All's Fair in Love and Scandal (11 page)

The only one to win
. Her heart gave an unsteady thump. “But you cannot. What did you win?”

“Nothing.” He bent his head and kissed the base of her throat where her pulse had barely slowed.

“Don’t you trust me enough to tell me?” Even as she spoke her arm stole around his neck. “Does it have something to do with our wager, about my writing?”

The look on his face was stark horror. It gave her a moment of pause. “Your reaction when I named my stake was remarkable,” she went on, with some trepidation. “How did you guess?”

Douglas closed his eyes. “Please don’t make me tell you.”

Oh God. All her happiness and contentment drained away. Her mouth went dry. “Tell me. If you mean to stay here longer than tonight, there cannot be secrets between us.”

He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, which did nothing for her nerves. “Remember that I’m an acknowledged idiot,” he said at last.

“Very well,” she murmured.

“It would also help if you forgave me right now,” he added. She raised her brows in alarm, but he nodded. “Just to set the proper mood. It will give me courage.”

“Then I forgive you.”

Douglas took a deep breath and blew it out. “Someone placed a bounty on the identity of the author of
50 Ways to Sin
.”

Madeline blinked. She stared at him, and then she laughed. It was a small giggle at first, but quickly burst into a full peal of laughter. “Lady Constance? You think I’m
Constance
?”

His expression was priceless: a mixture of discomfort, alarm, and curiosity. “Aren’t you?”

It took her a moment to catch her breath, she was laughing so hard. “No,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “Although I wish I’d thought of that conceit!”

“You’re truly not?”

“Truly not. What made you think I was?”

His face assumed an expression of intense relief. “You bought all that paper . . . and you wagered ownership of your writing . . .”

“Yes, I wanted you to agree!” She smiled. “Agree, and then lose.”

He looked a bit piqued, but didn’t respond to that. “Er . . . Your maid’s name seems a great coincidence . . .” He glanced sideways at her. “Could she be . . . ?”

Madeline rolled her eyes. “If so, she is writing complete fiction. She would also be an idiot to use her own name. What else?”

He frowned. “The way you attend every
ton
party just to watch, as if you were sizing up gentlemen for discreet liaisons . . .”

“But I turn down every man who speaks to me.”

“Except me.” He kissed her thoroughly, as if to make her forget all that he had just said.

Madeline kissed him back, feeling much lighter. She knew about
50 Ways to Sin
. Whoever wrote it must be very daring indeed. She supposed it was plausible that someone thought she could be the author, but the effort necessary to sustain such privacy would be incredible. At the very least, servants would talk. Still, she knew it sold almost as fast as the printer could print the issues, and for that alone she envied Constance. It must be making her a fortune. “Here I thought every man in London harbored hopes of bringing the mysterious Constance to bed! What disappointment you must feel!”

Douglas shook his head. “I will never be disappointed to find myself next to you in bed.”

That ended her laughter. She cupped one hand around his jaw. “Nor I, with you.”

“Keep that thought in mind. Someone . . . some damned bloody guttersnipe . . . taunted me into trying to locate proof that you’re Constance.”

“Oh my.” She laughed again. “It will be very difficult to win that wager, since there is no proof.”

“I didn’t wager that you
were
Constance,” he quickly replied. “I only agreed that he and I would split the bounty if I found proof that you were.”

Madeline smiled. She couldn’t seem to stop. It all seemed so silly. “Then I forgive you, completely.”

“I only wagered, just the once, that I would dance with you.” Douglas seemed in the full flow of confession. “It was before I knew you at all. I still want to dance with you but I don’t care a damn about the wager, and I don’t intend to mention it ever again.”

“Don’t you like to win?”

Some of his cocksure grin returned. “I have won. You’ve not drawn a pistol on me or thrown me out into the street.”

“Yet,” she said, but with a smile that ruined it.

“Then . . .” He frowned curiously. “What writing did you plan to confess to?”

“It seems so tame now. I write the gossip for the
Intelligencer
.” Douglas’s expression was completely blank. “It’s a small newspaper owned by a friend of my late husband’s. Arthur was an investor and I inherited his shares. The newspaper was struggling and I needed some occupation. It’s a great secret; I attend parties and balls in order to gather material, and I would be cut by all society if it were known.”

Slowly a smile crept over his face. “Gossip. That’s what you write. Good God, what a joke.”

“Whoever made that wager deserves to lose,” she said.

“Agreed.”

A scratching at the door interrupted. Madeline gasped. “Mr. Nash!” She scrambled out of bed and threw on her dressing gown as she hurried to the door.

Douglas sat up. “Mr. Nash?”

“Yes, my usual bed partner.” She opened the door and scooped up the cat when he prowled into the room. “Isn’t he a handsome fellow?”

