A Wager for Love (13 page)

“My dear, your displeasure is most flattering, but hardly called for. After all, have I not turned a blind eye to your, er, shall I call them friendships? Have I not paid every bill without demur? But now I very much regret that we have come to the parting of the ways.”

Every word that he said was all too true. He had been a generous, if uncaring lover. Indeed, it was true to say that his generosity extended to everything but himself. jealousy

tore at her, for of all the men she had known, this cold, sardonic creature was the only one to touch her heart. For a moment she toyed with the idea of cajoling him, only to discard it. “So,” she said sweetly, “You are so enamoured of your pretty little wife, that you fear lest word of our association reaches her ears?”

Saltaire laughed, showing white even teeth. “Lud, Madam, it matters little to me, and enamoured is hardly the word I should have chosen.”

Lady Manfreyd barely restrained a gasp. “So why then?”

Saltaire crossed the room and stood for a second with his back to her, picking up a delicate Sevres ornament. “Shall we say I find myself reluctant to share your favours with

another, especially when, if you will excuse the expression, I am paying very dearly for them.”

The blood left her face, and a cold hand gripped her heart. “Lud, Gilles,” she trilled, “Never say you are jealous.” She tittered striving for a light note.

The Earl turned to face her, his eyes cold. “Not jealous, my dear, just fastidious,” he said apologetically.

Fury blazed from her eyes, and before she could stop herself she picked up the vase and hurled it at him. It smashed against the fireplace, leaving an ugly chip in the marble, falling onto the hearth in a thousand small pieces.

“That, I fear, was most unwise of you-a costly ornament.” Without another word he picked up his hat and cane and with a small bow left the room.

The Earl, arriving unexpectedly at his home, and requesting that his bride and her charge dress themselves to accompany him to a party, caused a minor flurry. My Lady, he was told, was lying down with the headache. “Well, My Lady must just rise,” was his only comment, dutifully conveyed by the round-eyed maid to Lavinia. Such a beginning did not augur well for their first public appearance as man and wife, but Kitty, at least. was pleased to be going out.

Lady Bellington’s rout party was in full swing when Viscount Ordley arrived at Brook Street. It was already well gone eleven o’clock. He had gone straight from White’s where he had been playing since early afternoon, having risen from the tables a good few thousand pounds out of pocket. The rooms were already very crowded, but he barely gave the occupants more than a cursory glance as he strode forward. He had come to Lady Bellington’s with one purpose in mind and one only-to see for himself his cousin’s bride. He took a gulp of wine. pulling a slight face. It was foul-trust Jenny Bellington. He glowered afresh, completely unaware of the fact that he was gripping his wine glass so tightly that his knuckles were white with tension.

“S’death, Ordley, what can be bringing such a frown to your face, I thought only Saltaire was capable of that.”

Ordley swallowed hurriedly and glared up at the newcomer. “Lord, Andover, must you creep up on one so, I dare swear you have just knocked halfia score years off my life.”

“Forgive me,” returned the Marquis of Andover. “Old habits die hard.”

“And your old habits necessitated the soft step, eh?” sneered Ordley.

“Er, yes. One might say that my experiences to date have brought me to that regrettable conclusion,” responded his companion.

“So back from France already, are you? How did you find our dear Louis?”

lf Ordley’s question had not just made it clear that the newcomer was fresh from France, the eloquent shrug which accompanied his reply must have done. “Much the same.”

“And La Pompadour. The court still fawning over her?”

“Dear me, Ordley. You are out of spirits.” Andover shrugged again, the handsome face slightly sardonic. “Indeed one might say that La Pompadour is as indestructible as Versaille itself and twice as ugly.”

“So you return …” mused Ordley, his small eyes sharp.

“As you so sapiently state, Ordley, I return. I found myself a trifle bored, you understand?” He watched Ordley from lazily amused eyes.

Ordley said nothing, merely Frowning darkly, his mind on his cousin. He toyed with his wine glass for a few more seconds. “And so, what think you of my cousin’s latest start?

You must have been vastly surprised. You leave England for a few short weeks and return to find Saltaire an Earl and a married man.”

