Margaret Moore (33 page)

She had been dreading Lord Cheddersby’s reaction to the news, given what Lady Lippet had been encouraging, but he seemed genuinely happy.

Richard glanced at the delighted Foz, then gave the baffled couple a wry look. “We have underestimated Lord Cheddersby, Neville. He told me not five minutes ago that this would happen.”

“Yes, I did,” Foz boasted. “I knew you were in love.” Then he frowned. “If only I had thought to make a wager on it, eh, Neville, when I wanted to cancel the other one?”

Neville pressed his lips together and tried to will Richard and Foz to keep silent about their bet.

Richard, however, got a devilish gleam in his
dark, satiric eyes. “I thought when you first arrived that you were come for your fifty pounds.”

“What is he talking about?” Arabella asked Neville.

“Pay no attention to these fellows. I believe they have been drinking too much. And Richard, you know, tells lies for a living.”

“I write plays, which is not at all the same thing.”

“He’s not lying,” Foz said gravely. “There was a wager, which Neville won.”

“What kind of wager?” Arabella demanded.

“Richard, Foz, I really don’t think—” Neville began.

“Oh, but I do,” Richard interrupted. “He bet us fifty pounds that he could get you into his bed within a fortnight.”

Neville wished they had never come here but gone straight home with the earl.

Especially when Arabella slowly turned to face him. “Is this true?”

He made an apologetic smile. “Arabella,” he began placatingly.

“I see,” she interrupted. She smiled, and Neville started to breathe again. “You believe he won it?”

Richard and Foz gave her a look as incredulous as Neville’s. “That’s what he said,” Foz answered.

“That is not precisely true.
I
made love to
him.
And he did not get me into his bed. We made love on the floor.”

The worldly Richard’s face turned as red as Lord Cheddersby’s.

“If you require further proof, gentlemen,” Neville said solemnly, “I will show you my poor bruised knees.”

“That will not be necessary,” Richard replied gruffly.

“I trust you both are satisfied,” Neville said with, truth be told, more than a hint of smug satisfaction.

“While I trust
you
will not make any more wagers,” Arabella remarked pointedly.

Neville gave her his best, most innocently charming smile. “Of course not.”

“Good.”

“Now I shall collect my winnings.”

Richard’s eyes looked slightly panicked, and Neville let him suffer a little.

After a long, silent moment, he said, “I will not take your money, my friends. The king has given me an estate, and even better, it seems my father has learned to appreciate my merits after all, thanks to Arabella.”

“What?” Richard demanded, getting to his feet. “Charles gives you an estate?”

“You do not want
any
estate,” Neville reminded him. “You want your family’s back. Still, since Charles and I are such good
friends,” he added virtuously, “I will see what I can do.”

Richard scowled darkly until Arabella touched him gently on the arm. “We really will try to help your cause, Richard.” She turned to Foz. “I hope you can forgive me for marrying Neville.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Foz replied, blushing furiously. “You do not love me. And Neville loves you very much.”

Arabella kissed Foz lightly on the cheek.

Neville cleared his throat. “I fear we are getting far too maudlin.” He picked up one of Richard’s papers. “What mess is this?”

“Regrettably, and despite your betrothed’s opinion, my attempt at a tragedy was not successful. Poor Minette is probably still trying to get the stench of rotten apples out of her hair.”

“Oh, no!” Arabella cried. “Why didn’t they like it?”

“A better question would be, was there anything in the play they did not hate? The trouble began with the prologue, about the third line—”

“We could argue your work all night, Richard,” Neville said, taking Arabella’s hand, “but my father is waiting in a coach below to take us home. This has been a most fatiguing evening.”

“Your father?” Richard said incredulously.

“Have you become reconciled?” Foz asked hopefully.

“Not completely,” Neville admitted. “I am not as willing as some to overlook the past.” He gave Arabella a winsome smile. “However, I am willing to try.

“And,” he continued, looking at his friends, “it seems that I was not the only one deluded as to a family member’s activities. Apparently, my father had no intention of disinheriting me, and he wanted me to marry this wonderful woman all along.”

Foz had to sit down. “He did?”

“I am so sorry that he misled you,” Arabella said.

“He did not, particularly,” Foz replied. “It was the late Lady Lippet, really.”

“Who won’t be misleading anyone anymore,” Arabella observed quietly.

“You will take time from your writing to come to our wedding, Richard?” Neville asked, lightening the solemn mood. “And Foz, no celebration would be complete without you.”

Richard grinned. “I shall be delighted to attend.”

Foz’s chest puffed up with proud pleasure. “Absolutely!” he cried, jumping up and bowing with a flourish that nearly sent his wig to the floor. “When is it to be?”

“As soon as possible,” Arabella said happily.

Neville gave them his devilish little smile. “Within a fortnight, I should say.”

“I might even make a wager upon that myself,” Arabella said gravely, but with dancing eyes.

Neville chuckled. “Richard, I believe you may have to reconsider your view of matrimony, for I fear we are going to destroy all your notions that marriage is nothing but a prison. With that thought, I take my leave of you. Good night, my friends.”

“Good night,” Arabella said softly, her eyes glowing with joy and love as she smiled at her future husband.

Foz watched the happy couple leave, then turned to his friend.

“Richard?”

“What now?” the playwright asked absently as he contemplated his views on marriage, which were—or had been—far from favorable.

“I’ll wager fifty pounds they have a child before next spring.”

MARGARET MOORE is the past president of the Ontario chapter of the Romance Writers of America. She is the author of over fifteen Harlequin Historicals and has contributed to two of their top-selling holiday anthologies. In addition, Margaret has won the
Romantic Times
’s KISS Award and the
Affaire de Coeur
’s Best Foreign Historical Romance Award. She lives in Ontario, Canada.

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