Douglas stared at the cat, then fell back into the pillow, laughing.

“Mr. Nash,” came Constance’s furious whisper from the dark corridor. “Where are you, silly cat?”

“He’s here.” Madeline pushed open the door.

“Oh.” The maid stopped short. “Quite a racket he made downstairs, wanting in. I tried to catch him before he woke you . . .” Constance glanced over Madeline’s shoulder and gave a tiny coy smile. “But I see he didn’t. Poor George; he’ll be without a position now, won’t he?”

Madeline put down Mr. Nash, who was struggling. “Good night, Constance.”

Her maid went back toward the stairs, shaking her head and murmuring about poor Mr. Steele, too. Madeline closed the door and regarded the scene with a tinge of amazed satisfaction. Douglas had pushed himself up on one elbow and looked virile and gorgeous in her bed. Mr. Nash lay on her pillow, regally allowing Douglas to scratch his head.

Douglas glanced up. “Mr. Nash, eh? And George and Mr. Steele? Quite a lot of fellows in this house.”

“Constance has a healthy imagination. George is the footman she hoped I would hire, and Mr. Steele the butler. Neither is a real person.” She slid back into bed. “I’m not the wicked widow people seem to think I am.”

“Don’t be hasty.” He plopped the cat on the foot of the bed and pulled her close. “There’s much to be said for wickedness at the right time and place.”

“In bed with you?”

“Absolutely,” he growled.

“I’m sorry to cost you another wager, even if a ridiculous one. If only there were some way to turn the tables on the fool who enticed you to it.”

“Well,” he began tentatively. “I agree—mostly because I don’t want him to spread it about that you
are
Lady Constance. I did have one idea . . .”

Madeline was quiet for a minute. “Is it likely to work?”

“I think it might.” He hesitated. “With your help, it might be guaranteed.” And he told her his plan.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

T
he next evening, Douglas arrived with unusual punctuality at the Cartwright ball. He took a glass of wine for courage and stationed himself where he could see the whole room, and waited. Philip Albright wandered in some time later. Douglas resisted the urge to check his watch. Madeline would be here. The only question was, would Spence?

But it wasn’t long before the familiar figure strolled in, his customary smirk in place. Douglas took a deep breath and made his way across the room.

“Ah, Bennet. How goes your detection?” Spence asked idly when Douglas reached him.

His gaze swept around the room. He had to wait until Madeline arrived. “So much for a polite greeting, eh?”

The other man’s lip curled. “Such nice manners! I didn’t expect it of you. Very well: good evening. I trust you are well?”

A flash of green at the far end of the room caught his eye. Douglas’s heart jolted into his throat as Madeline stepped around a pillar with a swish of her emerald skirts. Her golden hair gleamed in the candlelight. She raised a glass of champagne to her lips, taking a leisurely glance at the guests. And when her gaze connected with his, she smiled.

Elation surged within him. Helplessly he returned her smile. He was about to take the biggest gamble of his life, but it would be worth it.

Please God, let it be worth it, and not the biggest mistake of my life.

“I’m very well,” he said to Spence.

“Very well?” The scoundrel raised his brows. “That rings of certainty.”

“It should.” God, she was beautiful. Douglas watched her a moment longer before wrenching his gaze away. “I owe you some thanks for setting me on this matter.”

Spence sniffed. “Make it worthwhile for both of us. That’s all the thanks I want.”

“Right.” Douglas found Albright, standing near the musicians, and gave him a nod. “The problem is, I don’t see what you’ve put into it besides telling me about Chesterton’s bounty.”

Spence turned his head sharply. “And that’s worth a great deal since you would have had no idea otherwise. Nor any idea which woman to investigate.”

“Well.” Douglas shrugged. “That’s not worth enough to compensate for the three weeks of my time. Sorry, old man; all’s fair, you know.”

“Bennet!” Spence seized his arm as Douglas started to walk away. “I’ll bury you if you cheat me on this.”

“Oh? With what shovel?” He shook off Spence’s hand. Near the center of the room Albright had sidled close to Lord Chesterton. Keeping his steps slow and unhurried, Douglas headed toward them.

“Thief,” snarled Spence, following close at his heels. “Cheat!”

“I took nothing that was yours. Not one man in this room would convict me of cheating—especially not when they consider the effort I exerted.”

“By God I will not allow this,” the man muttered before brushing past him.

Douglas waited until Spence had almost reached Lord Chesterton before he cleared his throat. Albright had already fixed it with the musicians to delay the next dance, so few couples were assembling; Douglas stood almost alone in the center of the floor. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said in a carrying voice. “A moment of your time, if you please.”