“Married?” One mobile eyebrow quirked in amusement. “You jest, Ordley, surely?” He looked again at Ordley’s surly countenance. “Ah no, I see I mistake the matter. You do not jest. So Gilles is wed. What can have possessed him? Not a revengeful relative I trust? I collect there have been certain murmurings in the past.” He looked a little thoughtful and then shook his head slightly. “But no, not Gilles. One may dislike, even perhaps hate him, but never could one imagine him in a situation so, so bourgeois, shall I say?”

Ordley shrugged petulantly. “It was a matter off a wager.”

“lndeed.” He betrayed no surprise at this, merely saying coolly, “Tell me, Ordley, is Saltaire’s wire here then?”

“Aye, over there in the corner, the one with the unpowdered hair. Haughty piece ifyou ask me. They say the young girl with her is Saltaire’s latest flirt. ‘Tis all about the town.

Saltaire disappears for two days and then returns with a wife, and a new chere amie, but then you know Gilles.”

“Indeed I do,” murmured the other. For a second his eyes rested on the new Countess, a rather strange expression in their blue depths. “So doubtless within a few months the new Countess will provide her Lord with an heir and then what will become of your hopes, Ordley?”

Ordley scowled. This point had not been lost on him. “Trust Saltaire. How was I to know that he would manage to rake up the chit from nowhere, fortune and all? Cost me seventy thousand guineas that has.”

The Marquis, involved in taking a pinch of snuff, enquired gently, “How comes that about?”

Ordley lost no time in giving him the full details of his wager with his cousin.

“How very foolish of you, Ordley,” was all the response he got. “As you so rightly said, one might trust Saltaire to win.”

Ordley smiled unpleasantly. “Still rankles does it, him taking the dazzling Isabella from you?”

Just for a second, there was a flash of fury, swiftly concealed in the blue eyes. “Dear me, what a long memory you have, Ordley, that was a good few years ago. There have been many, er, fair charmers since.”

His eyes returned to the Countess and her companion. Kitty was laughing up into the Earl’s face, whilst Lavinia sat by, her eyes fixed on the floor, her hands clasped tightly in

her lap. Never in her life had she experienced such humiliation as she was experiencing now. She was not stupid, she could interpret for herself the pitying looks she was receiving. Let them think what they wished, she would not allow it to hurt her.

Dragging his eyes from Lavinia, the Marquis said softly, “Ordley, I think I should like an introduction to your new relative.”

Ordley eyed him speculatively. “What, now?”

“No, I think not, perhaps when Saltaire is not quite so much in evidence?”

They eyed one another in mutual understanding.

Lavinia was not enjoying the party. She bit her lip as she watched Saltaire openly flirting with Kitty, telling herself that her concern was for her young charge. Let Saltaire do what he willed, but not with Kitty. She was now completely on her own, as Kitty and the Earl danced together. A soft voice at her shoulder made her start.

“All alone, how fortunate, for me.” She turned with a smile on her lips. Already she had formed a liking for Lord Ware, with his impeccable manners and easy friendship. Seeing and correctly interpreting the look on her face, he assured her, “You mustn’t mind Saltaire, ‘tis just his way.”

Lavinia bit her lip. Surely she had not been so transparent. With a gallant attempt at gaiety she responded, “Oh no, to be sure, who wants a husband who is forever in one’s

pocket? Not me. It is just that being so new in London I know so few people.”

“You know me…” responded Lord Ware gravely, and was rewarded with a warm, speaking look. Hastily he attempted to turn the conversation into less dangerous channels. “I see Miss Kitty is enjoying herself.”

“Oh yes, indeed,” Lavinia sighed wistfully. “How lovely to be Kitty, carefree and gay as a bird.”

Automatically her eyes sought out that corner of the room where she had last seen her husband and Kitty, but although Kitty was there, surrounded by an admiring crowd of young men, there was no sign of Saltaire. A frown creased her brow, and then whether by accident or design, she did not know, a woman sitting to her right leaned forward and addressed her companions in a piercing whisper, plainly audible to the whole company.

“Lud, there is Juliet Mantreyd. Saltaire is a cool one-his wire, his mistress and his latest flirt all in the same room. I swear that man has no …”

“Shsss,” her friend pleaded agitatedly behind her fan, whilst Lavinia sat in her chair looking determinedly forward and wishing herself a hundred miles away. Never in her life had she endured such humiliation. and all because of her husband. Unfortunately, far from dropping the subject, the aged dame surveyed Lavinia coldly through her lorgnette. “Hmm, well if the chit don’t know by now that Saltaire keeps a mistress, it’s time she did.”

