A Wager for Love (20 page)

The footmen. divested of their frock coats, were engaged on the difficult task of hanging the newly washed chandeliers, and the room resounded with banging and muted oaths as carpenters erected the staging for the flowers and the waterfall Lavinia had planned. Not one word had she said to the Earl about the deplorable state of the ballroom. Instead she had instructed the housekeeper to let her have a list of all that needed to be done in the house. The poor lady, nearly overcome with gratitude, had announced to the butler that the new Countess knew just how things ought to be done, and was a real lady if ever she had met one.

“Well, Mrs. Johnson, it is coming along very well. The chairs?”‘

“All is arranged, My Lady. If you will but step down to my room I will show you the patterns. There is one in particular I think you will like. It is a pale green brocade.”

Lavinia followed the housekeeper. The invitations would have to wait.

Viscount Ordley was having a very disappointing day. Baulked of his pleasure in acquainting Saltaire with the news that his wife was conducting a flirtation with the Marquis of Andover, he had gone to his club in the hope of winning a little money. Instead he had lost. Only five hundred guineas to be sure, but five hundred was a good deal when one was as hard-pressed as he. Since the marriage of his cousin he had found it increasingly difficult to raise any money. The Jews were nothing like as helpful now that he could no longer regard himself as Saltaire’s heir. He was just drinking his wine and cogitating on the mysteries of unkind fate when he saw Saltaire entering. Perhaps his cousin might prove accommodating, and supply a small loan? Had he not been in such desperate straits he would not have even considered such a course. He knew Saltaire of old. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Hurriedly he put down his glass and followed Saltaire. “Ah cousin, this is indeed a pleasure. You have not been here much of late. No doubt your delightful wife keeps you at home?”

Saltaire regarded him sardonically. “A warm welcome, Ordley, how much do you want?”

At the very unpleasant tone in his voice, Ordley was seized by an overwhelming temptation to tell Saltaire just what his “charming wife” had been doing the previous night. Only the thought of having to face the Marquis of Andover stopped him. However, luck was with him, and he was destined not to be disappointed. Hardly had Saltaire raised his glass to his lips than he was hailed by Lord Ware, who was accompanied by a portly, bucolic looking individual.

“Ah, Saltaire,” the latter gentleman said, “I tried to have a word with you last night at Betty Harrington’s squeeze. but I missed you. Now that pretty wife of yours though…”

He nudged Saltaire in the ribs in a manner that made Ware close his eyes for a second. However, worse was to come. Sir John was not noted for his tact, and on this occasion he excelled himself. “Dancing with Andover she was. Lord, but they made a pretty pair. The dowagers were all agape, I assure you.”

Ordley could scarcely restrain his glee, whilst Lord Ware tried unsuccessfully to quieten his exuberant companion. “She’s certainly a pretty piece, Saltaire. When I heard you had married a fortune, I said to myself, bound to be as plain as a pudding. They always are, and then what do I find?” He beamed at Saltaire, oblivious to his rigid countenance, or Lord Ware’s agonised expression.

“Your appreciation is most gratifying, Sir John, but if you will excuse me?”

“Excuse you? You have only just arrived. Eh, what’s that, Ware? Oh yes, of course. Well, if you must leave Saltaire.” And he winked broadly.

Saltaire bowed distantly and turned back to his cousin. “Now, cousin, I believe you were on the point of telling me how much you wished to borrow from me.”

Ordley told him.

The Earl passed him the money murmuring quietly, “By the wav, Ordley, I shall take it very much amiss should you propose any further parties of which my wife is to be a member. Do I make myself clear?”

Ordley smiled genially, parting Saltaire on the back.

“Ah, you are thinking of Andover. Indeed, a handsome devil, Saltaire. Still you need not fear, I’m sure your Countess is properly appreciative of her position.”

“I don’t think I understand you, cousin,” said the Earl so softly, that his companion could hardly catch the words. “Indeed, I hope I do not understand you, because if I do…” The soft voice was distinctly menacing.

Ordley shrugged. He had had his fun, and after all he could not afford to cross Saltaire too much.

Once free of his club, the Earl stepped into his chair and gave a few curt instructions. He was put down outside a pleasant enough house in Half Moon Street, where he knocked and was admitted. The footman, recognising quality when he saw it, took his card with suitable deference and handed it to the butler. Saltaire was shown into a small but pleasantly furnished room.

