A Wager for Love (8 page)

The grip on her arm tightened again. “We have already kept the vicar waiting long enough. You have no need to embellish yourself, my love, you look enchanting enough.”

Steadfastly, Lavinia refused to meet his eyes, knowing if she did he would see the fear they held. Mrs. Robbins, seemingly completely unaware of the undercurrent of hostility between them, held out her hands for Lavinia’s cloak, saying admiringly, “Such a lovely gown, if I may be so bold as to say so, Miss.”

Smiling a little sardonically, Saltaire led her forward, out of the hall and down a narrow stone flagged passage. “This is the old part of the house,” he murmured softly. “Rumour has it that one of my ancestors found this passage extremely useful; it used to run for a couple of miles beyond the house, but it fell into disuse and had to be blocked up when my grandfather was first married. At one time the chapel was used regularly by the household and the family.”

Lavinia shivered a little as the damp cold of the stone penetrated her thin soles, and she knew from the amused glance her companion gave her, that he was aware of her unease. Suddenly the passage opened out into a small but extremely beautiful chapel, and in any other circumstances she would have thought a wedding held here would indeed be blessed.

The ceremony was simple and brief. The ring the Earl produced was heavy and old fashioned and slightly on the large side. Eyes heavy with tears, she felt the weight of it on her finger. It was no heavier than the weight upon her heart at this travesty of the marriage she had one day hoped might be hers. There was silence in the chapel. She glanced upward to find three pairs of eyes fixed on her face. The vicar, a small, smiling person, eyed her kindly. “You may kiss the bride, My Lord.”

Lavinia shrank instinctively and just had time to see the flash of mockery in the satanic face before it blotted out the light. The Earl’s mouth brushed hers lightly in the merest breath and then he lifted his head, but not before whispering languidly in her ear. “Such dread, my dear. Anyone would think you have never been kissed before.”

She trembled violently, refusing to meet his gaze, but he was not to be thwarted.

“Well?” he prompted.

She glanced round wildly, but they were completely alone. The vicar was busying himself about the altar, and had his back to them. The housekeeper and the butler, who had witnessed the ceremony, had tactfully melted away.

Slowly and deliberately she rubbed at her mouth with her handkerchief, saying coldly, “I have received kisses a plenty, Sir, but none as unwelcome as yours.”

His eyes darkened and she felt the hiss of his breath as he stepped forward gripping her arms painfully. “You will regret those words, Madam wife, no-one speaks to me like that.”

Frightened, but determined not to show it, Lavinia met his eyes.

“Excuse me, My Lord …” The vicar was hovering anxiously. Saltaire gave Lavinia a savage glare and then turned aside to attend to the clergyman. When at last he faced her again, he had himself well in hand.

“Ours is a marriage of convenience, Madam, so disabuse yourself of any foolish ideas you might be harbouring. But, and I shall only say this once, I warn you all the Saltaires are renowned for their tempers, push me too far and you will regret it.”

Rigid with fury, Lavinia stood her ground. “Convenient for whom, My Lord, certainly not for me, and believe me I harbour no ideas. I am no young Miss to fall into a green sickness and languish over a romantic rake. I scarcely supposed you to have fallen madly in love with me the moment you set eyes on me,” she added for good measure. “And of one thing you may be sure, your distaste of my person in no way exceeds mine of yours.”

Saltaire was busily engaged in removing one strand of russet hair from his coat, a task which had Lavinia’s eyes fixed on him as a certain dreadful suspicion formed in her mind. She had no doubt that that hair was her own. How it had got there and, worse still, why it should remain seemingly lovingly curled around Saltaire’s shoulder, she could not begin to understand.

At last when he did respond to her comment, he seemed more disposed to be amused than annoyed, “Did I say your person gave me a distaste. I think not. Indeed …” He eyed her consideringly in a fashion that brought the blood surging to her face. “… I am sure it is quite delightful.”

“And you are of course an expert,” she flung at him.

“Well, let us say a connoisseur,” he amended. “And now, it you will follow me, I believe Mrs. Robbins has prepared a room for you.”

The housekeeper had indeed, and if she thought it strange that the new bride should spend the night alone in the bridal chamber, she was far too well trained to say so.