Help was at hand. Ware got to his feet. “Come. dance with me.” She smiled thankfully. eyeing him a little ruefully as he led her out onto the floor.

“Thank you, I fear my sense of humour has quite deserted me, and I was about to place myself completely beyond the pale.”

“Oh you mustn’t take any notice of Lady Charlotte. she is renowned for her bad manners. Indeed. I fear she feels it is almost expected of her,” he replied easily, giving her time to recover. But despite his words, inwardly he was himself angered and shocked at Saltaire’s behaviour. Of course, he had made no pretence of loving the girl, but even so, to treat her so. He could not have made his disinterest more plain had he shouted it from the root tops. When the dance finished, he bowed gallantly to Lavinia. “It you will excuse me for a second, I’m sure you would welcome a drink, it is so stuffy in here.”

Lavinia smiled a little regretfully as he went and returned to her seat. She was, she decided, making too much of the matter. So she was in an unpleasant situation, but many wives had to endure such humiliation. Still, try as she might, she still felt chagrin as she recalled her position. To be left amongst the dowagers, whilst her husband amused himself elsewhere. “It is just your pride that is hurt,” a little voice whispered, “because he prefers Kitty to you. Nonsense,” she said sternly to herself, “Why should I care on whom his fancy alights?” The small voice persisted, “But you do.” Did she? She wondered. Was that the truth? Was she jealous? Surely not, why she did not even like the man.

Indeed, it was quite time that someone taught her arrogant husband a lesson, and who better than herself. Straightening her back, she looked up, her eyes widening, and she caught her breath in a gasp as she exchanged glances with the man standing in the doorway. His eyes rested on her appreciatively for a few seconds. He was tall and impeccably dressed, his face handsomely tanned beneath his wig. He could not be over five and thirty, perhaps a little less. Lavinia made up her mind there and then. Well, if that was the way Saltaire wished to play the game, then let him, but he had better be on his guard for she intended to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Her mind thus made up, Lavinia faced the room with cheerful calm, but her cheeks a little hot. By the time she had recovered enough of her composure to search discreetly for the handsome stranger, he was gone. Try as she might she could not help feeling a little disappointed; there had been something in his eyes.

Lord Ware had spent a trying half an hour endeavouring to catch the eye of one of the waiters and secure a glass of wine for Lavinia. No sooner had he got one and started to fight his way back through the crush of bodies, than a young lady stepped backwards, dislodging the glass and spilling half of its contents. She turned apologetically, saw Ware, and a malicious gleam of amusement lit her eyes. It was Juliet Manfreyd. She was still smarting from her interview with the Earl, but she knew Society far too well not to realise the interpretation that would have been placed on her non-attendance at the rout party. From the moment Saltaire had left her house she had cursed her folly in thinking he would not learn of her other lovers; but she still had every hope that he would come round, and one glance at his wife had been sufficient to reassure her that there would be no competition from that quarter. Ware flushed a little under her too knowing eyes. He had never liked her. He knew that she was aware of the fact and, what was worse, was amused by it.

One delicate eyebrow arched. “Ware, and carrying ratafia unless I am mistaken.” She wrinkled her dainty nose. “Not your drink, surely. I know Jenny’s taste is deplorable,

but surely it doesn’t drive you to that?” She gestured disdainfully to his now half empty glass. She had the attention of her companions now, and they looked at Ware, with differing degrees of amusement. He began to feel distinctly uncomfortable.

“It was not for me,” he said stiffly.

Amusement shone in Juliet’s eyes. He had fallen straight into her trap, “Not for you. Lud, Ware, for a lady perhaps? Come, tell us?” she coaxed teasingly.

One would-be-wit broke in, tittering, “Perhaps he wishes to keep it a secret? Eh Ware, these jealous husbands …”

“You mistake the matter,” he began heatedly, “I was but procuring a glass for Saltaire’s wife.”

Juliet’s smile was tinged with triumph. “Saltaire’s wife, dear me, Ware, that is vastly daring of you. But why isn’t Saltaire himself with her? They have only been wed these

two or three days past.” She was all round-eyed innocence.