A Wild Night's Bride (8 page)

Their brief time together in the garden had only made her realize how lonely she was...had refreshed the longings she’d once had...awakened new cravings. Without even touching her, he had ignited a smoldering fire low in her belly. Knowing she would do well to avoid his company, she was glad he would be only a few days in London. Still, she couldn’t avoid stealing a glance at him across the room. She found him staring back at her. Caught, he hastily looked away. Though he fought the attraction, she knew he felt it too. Phoebe’s heart raced with the confirmation that he was
not
indifferent to her. Whatever his reason, it was definitely not aversion. She wondered why he had refused her in the garden. Perhaps it was lack of money, but he didn’t seem to want for it. Or perhaps he found such a business arrangement distasteful?

“Well, gentlemen,” DeVere said. “I’ve just dropped a gauntlet. No horses, cocking, cards, dice, or seducing women, as there’s no challenge for me there. Do I have any takers?”

The loser of five hundred guineas earlier that night, Lord Malden perked up at the opportunity to win it back and then some. “Then what kind of challenge are you proposing?”

“Whatever quest your feeble minds can conjure. If I don’t accomplish the feat, I am a thousand guineas poorer.”

“I confess a vivid imagination.” Lord Carlisle chortled. “Perhaps you could try to beat Fox’s record of posting to Paris and back in thirty-six hours. What the devil was it for, Fox?”

“A particular chartreuse waistcoat I had admired. Had gold frogs embroidered on it. You know what a dandy I am.” Fox laughed.

“In almost thirty years, no one has yet beat Lord March’s racing chaise record.”

DeVere dismissed the notion. “I said no horses.”

“Steal a lion from the Royal Menagerie?” Lord Malden suggested.

DeVere looked to Ned with a grin. “If I recall, we both agreed that roasted lion had a rather unpleasantly gamey taste.” He gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “No. Nothing further with animals. It’s all been done before. Come now.” His eyes gleamed. “You can do better.”

“I have a proposal.” All eyes turned to the Prince of Wales, grinning like a monkey escaped from the aforementioned Royal Menagerie. “And one that has certainly
never
been done before. But I fear, even you, DeVere, may not wish to risk the consequences.”

“And why not?” asked DeVere.

“Because failing would mean much more than the loss of your gold. It would almost certainly land you in the tower.”

“Indeed?” All trace of boredom had left DeVere’s face. “I am fascinated to hear more, Your Highness. What would you lay before me?”

“I challenge you this night to take a woman of pleasure into the Bed of State at St. James Palace and bring back to me the soiled monogrammed sheet as proof.”

“You wish me to defile the king’s bed with a whore?” DeVere roared with unbridled mirth.

The prince smiled. “A bit crudely put, but precisely.”

“I wish to add a proviso,” Lord Malden whispered to the prince, his gaze on Phoebe. “Not just any whore, but that one.” He gestured with a nod.

“Why her?” the prince asked.

Lord Malden replied with a smug smile, “Because, Your Highness, she’s a Sapphist.”

***

“Not on your life,” Ned said, departing Carlton House with a throbbing head and shaky legs. “Our escapade with the lion was one thing; we at least had a fighting chance that time, but this? I don’t relish a march up Tower Hill. I quite like my head right where it is.”

“But where is your sense of adventure, Ned? Your passion for life? You didn’t use to be such a lackluster bore.”

Ned turned to face him. “Unlike you,
I grew up!
”

“I beg to differ. You’ve grown
old
. Old and dull. Dull Dog Ned.”

“I’m not the least moved by your taunts, DeVere. I’m perfectly content with my life, while you can’t seem to stand yours.”

“What the devil does that mean?”

“The reason you run amok. You’re miserable!”

“Me? Miserable?” DeVere barked with laughter. “I’m the happiest sod in England! Unlike
some people
who suppress their carnal appetites behind feigned respectability, I do whatever the hell I want, whenever I want. And moreover, with
whomever
I want.” He slanted a meaningful look to Phoebe.

“Think what you like, DeVere. It’s your bloody wager. Not mine.”

“And I’m not about to lose a thousand guineas over your cravenness.”

“I won’t rise to that,” Ned said. “You know damned well I’m no craven. I proved it eighteen years ago, or did that old blow to your head affect your long-term memory? Besides, according to the terms of the wager, a second man is very much de trop.” He also looked to Phoebe.

“You
both
take much for granted,” Phoebe answered with an indignant sniff.

“What do you mean?” asked DeVere.

“I have no interest in any of this.”

“Of course you do,” DeVere insisted. “You are part and parcel of it.”

“I am no such thing!” she retorted and signaled a passing hackney coach.

“What do you think you are doing?” DeVere demanded.

“It’s very late. I’m very tired. I’m going home.”

“I shall escort you,” Ned said.

“The hell you will!” DeVere cried. “You are both coming with me to St. James Palace.”

“And do what?” Phoebe confronted him toe-to-toe, her hands firmly on her hips. “I heard the wager. I am
not
a woman of pleasure.”

“No?” DeVere murmured. “Then what, precisely, was the arrangement you sought with me earlier tonight?”

She cocked her head haughtily. “That was a
private
affair, certainly not for public consumption. News of this escapade will be all over London within four-and-twenty hours.”

DeVere smirked. “Surely you misjudge. I estimate it’ll travel at
least
far as York by then.”

She shot daggers with her eyes. “The result is the same. Even should I agree to such a lewd proposition and we succeed, my reputation would be in tatters. I could never recover from it.” She spun on her heel.

“But think what the notoriety could do for your career!”