Everyone seemed to turn toward him at once. His blood pounded with the thrill of the moment. He caught a fleeting glance of Madeline’s expression before he forced himself to look away. “I apologize for interrupting,” he went on, giving one wide-eyed matron a rueful wink and his most charming smile. “I shan’t take up much of your evening. I merely feel compelled to share some news which will, I believe, amaze more than one person in this room—”

“But not as much as my announcement!” Spencer’s angry shout cut him off.

Douglas obediently fell quiet and tried to look shocked as his onetime friend strode up to him, eyes flashing.
Go on
, Douglas silently dared him.
Do it.

Spence glared at him before spinning on his heel toward Lord Chesterton. “My lord, I believe you offered a bounty.”

Spence hadn’t spoken very loudly but in the expectant hush of the ballroom every word carried. Chesterton’s face went dead white, like a man suddenly regretting a long-ago outburst. “This is not the place . . .”

With another furious look at Douglas, Spence held up one hand. “Does that mean you don’t intend to honor it?”

The intake of breath around the room was audible.

Chesterton’s lips barely moved as he replied. “I always honor my word, sir.”

Good Lord, it was better than he’d hoped. Spence was so angry he was defying any sort of propriety or discretion to beat Douglas to the point. This would be branded on his name for years to come.

“Spence,” Douglas began.

The man threw up his hand. “I’ve discovered the name you seek, my lord,” he said rapidly. “Shall we retire to a more private location to discuss the matter?”

“You have not!” Albright scoffed, making Lord Chesterton start. “Anyone can produce a name; he could make one up on the spot.”

“The evidence is in my favor,” Spence retorted.

“What evidence?”

Spence’s eyes darted back to Douglas. “That is for his lordship to hear.”

Chesterton was as still as a statue. “I have no idea what you mean, sir . . .”

For the first time Spence looked around at the breathlessly watching guests. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him. Even people who had no idea what bounty he was talking about were eager to know the answer—and Douglas was quite sure they would discover every lurid thing about Chesterton’s offer before the end of the evening, after this little drama. “Perhaps we should speak privately—”

“So he won’t have to defend his ‘evidence,’ ” said Albright sotto voce.

William Spence drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “Mrs. Madeline Wilde.”

People gasped. Douglas allowed himself a quick glance in her direction; the crowd was already easing away from her, giving him a clear view. She stood staring, her beautiful lips parted and her eyes blank with apparent shock. It physically hurt him to see her suffer this public denouncement, even though she had agreed to this part of the plan.

“How dare you,” he growled at Spence, not having to feign his anger.

Spence barked with laughter. “How dare I? When you came tonight to tell Lord Chesterton the very same thing—that
she
is the woman who defamed him!”

Douglas took a step back. “I most certainly did not. Tonight I came . . .” He turned toward Madeline. She was still there, rooted to the spot, with one hand now at her breast, looking as if she’d been betrayed. “Tonight I had a very different sort of declaration in mind.”

“You said—” Spence’s face went slack as he realized.

“I know I’ve got a bit of a reputation.” Never taking his eyes from her face, Douglas started toward Madeline. “I won’t say I didn’t earn it, but what I did to earn it is all in the past. And it shall stay in the past because I’ve gone and lost my heart.”

A blush raced up her face as he came to a halt in front of her. The people around her, who had withdrawn a few steps when Spence cried out her name, were goggling at him with every sort of expression from disapproval to shocked delight.

“You astonish everyone,” Madeline said in a low voice. “Public announcements of attachment!”

Slowly he grinned. He hadn’t told her all of his plan; she was expecting a gallant defense of her name. But the moment she agreed to his mad plan, put her trust in him and made love to him and slept in his arms, he knew. She was no ordinary woman. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t imagine life without a woman in his house, in his bed, in his arms—
this
woman. Still, he didn’t know what her answer would be, and his heart kicked against his ribs in nervous hope. “It’s even more than that. It’s a proposal of marriage.”

A lady in the crowd let out a little shriek. A matron standing nearby put her hand on her bosom and smiled.

Madeline’s eyes went wide in shock. “That is a very large risk.”

“With a very large reward, if my luck holds.” He went down on one knee and held his hand out, palm up. He hoped she didn’t notice it shook slightly. “Will you consider it, my love?”

“No,” she said softly. Thankfully she went on before his heart had a chance to stop. “I would like to accept.” And she took his hand.

He rose and pressed his lips to her wrist as a murmur rippled through the crowd. “I love you,” he whispered. “Desperately.”

Her eyes glowed with sparks of gold. “You’d better. We’ll never be spoken of again without some mention of this evening.”

“I have no objection to that.”

“I thought you weren’t a marrying sort of man,” she murmured unsteadily.

“Until I met you, I wasn’t. Now . . .” He rubbed his thumb over her third finger, where his ring would soon be. “Now I look forward to it.”

A hand on his shoulder jerked him around. Spence looked angry enough to kill him. “You lied to me.”

