her brother had not been holding her she must have surely fallen. “But, Richard. At White’s the other night?”

“Thank you, Richard. I believe I can explain.” Ice tinged the EarI’s voice, as Richard and Lavinia spun round to face him. “You may leave us.” There was no gainsaying him, and with one black look, Richard turned and left the room with Lord Ware.

Carefully and slowly the Earl closed the door. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

Lavinia faced him bravely, her eyes the only touch of colour in her face. “I think not, My Lord. No-one could explain away, this … this outrage.”

The Earl, seemingly unaffected by her distress, spoke detachedly. “Your brother lost money to my cousin. Somehow or other your chairman, whom I deduce you had instructed to carry you to my cousin’s lodgings, which by the way are in Half Moon Street, brought you to my house in error, and I took the opportunity presented to me by fate.”

Lavinia shook her head, too bewildered to take in his words.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, “If Richard didn’t owe you money, how came you to have his vowels? Why did you force me into this marriage?”

The Earl held up one hand, the lace ruffles falling back to reveal delicate wrists, which she had cause to know were like steel. “That, my dear, is a long story and is where fate, as I mentioned earlier, took a hand.”

He watched her consideringly for a second, weighing his words. Not out of any consideration for the girl standing before him. That she should be shocked when he told her, he knew. He even wondered if her brave spirit would desert her, but it was no more than an idle thought and of little importance to him. The girl was his wife and the sooner she accepted that fact the better. She already knew there was no emotion involved, well let her know the rest of it. “You see, my dear, I needed a bride and quickly. It had to be a girl of good family and possessed of a fortune. It was a wager.”

Willing herself not to faint, Lavinia held his gaze, conscious only of a burning hatred. How dare he. How dare he stand there so calmly and tell her he had married merely to win a bet. “So,” she breathed, “A wager.”

His eyes never flickered. “I warn you, Madam, disabuse yourself of any ideas you may have of trying to put an end to our marriage, unless of` course you wish to force me to take measures which will ensure that you remain my wife.”

A flush stole over Lavinia’s white face. There was no mistaking his meaning.

“Quite so.” His voice was openly mocking. “It would be a most unpleasant experience, I assure you, although I must admit I do not normally find my advances meet with quite so much dislike. However, keep my warning in mind and we shall deal extremely well together. I shall not trouble you at all. I merely ask that as my wife you remain above reproach. I shall be no complacent husband, of that you may be sure, so if you are thinking of taking lovers, forget it.”

Lavinia faced him, her eyes blazing and hands clenched. When she spoke, it was with visible effort, her bosom heaving. “You ask that I be above reproach. You-with your reputation. I shouldn’t have thought it mattered what I did, your name has already been dragged through the gutters. Nothing could make it stink worse in the noses of decent people. Countess! I would rather have remained plain Miss Davenham. That at least commanded respect.”

He crossed the room with lightening speed, grasping her shoulder so tightly that she thought she must swoon, and shaking her like a rag doll. “My reputation, unsavoury though it may be, is nothing to do with you or anyone else, but you are my wife. Have a care, Madam, do not provoke me. I have already told you, my wife must be like Caesar’s.”`

For a second wild hope crossed her face. Perhaps if she disgraced herself, he would set her free. Divorces were not unheard of. Of course one’s reputation would be gone, and one would be forced to live abroad, but at least she would be free.

The dark eyes bored into hers. “Oh no, you can forget that. Disgrace me, and you shall live to regret it. Have you never heard of the Bastille or Bridewell. Think hard, my dear.”

A shiver shook her slender body. How could she have fooled herself into thinking this man could be pleasant. Willing her tears not to fall, she broke away from him. “You need have no fear that I shall besmirch your name, Sir. I hold my own honour too high.” Her voice was cutting and the glance she cast him scornful. “I vow I can think little enough of the honour of a man who stoops to cheating to win himself` a bride.”

“It is not a bride I want, Madam wife. I can find women willing enough to share my bed anytime I choose. No, I merely wished for a well-born lady to share my name, and one with a fortune without the taint of shop. Unfortunately,” he sneered, “I could not be as choosy as I might have wished.”

She flew at him then, the palm of her hand leaving a dull red imprint on the white skin. Horrified at her own behaviour she turned, but before she could move her wrists were gripped in steel fingers and held behind her back whilst the Earl pulled her towards him, his eyes smouldering. Instinctively, Lavinia froze within the circle of his arms, clamping her lips tightly together, aware all of a sudden of the slow thudding of the Earl’s heart against her. His mouth descended on hers with punishing ferocity, and she had to fight not to submit to its subtle persuasion.

At last he released her, whispering mockingly, “Be warned, my dear, I can be most, er, unpleasant, if I choose. Play the game my way, and all will be well. Refuse and…” he shrugged meaningfully. “You know what you may expect. His eyes narrowed unpleasantly, “Or perhaps I am mistaken, can it be that my attentions would not be so, unwelcome?”

With a mocking laugh, he left her to her thoughts. He was hateful. Hateful, she told herself. How dared he abuse her so. Subject her to such … such insult. At this point she dwelt again on the nature of the insult, fingering her mouth tentatively.

Two days later a strangely assorted party arrived at the Earl`s Grosvenor Square house. Saltaire dismounted from his horse and handed first his wife and then the ecstatic Kitty out of the coach, before giving his attention to the other members of the party.

“Richard, if you will attend me tomorrow, we shall see about your membership of the Clubs.”