She ignored the remark and trudged on. DeVere grabbed her arm and spun her back around. “Then think how very comfortably you and your tattered reputation could live.”

She made to pull out of his grasp and stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you are not of an exceedingly extravagant nature, a thousand guineas might go a very long way. It could buy a modest town home or perhaps a lovely seaside cottage in Bath. The remainder, if shrewdly invested, could pay out a nice enough dividend to provide your needs for the next ten to twenty years. As to your reputation, you could always change your name.”

She was thunderstruck. “You propose to give me the money...
all the money
if you win?”

“I have no need of the money, my dear. This is entirely about the adventure. And it was you who inspired it, after all.”

“She
inspired this madness?” Ned interjected. “How?”

“He took seriously a remark I made only in jest,” she explained. She turned back to DeVere. “You are truly in earnest about the money?”

“On my honor,” he replied, hand over heart.

Phoebe regarded him with suspicion. “I don’t think I can trust you.” She turned to Ned. “Can I trust him?”

***

“Yes,” Ned answered with a scowl. “It may be an oxymoron, but he’s an honorable rogue.” Ned looked incredulous. “You aren’t seriously contemplating this insanity?”

It
was
insanity, but DeVere was right. A thousand guineas could possibly meet her needs for life. And it was for only one night. She had already intended to barter far more for far less. She would be a fool to turn away now.

“A thousand guineas places matters, even my lost reputation, in quite another light.”

“Then you intend to go through with this?”

Her heart wrenched at the open disgust on Ned’s face. She hesitated, knowing her answer would surely reduce her to nothing more than a whore in his eyes. She closed her own so she at least wouldn’t see it. “Yes,” she said. “I intend to go through with it.”

Ned groaned. “Bloody hell! What did I ever do to deserve this?”

“You needn’t involve yourself,” Phoebe said, refusing to meet his gaze. “The wager only requires the two of us.”

“And I despise that he’s got you entangled in his antics.” He heaved a martyr’s sigh. “While DeVere can go to the devil for all I care, I won’t see you taken by the palace guard for his flight of madness.”

“A thousand guineas is a powerful inducement,” she said. “I go willingly.”

“Nevertheless, I will accompany you.” Ned turned back to DeVere who regarded them both with an amused smirk. “I’m acting against all my instincts and inclinations, so be forewarned I’m more than likely to pummel you before this night is through.”

DeVere threw his head back and crowed, “That’s my Ned of old!”

While this ludicrous exchange was taking place, Phoebe had already signaled a hackney coach. “What need have we for a hack when St. James Palace is only across the square?” DeVere asked.

“Don’t you suppose this requires a plan?” she countered. “Covent Garden Square,” she instructed the driver.

“A plan?” DeVere repeated blankly.

“Aye,” she answered. “I don’t intend to risk my neck without one.”

“She has a point, DeVere,” Ned said.

DeVere regarded her, his expression both perturbed and perplexed. “And I suppose you have already devised such a
plan?
”

“Aye,” she answered without elaboration. “And if you step into the hack, I will reveal it to you.”

“Damme if she hasn’t usurped control of this!” Ned laughed.

“Well, are you coming or not?” Phoebe replied. “I can’t do this by myself.”

***

After a brief stop in which DeVere was obliged to provide a few silver coins in exchange for Mrs. Andrews’ key, Phoebe led Ned and DeVere to the warehouse where the theater costumes were stored. By the dim glow of a shuttered lamp, she began to rifle the racks for miscellaneous items. “Take your clothes off. Both of you,” she commanded.

“I hardly think there’s time,” DeVere remarked drily. “Besides, I’ve never known Ned to be partial to sharing.”

“You know that’s
not
what I meant. Your outer garments. Please,” Phoebe tossed over her shoulder along with a footman’s livery in red and gold and a white wig. “Does your mind ever surface from the gutter, my lord?”

“Rarely,” Ned answered on his friend’s behalf.

“Oh!” She cried with delight upon her next discovery. “We now have a footman
and
a Yeoman Guard. She pulled out a white ruff, flat hat, and an elaborate Tudor-style tunic such as was still worn by the palace guard. She tossed the garments to Ned.

Stripped of outer clothes, his white linen shirt and breeches revealed an impressive breadth of chest and shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist. She sized up his considerable form with a hard swallow and managed to summon a frown. “Good thing you’re the guard,” she mumbled with feigned nonchalance. “The footman’s livery never would have fit.” She hid her discomposure by digging further into the wardrobe until she retrieved a plain black gown and apron. “I daresay these should do very nicely for me.” She then shuttered the lamp, leaving them in near darkness.

“How do you expect us to dress in the dark?” DeVere complained.

“You can’t expect me to
undress
in the light?” she said.

“Don’t you think modesty a bit futile, my sweet, when we will be in bed together an hour from now?”

Phoebe could detect an audible grinding of teeth coming from Ned’s direction.

“Who says I have to undress for you?” she answered back. “I don’t recall any such stipulation. I remind you that this is entirely a
business
arrangement, my lord. Surely the act can be accomplished quite efficiently while clothed.”

“Efficiently, yes,” DeVere argued. “But not pleasurably. I always make a point of mixing business and pleasure, you see.”

“But my business is not
your
pleasure,” she argued.

“Enough!” Ned snapped at DeVere. “Must you continue to go on about it when it’s clearly distasteful to her?”

“But if we are to soil the sheets together—oof!” The rest of DeVere’s reply was muffled by a stifled curse followed by the distinctive sound of flesh striking a solid surface.