Once Upon a Wager (29 page)

“I have sent a note to Astley Castle,” he cried, looking away once more. “They are in a case I have hidden there. It will be here by week's end.”

“I have reason not to trust the mail where you are concerned. I will go to the castle myself. God forgive you when Annabelle discovers the truth. It will break her heart.”

Annabelle felt like a puppet at one of the Punch and Judy shows in Covent Garden. All evening, she'd smiled until her face was surely cracking. She danced every dance and thanked a parade of people for their compliments, but even the elaborate gown she wore couldn't disguise her hollowness inside. The whole of the ton was here, not only to enjoy the ball Aunt Sophia and Lady Dorset had so meticulously planned, but also to make a final judgment about her suitability. Was she graceful and gracious? Was she witty? Would she be an asset to their exclusive ranks?

They didn't realize Annabelle had already judged them and found them wanting, because they believed the lies of a charlatan over Alec, and she was powerless to change their minds. Her declarations of his innocence were ignored. She was too pretty, they'd decided, to worry her head about such things. It hardly mattered that she'd known Alec for a lifetime, because war could change a man. Just look what it had done to him! And his poor mother! How courageous she was to show her face this evening, smiling valiantly beside Annabelle in the ball's receiving line, when the world knew her son was a monster.

Lady Dorset was indeed brave. She didn't shy away from the many veiled accusations and innuendoes. Annabelle had wanted to cancel tonight's ball, but Alec's mother had declared it should be even bigger and more elaborate than originally planned. Anything less would be seen as a capitulation—or worse, an acknowledgment of Alec's guilt. So Lady Dorset smiled her way through the dancing and the multitudinous array of courses served during dinner. She offered a toast to Annabelle as warm and heartfelt as one would give a daughter, and when at long last, there was an appropriate time to depart, she did so with grace. Not once did she give in to her heartbreak.

Father was also putting on a brave face, considering the fact he'd been distracted and on edge since his arrival in London. Save for a mysterious morning call, he'd hardly left the confines of Marchmain House. Tonight, though, he was cornered by some of the ton's biggest gossips, drawn no doubt by his eccentricity, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable in his evening wear. His eyes darted over the crowd, as if searching for a means of escape. Annabelle saw him notice the door that led to the servants' back stair, and watched as he edged toward it.

Perhaps they could escape the ball together. She excused herself from a circle of young ladies she'd met at the picnic, and followed him. She'd gotten no more than a few steps when her cousin Estrella came up, clasping a hand to her shoulder.

“What a squeeze this is,” Estrella said with the languid drawl she'd adopted since her arrival in London this past week. “Surely the whole of the city is here. To think that our own little girl from Nuneaton is the name on everyone's lips! Augustus is quite put out, I must tell you. He doesn't like to share.”

In the months since she'd last seen him, Augustus had not improved either his appearance or his character. And surely the greater squeeze had occurred when Estrella was buttoned into her gown, a fussy crimson affair several sizes too small. Still, Estrella's attempts at matchmaking were increasingly halfhearted, and that had been the only positive in an otherwise dreadful week. Her heart ached for Alec. Even now, he was in Nuneaton, chasing down something to do with Digby. He might as well be on the other side of the world.

“Annabelle, I need your help, my dear,” Estrella said, recalling her attention. “I've misplaced my fan, and it's so beautiful with my new ball gown. I will simply be devastated if someone crushes it. I drank champagne in the library earlier to calm my nerves, and I may have left it there, but Marchmain House is so large I will never find it on my own. I should hate to become lost and miss the rest of your ball.”

It would be difficult to lose sight of Estrella, but Annabelle welcomed the opportunity to escape. “I'll be happy to show you the way.” It took a few minutes to slip through the crowd, but once they cleared the room, it was easier to move quickly through the house, down the stairs, and past the main hall. The library overlooked the square.

The door to the library was closed, but Annabelle opened it and stepped inside. A low fire burned in the grate, but the candle sconces had not been relit, making it difficult to see clearly. She could just make out one of the floor-length casement curtains fluttering in a soft breeze. A window was open, no doubt to catch the cool evening air.