It had cost Lavinia dear to see the growing friendship between her brother and the Earl. To be sure on Richard’s side, it was more admiration for the older man, and many times had Lavinia been tempted to tell Richard just what feet of clay this man had, but always she had refrained. What good would it do? Richard could do nothing to help her now. She was resolved only to keep as much distance as possible between the Earl and herself. That way perhaps she could regain a modicom of peace.

With Richard disposed of, the Earl turned to his friend, Lord Ware. “l will no doubt see you at Lady Bellington’s party tomorrow, and you, too, Charles.” He then inclined his head and guided the ladies into the house.

Lavinia, finding herself once again in the small salon of the Earl’s house, determinedly ignored the feeling of apprehension which swept over her, and with a praiseworthy attempt at lightness smiled at the exuberant Kitty, handing her over to the housekeeper. “Miss Kitty will be staying with us for a short time. Perhaps you would find her a room?”

Since the news had been broken to her that she was to accompany the Countess to London, Kitty had scarcely been able to keep still, and she followed the housekeeper, flashing the Earl a smile in passing.

Sighing a little, Lavinia mounted the stairs in the wake of Kitty and the housekeeper. Walking along a broad corridor, she glanced idly at the portraits lining the walls, noticing

here and there a strong likeness to her husband. One portrait in particular, that of a cavalier, with that smile in his eyes. She shuddered a little. Why did she allow her husband to affect her so? It was ridiculous. “You are becoming foolish,” she chided herself mentally, hurrying forward as she saw the housekeeper waiting for her.

Smiling, she opened a door. “This is your room, My Lady. The Earl instructed us to prepare it for you. All the Countesses of Saltaire have used this room. It is connected to the Earl’s by a dressing room, see here is the door.”

Fearfully Lavinia glanced in the direction of the door. There was a key in it. However, despite her forebodings she could not repress a cry of delight at the room. It was obvious

that it had been newly decorated. The walls were paneled in apple-green silk, and there appeared to be a quantity of delicate gilt chairs in blonde satin, but the main feature of the bedroom was the magnificent tent bed with its draperies of green and gold.

“The Earl left strict instructions about the decoration of your room, My Lady. I do hope you like it.”

In any other circumstances, Lavinia would have found the bedroom and the small salon off it delightful, but as it was … She sighed a little. She must not sit daydreaming, it would soon be time to dine. She must get ready.

The maid who brushed her hair and deftly produced her gown, although a pleasant girl, was not Mary, with her cheerful chatter of the doings of her young man. But still, Lavinia supposed, she would have to accustom herself to her new station in life. or one thing alone, she was sure. She would visit Lady Elizabeth at the very first opportunity. An

enquiry of Richard had elicited the information that he had left that good lady a note, explaining where he was going, and Lavinia intended to waste no time in inviting her cousin to Grosvenor Square.

The ringing of the gong broke in upon these thoughts. With a murmured thanks to her maid, she gathered up her skirts. The maid later confided in her friends that the new Countess, although pleasant enough, was very strange. “You should see her gowns. I should be ashamed to appear in half of them myself. Hardly any lace at all on them, and

do you know, when she left for dinner she did not even look in the mirror once.”

All were agreed that this was passing strange behaviour in one so recently a wife, and married to such a very handsome gentleman as the Earl. But still, the Quality were forever doing odd things.

Scarcely had they sat down at table when Kitty, enchanting in blue saque, her glossy ringlets bouncing with health, burst out, “Lavinia, pray tell me, when may we go to Bond Street? I declare I have do not have a single thing fit to be seen in. I shall look positively frowsty.”

Frowsty she might feel. but she certainly did not look it. Lavinia smiled slightly, “Tomorrow morning, I promise you.”

As only the two ladies were dining, the Earl apparently abroad on some engagement, they had dispensed with formality and were sitting opposite one another at the long mahogany table. Kitty, seeing that Lavinia seemed a little quiet, enquired, “Is there anything wrong, Lavinia, you do look pale?”

“Oh, ltis nothing, I have the headache, that is all.”

Instantly Kitty was all sympathy, suggesting first this remedy and then the other, so that inside half an hour Lavinia did in truth have a headache. A headache? taunted a small knowing voice. More like a heartache. Such a thought was not to be borne. Lavinia thought fleetingly on her hus band. It was quite unaccountable, instead of being elated at

his absence, as she well knew she ought to be, she owned to a definite lowness of spirits.

In a small but charmingly furnished house off Green Street. the object of Lavinia`s thoughts was standing leaning against the mantel regarding the other occupant of the room, with a bland smile.

“But, Saltaire, I expected you days ago. You promised …” Red lips pouted invitingly.

“I was called away unexpectedly, my dear.”

Juliet, Lady Manfreyd, got to her feet, and paced the room chewing her bottom lip angrily, the satin skirts of her gown hissing gently. This was too much. She had been Saltaire’s mistress for the past three months. Oh, there had been other involvements, she knew that, and she also knew that he would never marry her, but to be cast off like this! Never in all her life had the lady experienced such chagrin. She was the one who did the casting off. The blonde curls, with their light dusting of powder, lay gleaming softly against her white skin; the gown she had on was the height of the dressmaker’s art (and as yet unpaid for); jewels glinted softly round her throat and in her ears. However, the Earl was apparently oblivious to her charms. She tapped one foot on the floor. Four days ago she had written to Saltaire on first hearing the rumour that he was to take a wife; and for four days, she had been without an answer.