The gentleman he had called to see was in his bedchamber, preparing to face the day. He raised his eyebrows a little when he heard the name of his visitor. “So, a visit from Saltaire.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He had his own ideas of just who Ordley had seen embracing the Earl’s wife in the pagoda. “You may tell the Earl that I shall be with him directly, Jenks.”

The Earl was studying the painting on the far wall of the room with little real interest when the door opened. He swung round. “Andover.”

Andover bowed, smiling a trifle depreciatingly. “This is an unlooked for honour, Saltaire. What brings you here?” The Marquis was not a malicious man, indeed he was renowned for his lighthearted insouciance, but there lay between these two men that which made him keen to derive the last ounce of satisfaction from the coming interview. He knew full well what brought the Earl here.

Saltaire was obviously not in the mood for civilities. “You know my reasons for coming here, Andover.” The silken voice was pleasant enough but edged with a hint of steel.

The Marquis affected not to notice this. He glanced admiringly at the delicate handkerchief dangling from Saltaire’s wrist. “Why, I see you follow our French fashions. I have not seen many others in London.”

The Earl refused to be sidetracked. “There is a certain matter of my wife.”

Andover crossed to the table and poured two generous measures of wine, holding the ruby liquid up to the light for a second and studying it carefully before replying. “Ah, yes, your wife. A charming girl if I may say so, Saltaire, and spirited with it. I believe?”

“I do not seek your opinion,” cut in the Earl ruthlessly.

“Oh, then what do you seek?” enquired Andover softly. “Surely it cannot be that you fear your wife will fall victim to my fabled charm?” He mocked lightly.

A grim smile lurked in the Earl’s eyes. “Of that I have no fears. I have taken steps that I am sure will ensure my wife will wish to have nothing further to do with you.”

An answering smile lit the other’s face. “The pagoda, I thought as much. Poor girl, was she very frightened?”

The green eyes hardened. Not easily would Saltaire forget the terrified racing of his wife’s heart against his chest, nor the fearless way she had stood up to him, and as for the rest of that encounter … He switched his thoughts quickly to the matter in hand. “No, my wife I am sure will do all that is proper. But you?”

The Marquis said nothing, merely continuing to smile gently. He had waited many years for this meeting, and if all was not going exactly as he had planned, well he could still derive a certain satisfaction from seeing Saltaire’s obvious annoyance.

“It has come to my attention that you were a good deal in my wife’s company the other night. I do not care to be told such things. Do I make myself clear?”

“As crystal,” affirmed the Marquis. “But I fear, Gilles, I cannot comply.” He was enjoying himself.

With a thunderous look Saltaire walked towards him, his voice still silky with menace. “Oh, but you must, my friend.”

The Marquis shrugged. “Come, Saltaire, you forget, I am not Ordley or Ware, to jump to your bidding. Besides, do you really want to make yourself a complete laughingstock? The role of the injured husband is not one that suits you. But come, you must tell me what the role of husband is like. I own I have often wondered in the past.”

Saltaire acknowledged this hit with a wintry smile. “I warn you, Andover, I shall brook no flirtation between you and my wife. She is my wife, and so she will remain.”

“Dear me,” remarked the Marquis mildly. “I fear I was under some misapprehension. I had understood this to be a marriage of convenience and nothing more. Saltaire, I see your dilemma, believe me. You, an acknowledged rake, and your wife enjoying an affair with someone else. But you can hardly shut the poor girl up like a nun.” A gleam lit his eyes. “There are many that would enjoy such a tale, your cousin Ordley for one.”

The Earl leaned on the table and spoke so softly that the Marquis had to bend close to catch his words. “I shall say this only once, Andover. If I hear the merest breath of scandal concerning my wife and you, I shall ensure that this affair is your last.”

“A duel.” Laughter sprang to the Marquis’s eyes. “You are too sanguine, Saltaire. We have always been evenly matched. I might be the victor, and to the victor the spoils, umm?”

An ugly smile crossed the Earl’s face. “A duel, my friend? Oh no, I shall instruct my servants to whip you out of town.”