“Estrella, will you show me where you were sitting? Perhaps on the sofa?” she asked, moving with slow steps in the darkened room.

The sound of a door slamming was her only answer.

She spun around, almost knocking over a large vase on one of the side tables. What could Estrella be thinking, to shut her up in the library alone? She wasn't going to wait here to find out. She felt her way back across the room, only to discover that she wasn't alone after all. A man stepped out from the shadows to block her path, and as he turned to face her, Annabelle bit back a scream.

God help her. She was alone in the dark with Damien Digby. She needed her wits about her. Obviously, Estrella had led her here for just this purpose. But why? Annabelle had told her how dangerous the man was.

“Miss Layton, may I offer you my compliments? You are perfection itself tonight.”

“What are you doing here, Corporal Digby? This is a private gathering, and you were not invited.” She struggled to keep her voice calm. She couldn't let him see how frightened she was. In the dim light, he looked like a specter, half of his face and body hidden in shadow, the other half lit by the dying embers of the fire.

“I felt sure that was an oversight, Miss Layton. After all, I am invited everywhere now. I'm not quite Wellington, of course, but I've been told I am a hero all the same.”

“You are no hero,” she spat, though she was quaking inside. “All you've done is spread contemptible lies about an honest man.”

He merely chuckled. “My revenge was long in coming, but that makes it no less sweet. Dorset tried to destroy me, and I've repaid the favor in spades.”

“What do you mean, destroy you?” He was creeping toward her, and she stepped back, to the left of the fireplace, where the tools were kept to stoke the fire. With any luck, he hadn't noticed them.

“Come now, my dear. Don't pretend you do not know. Your brother owed me a great deal of money, but we were to settle things with our race that morning. The Laytons would keep Astley Castle, and I would get what I wanted. But then Dorset had to involve himself. I was forced to take matters in hand. And what in God's name were you doing in Gareth's carriage?”

“I have no memory of the race,” she said defiantly. “I certainly know nothing about debts owed to you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. “No memory? By God, that's rich. Is that what Dorset has played off of all these years?”

“You had some sort of hold over my brother,” she acknowledged, keeping her focus on the fire tools. She needed to keep him distracted. “Alec raced that day to better Gareth's odds against you.” Just a few more steps now.

“I think, instead, that Dorset wanted the prize as badly as I did.”

“Gareth had nothing of value to wager. Any winnings would have been meager.” The tools were almost in reach. She would grab the poker, and take great satisfaction in skewering Digby between his shoulder blades.

“My dear Miss Layton, that's where you are wrong.” Digby smirked, his eyes lingering on her lips. “Your brother wagered you. You were the prize.”

“You are lying!” she cried, the poker forgotten. “I will never believe it.” The very idea was preposterous. Gareth would never have offered her in exchange for his debts.

“Members of the aristocracy regularly trade their women for money, my dear. It's what the marriage mart is all about.”

She was trapped in a nightmare. This couldn't be happening. Nor could it be true. “You'd only just met me,” she said.

“You don't seem to understand your worth, Miss Layton. And I don't merely speak of your beauty, which is motivation enough. You have a most generous dowry from your mother's estate, something on the order of 7,000 pounds per year. An income like that is the dream of any gambling man.” He was edging around the sofa now, inching closer.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach and leaned over, suddenly worried that she would be sick. She needed to get out of this room, needed air. “Why did Estrella bring me here?”

Digby smiled, his lips thinning to slits. “You are an innocent, aren't you, not to have guessed. Your cousin doesn't want to lose Astley Castle any more than your brother did, and of course, the Laytons' debts to me still stand.”

She felt faint, but she couldn't show him any weakness. She fought to steady her breathing. “I will never marry you.”

“In a few moments, Lord Fitzsimmons will come through that door with some of the biggest gossips in the ton. He'll catch the two of us in an indelicate embrace, and I will announce that you've made me the happiest of men. Deny it, and your reputation will be destroyed. I'll claim my right to Astley Castle, and throw your father out onto the street.”