Whilst Lavinia was facing her first morning as the Countess of Saltaire, three people were surveying with differing degrees of surprise, or horror, dependent upon their natures, missives they had received from the Earl.

The first of the trio. Viscount Ordley, was sipping distastefully at a small glass of beer with very little appearance of relish, surveying his countenance in the mirror with a good deal ofsatisfaction. Indeed, he considered he had every right to feel exceedingly well pleased with life, little knowing the blow fate had in store for him. Firstly, and perhaps least importantly, for the Viscount, although nice in his dress, was definitely not one ofyour Macaronis, his new velvet coat delivered that very morning (and as yet unpaid for) had been a very happy choice. Secondly, had he not also every hope of winning his bet against his cousin, and collecting seventy thousand guineas into the bargain; and lastly and most important of all, he would have the satisfaction of, for the first and perhaps the only time in his life, besting his cousin, whom he hated most intensely.

A discreet knock on the door produced a flunkey bearing a silver salver on which reposed the note. He opened it and read it, stunned incredulity darkening his face, as he scanned the lines. “God in Heaven, I don’t believe it. ” His fist crashing onto the table sent the remains of the beer slopping onto the carpet. His valet, just about to place upon his Master’s head his wig, backed off slowly. Well did he know his master’s tempers and he was in no mind to receive a missile at his head.

In furious disbelief Ordley read the note once more.

“My dear cousin, I beg leave to inform you that I have this very evening taken to wife Miss Lavinia Davenham. Indeed by the time you receive my note, the girl will be mine and the wager won.”

His face purple with rage, Ordley screwed the note into a ball and hurled it into the fireplace with a curse, chewing his bottom lip angrily. It was scarcely twenty-four hours since he had received from his cousin a draft in settlement of young Arnedale’s debts, and now this.

The second member of the trio opened his letter in a well furnished room in his house at Albermarle Street. The bright morning sunlight streamed in through the windows of the well-proportioned morning room, picking out its rich furnishings, but Lord Ware was oblivious to the beauties of the morning. Thoughtfully he perused his letter, a small smile playing round his mouth, and then placing it down on the table he rang for his butler. “My brother, Charles, where is he?”

The butler, who was inured to the wild pranks of his Master’s younger brother, coughed depreciatingly, “Ahem, he isn’t in the house, My Lord. Indeed I have not seen him all morning.”

Lord Ware tapped his fingers absently on the table for a moment. “Well I wish to see him the moment he returns, and if he is not back within two hours you must send a running footman for him.”

Dismissing the man, he leaned against the fireplace, one hand under his chin. “So, Gilles, you accomplished it then,” he murmured to himself. “Unfortunate for the poor bride though.”

For no good reason at all Lord Ware recalled the girl he had seen leaving the house in Grosvenor Square so hurriedly, pondering on what he had previously overlooked, the draft lying carelessly on the Earl’s desk. He sighed a little. At one time he had thought that marriage to the right woman would be the making of his friend, but now … He shook his head. He doubted that any woman had it in her power to sway him from his chosen path, which appeared to be the swiftest possible one to ruin. He sighed again, his breakfast quite forgotten.

The last member of the trio was at his breakfast when Lady Elizabeth’s butler announced a caller. Richard, Lord Arnedale, had not as yet made so many acquaintances in London that a caller was an occasion of small or no import. Taking a hasty swallow of his coffee, he gestured to the man, but the Honourable Charles Ffoilliot, Lord Ware’s amiable younger brother, was already bounding up the stairs two at a time, the note he had picked up from the tray in the hall in his hand.

“Charles, it’s gvood to see you,” greeted Richard warmly.

Charles, although only some six months older than Richard, was far better versed in the Ton and its ways, due in the main to the endeavours of his older brother, and was consequently the ideal companion for a young man desirous of entering into all the pleasurable pursuits of the Upper Ten Thousand.

“Lord, Richard, you look devilish fine. I swear if I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t recognise you for the same person.” He stood back admiringly.

Richard grinned a little bashfully as Charles took in the splendour of his cream small clothes and maroon velvet coat, lavishly embroidered with silver peacocks. He waited anxiously as Charles surveyed him first from this angle and then from the other.

“Perhaps it is a little …?” he ventured at last.

“No … No …” Charles looked up consideringly. “No, Richard, it is very well. Perhaps a touch more lace at the cuffs,” he added thoughtfully, “and you must have a snuff box of course, but we shall attend to that this morning.”