Andover expelled his breath on a hiss. all trace of laughter gone. “l see, Isabella all over again.” He took a gulp of his wine, keeping his eyes fixed on the Earl. “And if I agree. will you answer me one question?”

“What?”

“Why are you so concerned? It is public knowledge that you care nought for the chit.”

For a second it seemed as though the Earl would refuse to answer but then he said slowly. “She is my wife. That is reason enough. So I have your promise?”

The Marquis smiled. “You have my promise that I shall not wantonly seduce the girl, if that’s what you mean.” And with that, the Earl had to be satisfied.

For a long time after he had left, the Marquis stood at the window, a brooding expression on his face. His quarrel with the Earl went back a long time. This time he would be the victor, of that he was determined. It was a pity that Saltaire had intervened so early in the game, but all was not lost yet.

Lavinia had just written the last one of her invitations, and was surveying it thoughtfully when her husband walked into the room. Startled, she raised her eyes from the name she had so carefully inscribed. Quickly she put it down and covered it with an envelope, hoping that Saltaire would not notice. It was a forlorn hope.

“What are you doing, Madam?”

She made a brave attempt at dissimilation. “Oh, I have just been writing these invitations. She gestured to the pile of envelopes at her side. “I vow my wrist is quite aching.”

“You should have got Kitty to help you,” responded the Earl a little unsympathetically, she thought. “Where is she?”

Lavinia had no wish to get involved in a discussion about Kitty’s affairs. “She is lying down. She has a megrim,” she added hurriedly.

Anxiously she watched as his eyes rested thoughtfully on the envelope. Unable to draw her eyes from his, she held her breath as he leaned forward and removed it. The white card with its gilt edging lay face downwards on the desk. “It appears that one of your invitations has gone astray.”

Lavinia licked her lips nervously. “Why yes, so it has. Never mind, I shall place it with the others.”

“Pray allow me,” he said with elaborate courtesy. Lavinia closed her eyes as he picked up the card holding it between his finger and thumb. “The Marquis of Andover,” he read out. “Forgive me, Madam, but I cannot recollect such a name on the list I gave you. But perhaps my memory is at fault?”

There was a brief hiatus during which Lavinia consigned him to a dreadful and unspecified fate. “No, I believe it was not on your list,” she said in a light tone. “However, knowing he is a friend of your cousin’s …” She shrugged depreciatingly. “I merely thought …” .

“My dear, such consideration,” he marvelled. “My cousin will doubtless be in your debt. But,” and his voice hardened, “I scarcely think it was consideration for my cousin that prompted this, was it?”

Lavinia decided that attack was her only form of defence. “And what other reason could there possibly be?” she enquired, her tone a little haughty. At that moment she was every inch the Countess. She pressed home her advantage. “Perhaps you feel that the Marquis is not a fit person to mingle with the rest of our guests. I have heard of his reputation of course. Perhaps you fear that some of the ladies present-Lady Juliet for instance-may be embarrassed by his presence?”

There was a tense silence. Only the tight white line round his mouth betrayed his fury. “I warn you, Madam, do not think to creep oft with Andover to some convenient corner to enjoy his kisses.” His voice was openly mocking. “If it is kisses you want, perhaps I myself can oblige.”

Lavinia put her hands up to her flaming face. Surely he could not possibly guess? In a voice thick with tears she cried, “I do not want any kisses, Sir, yours or anyone else’s.”

When she eventually turned round he had gone. She picked up the invitation, her fingers trembling so much she could hardly hold it. She would invite the Marquis, she decided firmly, and if Saltaire thought he was her lover, well let him. She could not quite see why such a thought should cause her a small stab of pain-but it did.

..

Lavinia put down her book and stretched restlessly. Heavens, was it only nine o’clock? How the evening was dragging. Since her clash with her husband the previous evening, she had seen very little of him. When she had come down for breakfast he was out riding in the park. He had returned briefly, only to leave on some unspecified business shortly afterwards. She had dined alone, and Saltaire was still out. She did not know where, but felt she could hazard a guess.

Even Kitty had been strangely elusive, sending down a message that she had a headache and would therefore be eating in her room.

A tap at the door created a welcome diversion. It opened to reveal a rather undersized maid clutching a wafer of paper. “A note for you, My Lady, from Miss Kitty.”