“Mr. Spence.” A tall and rather imposing servant glided up to them. “Lord Chesterton would like a word—privately.”

Spence’s furious gaze veered to Madeline and then back to Douglas. “Very well.”

“And with you, Mr. Bennet,” added the footman.

“Of course.” He offered Madeline his arm. “Shall you come along, or do you want to miss the fireworks?”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” she breathed, twining her arm through his.

They followed Spence. The hiss of whispers in their wake was deafening. Lord Chesterton was waiting in a small parlor, his face set in stern lines, and Philip Albright leaned against the mantel with the air of a man about to enjoy a good show. “Explain yourself,” spat Chesterton as soon as the door was closed. “How
dare
you mention that bounty in the presence of so many ladies?”

Spence had obviously made an effort to control himself and organize a defense. “I was deceived,” he said stiffly. “By Bennet and, I suspect, by Albright. I apologize, my lord.”

“You must be the greatest idiot in London. What deception did they practice on you that you felt at liberty to bring my name into your scandalous behavior?”

Spence shot another venomous look at Douglas. “It doesn’t signify, my lord.”

“No,” retorted Lord Chesterton in disdain. “You merely stood up and accused the Duke of Canton’s goddaughter of being that vile liar Lady Constance.”

Everyone turned to look at her, Douglas in some surprise. The Duke of Canton’s goddaughter? He’d heard the rumors about her mother and Canton, but not that. Madeline merely looked quietly outraged.

“I told you she wasn’t, Spence,” Albright said. “Never saw any proof of it.”

“Were you searching?” Chesterton looked astounded.

Albright nodded. “Spence went ’round saying she must be Lady Constance, and offering to split your bounty with anyone who could prove it.”

The older man flushed and turned on Douglas. “And you, sir? I presume you were involved in this as well.”

“Spence made me the same offer.” He glanced at Madeline. “Happily, I lost interest in that endeavor and found something far more dear.”

“So I see.” Chesterton was also watching her. “I apologize for the scene you just endured, madam. I deeply regret any part I may have played in causing it.”

She curtsied. “You are very kind, but I bear no ill will toward you, my lord.”

He inclined his head in gracious acknowledgment before turning back to Spence. “You, however . . .”

“I was deceived,” said Spence again. “Mr. Bennet may stand here now acting the part of a lovesick fool, but for a fortnight he has repeatedly assured me he was in possession of more and more evidence that Mrs. Wilde is Lady Constance. I would never have presumed to act as I did—”

“If you hadn’t been afraid he was about to cut you out of your share?” Chesterton’s tone was frosty. “Perhaps you wish to ask the lady directly.” He waved one hand as Spence froze. “Go on, man. You had no compunction naming her in public.”

Slowly Spence faced Madeline. Douglas felt her fingers grip his arm, but her expression remained composed. “Are you the infamous Lady Constance, author of
50 Ways to Sin
?”

Her gaze was cool, disdainful, and insulted. “I promise you, I am not.”

Spence gave a jerky bow. “I humbly apologize for my mistake, madam.”

“Get out,” said Chesterton in a soft, deadly voice.

Moving as if his limbs were made of wood, Spence went. As he opened the door, Albright called after him, “I’ll come ’round tomorrow to collect on our wager, shall I?” Spence paused a moment in the doorway, then continued on his way without a word. Beaming with satisfaction, Albright bid them all farewell and left.

“I trust,” said Lord Chesterton, “this will be the end of the matter.”

Douglas privately thought it would live on for months in drawing rooms across London. “I hope so as well.”

“It is over for me,” Madeline concurred. “Although, I must say . . . if Lady Constance truly did model her characters on actual persons, she couldn’t have chosen a finer one than you, my lord.”

Interest sparked in Chesterton’s eyes. “Oh?” Then he glanced at Douglas, and a faint smile crossed his face. “Ah well; too late for that.” He bowed. “Good evening, Mrs. Wilde. Mr. Bennet.”

He left them alone, closing the door behind him. Douglas let out his breath and grinned. “You’re as brilliant as you are beautiful, love.”

She laughed. “Am I? I certainly wouldn’t have believed any charge that I was writing
50 Ways to Sin
.”

“I was very torn,” he said somberly. “On one hand, if you were, Spence would win, and I wanted to prevent that at all costs.” He made a face. “However, if you were, it would also demonstrate a naughty imagination and a certain . . . uninhibited generosity I find utterly bewitching—”

“I never said I
couldn’t
write something like that,” she murmured.

“Unfortunately that would ruin the new respectability we shall have to cultivate if we’re ever to outlive tonight’s gossip.” He drew her toward him. “But I would never dream of impeding your creative wishes. If your muse leads you to write wicked, naughty fantasies about me, I would never argue. In fact, I would read them over and over.”