Richard could find nothing to cavil at in this excellent plan. Feeling that he had passed an extremely difficult test with flying colours, he turned to instruct the footman to tell Lady Elizabeth of his plans.

“Oh by the way, Richard, I nearly forgot. I have a note here for you. It was in the hall so I carried it up with me.” Charles turned it over, looking at the inscription in startled surprise. “Why, ‘tis from the Earl, I didn’t know you were on writing terms with Saltaire, Richard?”

Richard flushed, took the note and slowly opened it feeling puzzled. Charles had made many mentions of the Earl’s exploits to his cronies at University, and Richard had conceived something akin to hero worship of the older man, although he had never actually met him. He could hardly believe his eyes; the letter dropped from his fingers, to be hastily rescued by Charles, who scanned the lines, giving a soundless whistle. “So that is the way of it is it …”

Richard swallowed, stuttering, “There must be some mistake … why, Lavinia doesn’t even know him.”

Charles glanced at him. “Saltaire wouldn’t let a little thing like that stand in his way, especially with what he had at stake.”

“What?” Richard was too bemused to pay very much heed to his friend’s words, so great was his shock.

“Well, ‘tis obvious he has married her to win his bet,” pointed out Charles, helping himself to a generous portion of beef, and thus missing Richard’s bewildered expression.

“What bet?”

“Oh didn’t you know?” Charles was surprised. “Ah, no, now I remember, it was after you had left White’s the other night. Ordley bet the Earl that he could not marry within the week a girl of good family and possessed of a fortune. Apparently he had to marry anyway, something about his grandfather’s Will. He left Saltaire his money only on condition that he married within a certain period.” He chewed reflectively for a second and then frowningly remarked, “But I didn’t know your sister had a fortune.”

Richard, his mind still trying to assimilate the information that his sister. Lavinia. was married to the Earl of Saltaire, murmured, “What? Oh yes.” He bit his lip, pale but resolute … “Charles. you don’t think Saltaire has forced Lavinia to marry him against her will?”

“Must have done. I suppose,” said Charles reasonably, instantly regretting his words when he saw Richard’s face, and hastily tried to make amends. “That is he may have, but it’s not definite. They might have conceived a violent attraction for one another.”

“But I don’t think Lavinia has ever met him,” said Richard slowly. “She has only been in London a matter of days.”

Charles, seeing that the conversation was getting out of hand, offered palliatively, “But you don’t know that, Richard, they could have met abroad.”

“Yes.” Relief showed on Richard’s all too transparent face. “Yes, that could have been the way of it.” The uncomfortable thought suddenly struck Richard that he was perhaps not showing the indignation expected of him, after all he could not be sure that Saltaire had not forced Lavinia against her will. His hands clenched a little, his eyes kindling as Richard contemplated his duty.

Charles, who had been congratulating himself on his diplomacy, for in his opinion it was plain that Saltaire had made off with the chit, observed the new determination on Richard’s face with unease.

“It says in the note that Saltaire has taken Lavinia to his country seat. I shall go after them and see for myself that Lavinia is all right.” Feeling that perhaps in terms of righteous indignation this speech left something to be desired, Richard added portentously, “And if he has so much as hurt one single hair of her head, I shall kill him.”

Charles, whilst applauding the sentiments of these words, felt constrained to point out, “You can’t do that, Richard. Not for marrying the girl.” He shook his head gravely. “Now if he had run off with her, and not married her then …” Seeing the infelicity of the direction these thoughts were taking, he added, “You can’t kill him anyway, devilish fine swordsman is Saltaire, one of the best. He would spit you in a flash and then there would be an outcry. You can’t go round killing off your own brother-in-law. Devilish bad ton.” A fresh thought struck him. “Besides, your sister might be glad to be a Countess, odd creatures women.”

Richard was torn between his admiration of the Earl and his desire to protect his sister. Hearing about Saltaire’s exploits was one thing, but knowing his sister to be involved in one of them was different altogether. Richard sighed, his mind made up. He would go after them. Having made the decision, he was all impatience to be gone, as he now felt uneasy for his sister’s safety. “Charles, I’m leaving immediately,” he announced, cutting short his friend’s ramblings. “You can come with me or not, as you please.’”