“I will not let you hurt my father. I'll fight you with everything I have.” But she was terrified. The smile was gone from his face, and he was so close now, his hands lifting from his sides, his fingers flexing.

“Fight all you want. Just know that when I come into you, you'll scream with the pleasure of it.” He attacked then, forcing her back against the wall, trapping her hands with one of his own before she could grab at the poker, pinning her hips with his body. She struggled, twisting her face away when he tried to possess her mouth, battling to break free. But her efforts only inflamed him. He was deceptively strong, and she'd never felt so helpless. His free hand forced its way into her bodice, pawing painfully at one breast before grabbing onto the gown itself. In a rush of horror, she felt the fabric start to give way.

Suddenly, though, a crash sounded, and Digby grunted, going slack against her. Heavy pieces of porcelain fell all around them as he collapsed unconscious onto the floor. Standing behind his body was Jane Fitzsimmons, holding the remnants of an antique vase in her hands, her eyes round with shock.

“Jane!” Annabelle cried, kicking past Digby to wrap the woman in a desperate hug. “Thank God you came when you did!” How had she found them?

“Annabelle, I am so sorry. I overheard Father and Digby plotting this after the Hertford Ball. And they recruited your cousin this week to lure you here. I thought if I hid in the room, Digby could not claim to have compromised you. I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't let him do such vile, terrible things.”

“You knocked him senseless!” It seemed impossible that she'd been rescued. “I will never be able thank you sufficiently.”

“There's more to this. It concerns Lord Dorset as well,” Jane said between short, panicked breaths. “I should not have waited so long to act. I've sent a note to him. I expect him at any moment.”

But it was not Alec who next opened the door to the library. It was Lord Fitzsimmons, followed by Lady Jersey, the Princess Lieven, and Lady Hertford. “Ladies, explain yourselves,” Lady Jersey huffed. “This is most unseemly!”

But Annabelle could not stay here, surrounded by the shadows of what had almost happened, Digby still prostrate on the floor, moaning now with pain. She grabbed Jane's arm and pushed past the others, blinking at the sudden rush of light in the hall.

Fighting to regain her composure, she clutched at her bodice—loosened around the edge of one breast, but thankfully still intact—as the others shuffled into the hall. Digby had not exaggerated when he'd said the biggest gossips in the ton would be on hand. If Alec had worried about being the scandalous one, here was a scandal of epic proportions.

“Corporal Digby trapped me and tried to force his attentions on me,” she said as calmly as she could.

“It's true,” Jane added. “I stumbled upon them. Miss Layton was struggling and—”

“Jane, my dear, you are mistaken,” Lord Fitzsimmons interrupted. “They're lovebirds, those two, although Miss Layton is obviously trying to disguise it, having been caught out. In my pocket,” he continued, “I have a special license from the archbishop. I procured it as a favor to the corporal, who wanted to surprise Miss Layton with a proposal tonight. There's even a minister waiting in a carriage outside. I hope you've not spoiled it.”

“I was very nearly violated,” Annabelle exclaimed, furious that the fiend could lie so brazenly.

Digby walked into the hall then, holding a handkerchief to the gash Jane had opened on the side of his head. His neck was covered with blood, his dress uniform spattered with long crimson streaks. He was palpably furious, and she felt a sharp spike of fear. “Fitzsimmons,” he said as a crowd began to gather, drawn by the commotion. “Am I to understand that your daughter did this? I was wrapped in my love's embrace one moment, and coshed across the skull in the next.”

“I am not your love, Digby!” Annabelle cried, wishing only that she'd picked up a stray shard of porcelain in the library, so she could carve a matching scar on the other side of his face.

“My dear, you know we have discussed marriage,” he said, fixing her with a dark stare. “Your father, in particular, is eager for our union.” There was no mistaking the threat behind his words.

“He is lying!” she continued. All around them, people were streaming down the stairs and into the hallway, as news spread of the unfolding drama.